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United is transforming the flying experience with Bluetooth connectivity, screens, power at every seat, and bigger overhead bins to help fit everyone's bag. And with their app, you can skip the bag check line, get live updates, and more. Change the way you fly. Book your next trip today at united.com. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. Rock is lit. You're listening to Rock is lit with Christy Halberg. Rock on, Christy. [MUSIC PLAYING] Rock is lit. [MUSIC PLAYING] Hey, there, lit listeners. Welcome to season four of Rock is Lit. The first podcast devoted to rock novels. And also the 2024 American Writing Awards podcast of the year in the categories of music and arts. Rock is lit is a proud member of the Pantheon Podcast Network. Hey, I'm John Stewart, and you're listening to the Pantheon Network. Rock is lit is hosted, executive produced, and edited by me, Christy Alexander Halberg, author of my own rock novel, Searching for Jimmy Page. Big shout out to this season's incredible team, social media intern kegeling clats, and our three production interns, Major Lagulin, Tyler Elcock, and The Air Lower. This season we're shaking things up with a fresh new format. Instead of our usual author interviews, we'll be rolling out a weekly reading series, giving you a deeper dive into the world of rock novels through curated readings and literary explorations. To keep up with all things Rock is Lit, follow me on Twitter, Instagram, and YouTube at Christy Halberg, and at Rock is Lit podcast on Instagram. For more info, head to ChristyAlexanderhalberg.com. Got a rock novel you'd like to see featured? Drop me a line at ChristyAlexanderhalberg@gmail.com. I'd love to hear from you. If you're enjoying the show, please subscribe, leave a comment, and give us a five-star rating on your favorite podcast platform. Wyatt, the Rock is Lit mascot, and I thank you for your support. Hi, I'm Karen Green, and this is Rock is Lit. (upbeat music) I'm gonna be reading from my debut novel Yellowbirds, a coming-of-age story about a group of young people who follow a fictional band from town to town. Yellowbirds is based on my own experience as a deadhead, following the Grateful Dead, and the trouble I got into and out of along the way. I saw my first dead show many, many years ago, just after my 16th birthday, and actually just saw my most recent dead show at the sphere in Vegas this summer. Music has always been a huge part of my life. Besides being a music and culture writer, I also worked as a writer for a Toronto-based record company for 11 years, and it felt really natural that when I sat down to actually write my first novel, it was also about music. Yellowbirds are the fans of a band called The Open Road, and like deadheads, yellowbirds are devoted to the music they seek out every night, and the community that is created along with it. Not to mention the party that is always happening somewhere around the show. I'm gonna start reading from an early section of the book, but I'll dive right into the action in Yellowbirds, where my protagonist Kate and the yellowbirds she's been traveling with have arrived back on the west coast for a new leg of Open Road tour. The van they're traveling in, Big Blue Bertha, is starting to feel very crowded, and Kate realizes she has totally shed her newbie status, and the shine is starting to wear a bit on this adventure. More often than not, they don't even get to see the shows anymore, and if that's not happening, what is even the point? But then one night in Eugene, Oregon, a guy named Horizon sits down beside Kate, and everything changes. After all, life on the road is about meeting new people and living in the moment, right? And as Kate will tell you, we're all on the same trip anyway. And when you're a yellowbird living life on the road, you got to do whatever it takes to make it to the next show. So here's a little bit of life on the road with the yellowbirds. Hope you enjoy the ride. [music playing] When we were back in Eugene again, for the second leg of the West Coast tour, I had been Kate for almost two months. There was a show going on the last of three nights at Otson Arena, but we didn't see it. We rarely ever got into the concerts anymore, even though that was supposed to be the point of what we were doing. Instead of seeing the show, we were hanging out in the field where the van was parked, with everybody else who was also there, but also not seeing the show. Party inside, a party outside. A few guys that everyone but me seemed to know had come by and were standing around with us, and before long, a joint was being communally smoked. On its second pass, I looked more closely at the boy I had transferred it to. He was spectacularly hot, and nothing like the boys I thought I was attracted to. He had short, wavy hair, the color of dry sand, and was more clean-cut than most of the guys on tour, certainly more clean-cut than any of the guys I had been spending time with. His jeans were loose on his hips, and when I handed him the joint, a quick little, well-practiced dance of our fingers, I saw his bicep flex under the sleeve of his T-shirt. A flicker of electricity seemed to move from his hand to mine, even though we hadn't actually touched. "Hi," I said, trying to pack as much sexy casualness as I could into one syllable. "And what's your name?" "Horizon, Horizon Evans." "Of course." He pulled long on the