mr. vanbuilderass

I dialed her number six or seven times before I finally pressed send on my crappy flip cell phone. As it dialed the nerves picked up even more. I’d talked to this lady many times via the internet, but tonight I’d be talking on the phone. Too many times over the years I’d gotten numbers and never had the guts to call. So wimpy, yet so true to my story.

“Hello?” the voice on the other end finally said.

“Hey, is this Kendra?” I said meekly.

“Of course, you called my phone!” she said laughing.

“This is Randy.”

“Hey there. Whatcha doing?”

“Well, thought I’d give ya a jingle before coming up to the city to see you this weekend.”

I wanted to hit my forehead with my palm. I fucking said jingle. Who the hell says jingle. Well, maybe Santa Claus or Arnold.

“Jingle? What are you 75?”

“Yeah, I’m like George Burns in ‘Oh, God!’”

Silence.

“Guess you have no idea what I’m talking about?”

“You got it.”

“Well, onwards… I’ll be in town sometime around 2 in the afternoon. Taking the train from D.C.”

“Ok. I’ll be working then, so you’ll have to find something to occupy yourself for a few hours before we meet up.”

“Not a problem. There’s a bar I want to find, it’s got Joe Strummer on it. A mural painted after he died.”

“That’s cool. I mean, it shouldn’t be a problem finding a random bar in New York.”

She laughed at her own comment. I was feeling a bit at ease.

“See you in a couple days then.”

“You betcha. See you soon, sweetie.”

And she hung up.

“Well, the ending was promising at least,” my jumbled mind thought.


I dialed her number. We’d been out a few times. The first time was a disaster.

For me.

She ended up meeting the band we both loved so much. And got to swappin’ spit with one of them.

I, meanwhile, was so jealous I just did shots of whiskey. With my heroes. But was too dumbstruck by a girl doing that on a first, what I thought was a date, and being surrounded by these guys to say much.

I remember listening to some stories.

I remember one of the guys asking “Are you OK?”

I don’t remember answering.

Eventually, I forced a cab ride home from her. I had to be on the road at 8 a.m. It was 4 a.m. and I was shit-hammered.

Four hours later, I was running towards a train in Penn Station. It was like a movie. Except I was really chasing a fucking train that was moving. Trying not to miss it because then I’d never get back to D.C. with time enough to get back to Greenville, North Carolina in time for work that day.

Did I mention I was still drunk. Very drunk.

I leapt for the handle of the train. Grabbing it with both hands. Lucky for me, all I had for luggage was a Rose Bowl 1997 book bag that I got during college. One of the greatest games I ever covered in my career as a journalist. Thought it would be one of many great “events” that I would get to cover. In reality, it never got topped.

Now, she answered the phone.

“Hiya, Randy!”

“Hey, there Kendra. We on for New Orleans?”

“I can’t do it. I’m too broke.”

“So am I.”

“But you’re more dedicated than me.”

I could only think, “Yes, that is true. In many, many ways.” Lucero’s “Heart So True” started to echo in my mind. Or is that song called “Poor Heartache”? It’s an internal debate that shouldn’t happen, but does.

“You know, come out drinking with me. I know the last time we drank, I was a little less than behaved …”

“Stop it, dork.”

“Huh?”

“Lucero lyric pickup lines don’t work on me. … Well, not when you use them.”

“Tell me about it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you don’t know…”

I could feel me blushing. I was hoping she was too.

“Well, I just can’t make the show. I want too soooooooo badly, but you know how it goes. The bank account says no while my heart says yes.”

“You should always follow your heart, not your bank account, baby.”

“Did you just call me baby?”

“No idea. But, seriously, do what you think you should.”

“That’s not what my heart always wants.”

“Well, that’s the rub, ain’t it?”

“Certainly is, sir. Are you still going?”

“Yep. $66 bucks in my checking account, and my car is packed and ready for 30 hours of driving, three hours of concert going, and maybe 6 hours of sleeping!”

“You are to be envied, sir.”

“By who?”

“More people than you think.”

I felt like Mr. Vanbuilderass for just one second. Looking into the distance while others talked about me. It felt good.

“Talk to ya later, chica.”

“You too sir. Be safe.”

Click.