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Matchbox Sixteen I felt like I was waking up as I drove down Highway 85, toward South Carolina. "Take the next exit," Adam sat diagonally behind me, with a map stretched out in his lap. "It goes to 77." Highway 77. Like where Rob said he was. Like where I had dreamed he said, but we were really going. I didn’t trust this all enough to take it as reality. I clenched the wheel tighter beneath my fingers and felt its cold plastic covering embossing itself into my hands. The clock read 1:43. I yawned, because I knew I was supposed to be tired. But I wasn’t afraid of falling asleep at the wheel; I was afraid that I was already sleeping. A familiar song hummed from the speakers, and I turned up the radio. I tapped my left foot along to the tune. "Aw, yeah!" Adam leaned forward. "Turn it up!" "I just did!" "Then turn it up more!" Shrugging, I reached for the volume knob. "Awake on my airplane, awake of my airplane," Adam sang along with the radio. "Hey, Pookie! Have you ever seen this music video?" "I don’t think so," I murmured, keeping my eyes focused on the eighteen-wheeler in the other lane. He was driving like an idiot. "They do a whole bunch of it underwater," he explained, smiling. "And, in another part, this house starts filling up with water, and the band’s just sitting there on the roof, playing. It’s so whacked! It’s awesome!" The eighteen-wheeler swerved into my lane, and I laid on the horn. "We should do something like that in a video," Adam continued. "Some underwater sequence." "Moron," I muttered under my breath, considering flipping off the truck driver. "What?!?" Shaking my head, I said, "Nothing, Adam." "Did you just call me a moron?" "No, I..." The eighteen-wheeler cut in front of me with only a couple feet to spare. "You freaking idiot!" I exclaimed, hitting the brakes and the horn. Adam stood up. "Where did this guy get his license?" "Sometimes the prize in your Cracker Jacks is really good," Adam murmured, leaning toward the windshield. "No, look! He’s got Florida plates. They’ll let anybody drive there." Adam returned to his seat. "Could you take my picture," Filter blared over the radio. "’Cause I won’t remember..." "I don’t think I’ve heard this song in months," Adam commented, leaning back. "If there’s ever a day we’re laughing about all this, I’m going to have to sing this to Rob." Adam put his feet up on the seat across from him. He sat there quietly for a few minutes, staring out the side window, before he said, "Hey, Brian, what would you have done if Rob hadn’t called?" "What do you mean, what would I have done," I smirked. "I’d be sleeping right now!" "Well, yeah!" Adam grimaced at me. "But what about tomorrow? I mean, Paul said we should all go home. Would you have?" My smile faded. "I don’t know," I replied, drumming my fingers on the steering column. "How ‘bout you?" Adam’s shoes slid off the seat and thumped onto the floor. "You know, there have been times when I’ve wanted to go home. But that’s always in passing. I love it on the road! I love hanging around with you guys." Awkward silence. "I LOVE YOU, MAN!" Adam exclaimed in a stoned voice, and we burst out laughing. "Hey," I said as we settled. "Do you mind driving? Everything’s looking two-dimensional." "No, that’s fine. Pull over." I thought I was tired. But, as Adam took the wheel, I must have caught my second wind. I was still awake when we neared Blythewood. "It’s this exit right here," I pointed out the window at a highway sign. "Exit XX." Adam turned off the highway. I don’t know exactly how fast he was going, but he was taking the ramp at highway speed. We flew past the guardrails. "Adam, you’re a lunatic!" I exclaimed, and he just smiled. The tour bus soared down Blythewood Road. From the corner of my eye, I saw a shadowy figure run into the road. "Adam! Watch out!" |