joint, passed it next to him. His cheekbones and jaw were insane, even if his name was ridiculous. He raised his eyebrows in question, exhaled smoke. "Kate," I said. "Kate," he said, "and something forgotten inside of me sparked a life. "Later, when he was on top of me, he said it again. "Kate, that's as pretty as you are. "Thank you," I whispered, and rose to meet his hips. "Are you like a full-time bird, Kate?" Horizon took a drag of his cigarette and passed it to me. "Well, I'm not hardcore, so where do you live?" In that van over there, dude, that's hardcore. He adjusted the blanket over us, but I wasn't cold, and I still had my dress on, so nothing was really showing. And anyway, we had just made out behind a van on the weedy ground in a stadium parking lot with people walking past us in the dark. Now was not the time to be modest. Obviously, that's not really my home, just while we're on tour, I guess. Okay, so where do you actually live? I don't really know anymore. Horizon Evans looked at me, and by the faint glow of the cigarette's tip, I realized again just how nice his face was. His eyes were hazel, almost topaz, wide set, and his cheeks were broad, though the structure was angular. His lips were full. I had already discovered how nice his body was. I sat up and passed the cigarette back. He pointed to my arm. What's that from? He meant the three-inch scar that ran from the back of my elbow partway to my shoulder, a fault line permanently drawn across my skin. I broke my arm in a car accident a little while ago, needed surgery, it's fine now. I tugged on the short sleeve of my dress, knowing it wouldn't cover the scar, and turned away from Horizon slightly, hoping not to invite any further discussion. For a second, neither of us talked, and I wondered if I had unintentionally ruined the moment. You could come with me if you want, Kate. I looked over at Horizon, and then at the van I'd been traveling in. That van was gross. I was tired of being in the cramped, uncomfortable space, tired of listening to Easy and Vivi have sex, of listening to Ju-Jube argue a skate about where his smokes went. I wouldn't miss any of it. Well, I would miss Ertha, but she would understand. I would still see her at the next show. They were my family out here, but Horizon was clean and cute and sexy as hell. I wanted to be his girl. That felt like enough. After the densely packed darkness of Easy's van, where we slept on makeshift beds and pallets of foam, closer together like disgusting sweaty castaways on a raft, or outside intense if we bothered to put them up at all, Horizon's sparse camper felt like a luxury condo. It was later that night, just the two of us, and being in his space with the pop-up top that let the air and the moonlight in felt like being in a lung expanded. Horizon turned on a lamp and I gazed around a small, but surprisingly open space. The cupboards that ran the length of one side of the camper were pear green painted rough wood, speckled with band insignias and bumper stickers that said things like, "I believe in world peace "and try love with a peace sign where the O's should be." The counters were butcher's block and had nothing on them, which made sense in a kitchen that was regularly rolling at 100 kilometers an hour down the highway. At the back of the van, under the pop-up top was a loft bed, big enough for two, piled with woolen blankets, sparing turquoise and coral, Navajo patterns, old quilts and embroidered pillows. Right under the bed was a deep bench like a lower bunk, laden with the kind of cushions you usually see on patio furniture and knitted afghan strapping over the cushions onto the floor. The floor itself was old linoleum, maybe once yellow, whose pattern had been scuffed away by 25 years of sneaker'd feet. The two small windows opposite the kitchen, flanking the camper door, were strung with canvas-dyed dark blue and spattered with gold paint, a thousand pinpoint stars. The camper was remarkably clean and uncluttered compared to Bertha or the house I grew up in, or really any place I had ever stayed, besides maybe a motel room. But it was also unlike any space I had ever been because it was a work of art. Every inch of the walls and ceiling space were painted. Blue, green, white and gold whirls and swirls, not frenetic hippy shit like tie-dye or something you get when you give your friends mushrooms and a can of spray paint. This was gorgeous, an ocean of colors, each spiral set deeper at the center and then expanding into a fine mist of watery spray. It was a topographical chart of a magical sea, but rather than making the camper feel like a boat adrift, it made the space feel calm, grounded, safe. Did you do this? I asked, head up, around, behind me, trying to take it all in. I did. It's amazing, you're an artist. Horizon gave a modest half-stroke while I traced the sea with my fingers. He liked it, he asked, are you kidding? It's gorgeous, I love it. Horizon stood behind me, putting his arms around me. He kissed my neck and I bent my head into him. Good, because maybe you'd like to stay here with me. Do you wanna do that? Turning in his arms, I nodded. We were all on the same trip, right? Heading to the same shows on the same roads. What difference did it make, which van I traveled in? And if it didn't make a difference, I may as well be in the clean, quiet one with the clean, quiet boy. Could Horizon be the partner in crime I was searching for, at least lead me to