Dragonfly

Out of Tune: Consecutive Substack Story 1196

Twenty third or twenty sixth night of the tour. Riverside Festival. Riverfront Festival, something like that.

Buses are beyond the security perimeter because there’s like 40 bands.

I’m getting this shitbag Vee out of one of the Prevost bays. Charlie bought it in Nashville. Atlanta. Somewhere. The thing sucks but Charlie wants it onstage.

Woman in a sundress walks up.

She wants something.

Rick got divorced three days before the tour.

Woman has tanlines, naturally pretty. If she wants Rick she’s probably in luck.

They usually want Blake or Charlie.

They always want Blake but will settle for Charlie.

The ones that will settle for anybody are already in the hospitality suites. They know how to work it. But it’s not like that anymore, not like it used to be.

Ever present video. Me Too. Disease of the Week.

“Hi,” the woman says and even the hi wants something. It’s always that way.

“What can I do for you?” I ask, proud of the politeness.

“My son-”

“It’s a 21 and Up Festival. See all the booze sponsors? I can’t-”

“He wants to interview a roadie. School project. He’s nine. He doesn’t know any of these bands. It’s like six questions.”

I look at the Champion digital hanging from my lanyard. 42 minutes to set time, revolving deck. I have time.

“Why a roadie?” I ask.

“Mason drew the letter R. Registrar, Rubbish Collector and Rodeo Clown were some of his choices. I think the teacher got a lesson plan from 1977. But Roadie was on there. Could you?”

“Sure.”

“He’s in the car. He’s shy. I’ll go get him. Thank you.”

She walks away and I look, probably harder than I should.

Been in the relationship grinder. Like a food processor with different cutting elements. Maybe I’m the cutting element.

The woman brings Mason back. I make eye contact with the kid, and introduce myself, but my eyes are rack focusing back to mom.

The questions are written out on paper but Mason is using his mom’s phone to record my answers.

He carefully reads the questions.

What do I like most about my job?

The travel. Which is bullshit. I like being in different places, especially on days off, but I hate 6AM bus calls so we can be in Provo at noon.

Mason reads the questions so carefully, like a brain surgeon reading a manual while a skull is cut open in front of him.

Mom is proud of her little man.

She bends over, gets closer. She’s beautiful.

One of the questions is “Do I get everyone’s autograph?”

When my answer is no, Mason seems disappointed. Maybe even angry with me.

I can see how a nine year old would think that was stupid.

“If you weren’t doing this job what else would you be doing?”

I tell Mason I’m an amateur wildlife photographer. Mostly bees and other flying insects, hummingbirds sometimes.

“Dragonflies?” Mason asks.

“Yep, I have some really cool dragonfly photos.”

Mason squeals so hard he drools.

“I love dragonflies! He says.

I have a burner work phone. My good phone with my photography is on the crew bus, which is back at the hotel. Limited space at festival shows.

“If…um…uh…your mom gives me her email address, I can send you some dragonfly photos.”

“Sure,” she says and whips out a business card.

“Send them to my work email.”

It’s the first I see her name.

Dr.Natalie Pryor. DDS. She’s a dentist.

I’m immediately embarrassed of my mouth.

“I’ll send the photos tomorrow, doctor,” I say.

She says thank you. Doesn’t say call her Natalie.

She asks Mason if he has any more questions.

He doesn’t.

I thank Mason.

He says ‘Can I have your autograph?”

I say “sure,” and sign my name to his sheet of questions like I did when I was in a band, before I worked for other bands.

He thanks me and Natalie reaches for her phone.

She doesn’t have a ring.

I say “Would you like to come to the fest?”

She says “Not without Mason.”

I know I could get em backstage with no problem, there’s one shoe company sponsor, he could be in there-

Natalie says “thanks anyway,” before I can speak and leads Mason back to their car.

I send Mason the dragonfly shots.

I get an email back from Natalie.

“Thank you.”

In Columbus or Cleveland I email Mason some bees.

Natalie emails me back.

“Thank you.”

Over the course of the tour I email pretty much my whole portfolio to Mason.

I get emails back from Natalie.

“Thank you.”

I tell her we're gonna be in Myrtle Beach and I’ll fly her down for the show because I’ve been living off my per diem and tour catering.

When I hit send I remember she’s a dentist and can afford to fly herself anywhere she wants.

She emails me back.

“No thank you.”

We’re in Ft. Lauderdale or Daytona. It’s spring break.

Charlie asks me to get that Vee out of the bus bay.

“That thing is a piece of shit.” I toss him my keys to the bays. “Get it yourself.”

Charlie says “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

And I tell him I ask myself that all the time and never get any answers.

***

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