First-Page Post (#3)

I got back from the beach yesterday. It was fun, as it always is, but the weather wasn't very cooperative this year. However, because I ended up having a lot of time not on the beach, I seized the opportunity and made a lot of headway with my book.

Truth: I had no intention of finishing Dog-Eared Life while on vacation.

Another truth: I didn't finish Dog-Eared Life while on vacation.

Final truth: I did finish Dog-Eared Life when I got home yesterday... and I REALLY like this one, folks.

Dog-Eared Life is Russo's story, but it starts out with Bas, because everything band-related MUST start out with Bas. It's just how these things work in my head. It's a pattern that I must follow. So, you're not gonna get much Russo with today's first-page post, but I thought I'd give you the first page of Dog-Eared since it's pretty much all I've been thinking about for the past several days.

Here you go!

The exhaustion seeps straight through his muscles and into his bones. His arms feel as though they’re attached to hefty dumbbells; his legs ache with fatigue. Unable to snatch more than a few minutes of sleep on the band’s flight from Chicago to Philadelphia, Sebastian Porter would like nothing more than to be horizontal.

A pillow would be appreciated, but not necessary.

He stifles a yawn and searches the area for his bandmates. Bert and Finn stand near the conveyor belt, waiting for a new belch of luggage to spew from the mouth of the tunnel, and Russo is meant to be off somewhere securing a rental car. “A fuckin' big one,” Bert had demanded, “because we’re gonna need room for all of our equipment.”

Scheduled to participate in one final show later this evening, the boys of Flannel Lobster hadn’t accounted for the many obstacles they would encounter upon entering (and then attempting to exit) Salt Lake City’s airport. One delay after another ensued, eventually resulting in a roundabout route to reach their home state of Pennsylvania.

If things had gone according to plan, they’d already be back in Lake Caywood, resting up before venturing down to West Virginia for Flannel Lobster’s much-anticipated performance at Off the Grid. There had been the brief consideration of landing at a more southern location, but as it was, the men needed to stop off in the south-central town—if only for an hour or so. Lucy had their costumes, after all, and while Finn had made the suggestion that she simply drive down to meet them, Bas refused to consider it. “She’s expecting us at the house,” he’d argued. “She’s got the costumes laid out and the makeup ready to go. I don’t wanna switch things up on her this late in the game. Can’t we make it work?”

And so they’d flown into Philadelphia instead of Harrisburg.

It will make for a longer commute back to Lake Caywood, yes, but if things fall into place from here on out, they should arrive in West Virginia with time to spare.

Still, Bas reasons, he should keep his girlfriend in the loop, and so fishing his cell from his pants pocket, he highlights her name and initiates the call.

Lucy answers on the second ring, and while the greeting she speaks is only two syllables in length—a simple “Hey, you”—Bas is somehow able to perceive two things:

1. A lack of enthusiasm.

2. An uncharacteristic level of fatigue.

“Hey,” he echoes, stifling a yawn of his own. “You sound tired.”

“So do you.”

“Yeah, well… I’m essentially running on fumes.”

“Are you in Harrisburg?”

“Philly,” he corrects. “We’ll be rollin’ in hot and ripe… None of us has showered since yesterday morning; I’m apologizing in advance.”

The giggle Lucy volunteers is faint but detectable. “That’s alright. Smelly or not, I’m looking forward to seeing you.”