Tracks
I was never a fan of how realistic my friends tend to be about my future.
“Wait. You’re actually going to try and be in a band?” she asked as if my previous statement regarded my joining a crazy suicide cult.
“Yes,” I replied
“That’s stupid,” she stated, “you don’t have any real plans. You never do anything.”
“Anything like what? A real job?”
“There’s no money to be made in playing shows. You’ve said it yourself.”
“ I know. What do you expect me to do?
“Whatever you want. Any job will do.”
“Real jobs are boring. That’s why I want to join a band.”
**************
Summers where I grew up were devastatingly boring, especially the 2001 summer. My best friend just moved away and my first real girlfriend just dumped me. As a fifteen year old, I was experiencing a life interpreted in my super-angsty self as Revelation-style Armageddon. I waited for the earth to split open and giant beasts to come out of the ground as my hometown burst into flames and the four horseman rode all over the countryside, laying waste to all they see. I wanted to see destruction, not because I was "depressed", just really bored.
“I’m bored too,” Eric stated, “It seems like all we ever do is drive around.”
“We could always get drunk like everyone else,” I replied.
Back then, merely mentioning drinking sent him on a diatribe that made up for its utter lack of eloquence in sheer loudness. It's so rare to meet someone that can be truly summed up in one word, but if I ever did, it'd be Eric. That word was loud. He yelled about everything, no matter what he was doing or where he was. For example, if Eric were to move a small card table from one side of the room to another, you wouldn't get a conversation like this:
"Hey, what happened to the card table?" I asked.
"Oh. I moved it over there," Eric calmly stated while pointing in the table's general direction.
You would get a conversation like this:
"Hey, what happened to the card table?"
"I MOVED THE TABLE, " Eric calmly stated at the top of his lungs. "RAWR I MOVED THE TABLE AND I'LL MOVE IT AGAIN RAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRR. YOU ARE WEAK. THAT TABLE IS WEAK. I AM JUST."
Did I mention that he often moralized about the most insignificant things? Abstract notions like truth and justice randomly popped out of his mouth. In short, Eric had all the subtlety of a professional wrestler.
“We need to do something,” I said. “There’s only an hour till my curfew and bored. I’m even bored saying bored so much.”
**************
“So your response to this boredom is a band?” she asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Basically,” I replied.
“I guess it’s a plan.”
“Everyone needs a plan.”
**************
We came up with a plan. After fifteen minutes of driving around, we found ourselves cruising down Washington Street. The interesting feature of Washington was that it wandered aimlessly into the country and crossed a set of railroad tracks that set up on a hill. After a couple minutes of applying the scientific method, we theorized that the hill would act like a ramp. A quarter mile lay between the tracks and us. If we hit the tracks at the correct velocity, we could propel ourselves into the atmosphere. Scientists in white lab coats across the nation were proud.
“I think it will work,” I said. “Should we? Or will it mess up your car?”
“My car sucks. Let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?
“LET’S DO IT. LET’S GO,” Eric calmly stated at the top of his lungs.
Eric made a quick executive decision and drove the car over the tracks out of town. He worried that some cop would be hiding inside the city limits, but thought he wouldn’t get caught speeding out of town. I tried explaining that if a cop saw us jump the tracks from the other side, we’d still get caught, but he didn’t listen. After crossing the tracks and driving down the road a bit, he pulled over.
“What are you doing?
“ This is epic. WE COULD DIE," Eric yelled.
"I guess," I replied.
"I want some music I could die to," he said.
He was over-exaggerating, but Eric was a complete over-exaggeration, so it made sense. I'm not entirely sure we could have died. We probably would just suffer some minor injuries. I heard static as he turned the radio dial until he landed on a pop station playing Mariah Carey. We started off.
**************
“A plan is a plan, but aren’t you scared that it won’t work out?” she asked.
“No.”
“It’s an incredibly huge risk. You could graduate next year and then I don’t know, go to grad school or something.”
“It is a huge risk. I’ll be staking a lot of my future on it. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll have to take out some loans to get another degree, but I think it’s worth it.”
“It’s worth it if it works out, but what if it doesn’t?”
“I’m not thinking about that. Sometimes you just have to take risks.”
**************
Eric threw the car into drive and the car flew into motion like a sprinter leaping off the starting block. I looked over at Eric. He yelled something, but his voice fell into the indistinguishable mash of noise consisting mainly bad singing and the roar of an engine from an ill maintained car. Leaning back, I adjusted my seat belt. A miniature gale force wind slapped my face through the open window, which I promptly rolled up. The car kept going faster. I worried that we moved too fast and some neglected factor meant certain doom. I wondered how fast we were traveling. I watched the tracks rush towards us through the windshield. I wished I could back out, but it was too late. I leaned back further in my seat as if by sheer will I could become one with the seat cushion for extra protection during the inevitable impact. I really didn’t want to die to Mariah Carey.
Our theory was correct. We ramped off the hill. In the air, I leaned forward and watched us soar. The windshield provided a perfect view of the stars. I wondered if we gathered enough speed to propel us into space. It definitely felt as if we escaped gravity.
Time was all messed up during our flight. The first second felt like a minute. The second lasted a few more while the third seemed to stretch on forever. For three seconds we were free. Somewhere during the third, I began to wonder if we escaped time entirely. Would we ever go back down? I thought that maybe one only feels gravity when they accept it as inevitability.
On cue, the third second came to a screeching halt. Gravity kicked back in and the car chose the pavement, slamming face first into the ground. Safely tucked inside the car that was still being propelled by the jump, we skidded like a rocks on a pond along the road until we slammed into a ditch and stopped. Aside from some minor front-end work, and a bent license plate, there were no casualties.
**************
“You’re saying this as if your risk is a grand epic gesture,” she firmly stated. “It’s not.”
“I know.”
“But, you haven’t even explained why you think you absolutely must take this risk.”
“I know. I’m not sure how. I guess I could go into a detailed metaphor, but I don’t know if that would explain any more of my decision. I haven’t learned how to mix poetry with reality yet.”
“What if you fail?” she asked. “It’s really hard to make a band work.”
“I think maybe only one fails only when they accept it as inevitability.”
“Wait. You’re actually going to try and be in a band?” she asked as if my previous statement regarded my joining a crazy suicide cult.
“Yes,” I replied
“That’s stupid,” she stated, “you don’t have any real plans. You never do anything.”
“Anything like what? A real job?”
“There’s no money to be made in playing shows. You’ve said it yourself.”
“ I know. What do you expect me to do?
“Whatever you want. Any job will do.”
“Real jobs are boring. That’s why I want to join a band.”
**************
Summers where I grew up were devastatingly boring, especially the 2001 summer. My best friend just moved away and my first real girlfriend just dumped me. As a fifteen year old, I was experiencing a life interpreted in my super-angsty self as Revelation-style Armageddon. I waited for the earth to split open and giant beasts to come out of the ground as my hometown burst into flames and the four horseman rode all over the countryside, laying waste to all they see. I wanted to see destruction, not because I was "depressed", just really bored.
“I’m bored too,” Eric stated, “It seems like all we ever do is drive around.”
“We could always get drunk like everyone else,” I replied.
Back then, merely mentioning drinking sent him on a diatribe that made up for its utter lack of eloquence in sheer loudness. It's so rare to meet someone that can be truly summed up in one word, but if I ever did, it'd be Eric. That word was loud. He yelled about everything, no matter what he was doing or where he was. For example, if Eric were to move a small card table from one side of the room to another, you wouldn't get a conversation like this:
"Hey, what happened to the card table?" I asked.
"Oh. I moved it over there," Eric calmly stated while pointing in the table's general direction.
You would get a conversation like this:
"Hey, what happened to the card table?"
"I MOVED THE TABLE, " Eric calmly stated at the top of his lungs. "RAWR I MOVED THE TABLE AND I'LL MOVE IT AGAIN RAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWRRRRR. YOU ARE WEAK. THAT TABLE IS WEAK. I AM JUST."
Did I mention that he often moralized about the most insignificant things? Abstract notions like truth and justice randomly popped out of his mouth. In short, Eric had all the subtlety of a professional wrestler.
“We need to do something,” I said. “There’s only an hour till my curfew and bored. I’m even bored saying bored so much.”
**************
“So your response to this boredom is a band?” she asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Basically,” I replied.
“I guess it’s a plan.”
“Everyone needs a plan.”
**************
We came up with a plan. After fifteen minutes of driving around, we found ourselves cruising down Washington Street. The interesting feature of Washington was that it wandered aimlessly into the country and crossed a set of railroad tracks that set up on a hill. After a couple minutes of applying the scientific method, we theorized that the hill would act like a ramp. A quarter mile lay between the tracks and us. If we hit the tracks at the correct velocity, we could propel ourselves into the atmosphere. Scientists in white lab coats across the nation were proud.
“I think it will work,” I said. “Should we? Or will it mess up your car?”
“My car sucks. Let’s do it.”
“Are you sure?
“LET’S DO IT. LET’S GO,” Eric calmly stated at the top of his lungs.
Eric made a quick executive decision and drove the car over the tracks out of town. He worried that some cop would be hiding inside the city limits, but thought he wouldn’t get caught speeding out of town. I tried explaining that if a cop saw us jump the tracks from the other side, we’d still get caught, but he didn’t listen. After crossing the tracks and driving down the road a bit, he pulled over.
“What are you doing?
“ This is epic. WE COULD DIE," Eric yelled.
"I guess," I replied.
"I want some music I could die to," he said.
He was over-exaggerating, but Eric was a complete over-exaggeration, so it made sense. I'm not entirely sure we could have died. We probably would just suffer some minor injuries. I heard static as he turned the radio dial until he landed on a pop station playing Mariah Carey. We started off.
**************
“A plan is a plan, but aren’t you scared that it won’t work out?” she asked.
“No.”
“It’s an incredibly huge risk. You could graduate next year and then I don’t know, go to grad school or something.”
“It is a huge risk. I’ll be staking a lot of my future on it. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll have to take out some loans to get another degree, but I think it’s worth it.”
“It’s worth it if it works out, but what if it doesn’t?”
“I’m not thinking about that. Sometimes you just have to take risks.”
**************
Eric threw the car into drive and the car flew into motion like a sprinter leaping off the starting block. I looked over at Eric. He yelled something, but his voice fell into the indistinguishable mash of noise consisting mainly bad singing and the roar of an engine from an ill maintained car. Leaning back, I adjusted my seat belt. A miniature gale force wind slapped my face through the open window, which I promptly rolled up. The car kept going faster. I worried that we moved too fast and some neglected factor meant certain doom. I wondered how fast we were traveling. I watched the tracks rush towards us through the windshield. I wished I could back out, but it was too late. I leaned back further in my seat as if by sheer will I could become one with the seat cushion for extra protection during the inevitable impact. I really didn’t want to die to Mariah Carey.
Our theory was correct. We ramped off the hill. In the air, I leaned forward and watched us soar. The windshield provided a perfect view of the stars. I wondered if we gathered enough speed to propel us into space. It definitely felt as if we escaped gravity.
Time was all messed up during our flight. The first second felt like a minute. The second lasted a few more while the third seemed to stretch on forever. For three seconds we were free. Somewhere during the third, I began to wonder if we escaped time entirely. Would we ever go back down? I thought that maybe one only feels gravity when they accept it as inevitability.
On cue, the third second came to a screeching halt. Gravity kicked back in and the car chose the pavement, slamming face first into the ground. Safely tucked inside the car that was still being propelled by the jump, we skidded like a rocks on a pond along the road until we slammed into a ditch and stopped. Aside from some minor front-end work, and a bent license plate, there were no casualties.
**************
“You’re saying this as if your risk is a grand epic gesture,” she firmly stated. “It’s not.”
“I know.”
“But, you haven’t even explained why you think you absolutely must take this risk.”
“I know. I’m not sure how. I guess I could go into a detailed metaphor, but I don’t know if that would explain any more of my decision. I haven’t learned how to mix poetry with reality yet.”
“What if you fail?” she asked. “It’s really hard to make a band work.”
“I think maybe only one fails only when they accept it as inevitability.”