the place I was meant to be? I knew why I would want to be here with him, why he would want to be with me, was something that I didn't feel like puzzling over tonight. Horizon's face was calm, serene, smooth, golden. He kissed me and I let him lead me to the loft, a dock on the ocean where he crested me like a wave, rolling gently onto the shore. Do you need to go get your stuff? Horizon pulled on a new t-shirt from a stack, hidden in a drawer under the bench. Sunlight streamed through the open top of the camper and snuck in from around the edges of the curtain windows. In the bright of day, the camper was not as empty as I had first thought. Everything was merely stored carefully, safe from shifting movement while the camper was in motion. But Horizon was methodical. His stuff was not thrown how hazard like my things had been at home. We're cleaning up meant shoving books and pens and bottles of Advil into the nearest drawer, detritus I would forget about, lose, ignore. You're so neat, he buttoned up his jeans. God, those hip bones. I don't think I've ever met a guy that's so neat. What's wrong with you? That's just because most people are lazy and on tour, birds think that being a slob means you're more authentic. He was right, dirt seemed to be the point of pride on tour, representing hours on the highway weeks away from a real shower or a washing machine. I had spent the past few months trying to stay clean, but when home is a tent you assemble every night or a van you share with five other people, your shower becomes whatever restation sink or hose, you can stick your head under and your wardrobe consists of whatever you can carry in a backpack. Staying clean becomes for some a losing battle and for others an unnecessary distraction. Hardcore birds that stay on the road following the entire tour don't go back to their parents, suburban homes in between shows like the tourists, the Twinkies to shower and shave, and nothing makes you look more like a Twinkie than being scrubbed and clean. But I was the worst tourist of all, of course, because I was pretending I didn't have a choice, even though the house that was supposedly my actual home was more chaotic than any field dumping ground. Except Horizon was scrubbed and clean and seemed to live in a camper that was scrubbed and clean, and as far as I could tell had been on tour just as long as any of us birds. He certainly knew all the hardcore birds by name. He must be mainly West Coast, I thought, which was why I hadn't met him before, but Horizon was legit. He was amazing. I would enjoy getting to know more of what his deal was. "We've got to hit the road soon if we want to get a good spot on the beach in Cougar Rock. Let's go get your stuff out of Easy's van. "You're going to come with me?" I asked. "Of course," he said, casually, like we were a couple, which I guess we were. A hookup wouldn't be making plans with me, right? If this were just a hookup, he wouldn't care about how I was getting to the next show, or if I was getting to the next show at all, or where my things were, or about getting them so I could bring them back here where he was. And a hookup certainly wouldn't escort me back to my former dwelling in a disgusting van to get said things at the break of day. I had had enough hookups to know that was not how they worked. In the early morning light, the field after an open road show usually look like a cross between a summer camp and a refugee camp. Our V's, fans, cars, and tents are scattered everywhere, sometimes in strict and even lines, sometimes in random groupings, depending on whether the venue staff had attempted to be organized or not. Here in Eugene, it was clear the venue staff knew not to bother. We made our way down along makeshift meandering rows to the southwest corner of the field where Big Blue Bertha was parked. Last in, as usual. Beer cans ringed campfires smoldering in pits and portable stoves, blankets, sleeping bags, and folding chairs lay abandoned around the sites, and there were people everywhere. Sleeping on the ground, poking still feet out of the open hatchbacks of cars, reluctantly unzipping the doorways of tents, pissing in the alleyways created by vans, parked side by side. But even with the haphazard remains of last night's party strewn about, mourning in the field was peaceful and quiet. If you weren't suffering from any kind of brutal hangover, it was lovely, always my favorite time of day on tour. With easy screw, I always got up early, usually before anybody else, and extricated myself from the pack of bodies around me to get outside, get some air. In the early morning sun, I felt new and light, part of something special. Morning sister, morning brother, I would say in greeting to other early risers who passed by as I lit the camping stove to get a pot of coffee on. Today, I felt the joy of the field in the morning even more because I was not just by myself. I was one of those couples walking by the other early risers. After a second's hesitation, I reached for horizon's hand. I held it easily in my own. They fit well together. We walked past a guy strumming a guitar and singing quietly. It was beautiful, soft and gentle and welcoming like a lullaby, but a song for waking up instead of falling asleep. And I wondered why we didn't have more of those. It took us 15 minutes to walk to Easy's van, and by the time we got there, the sun over Eugene was warming up, though there was still time before the heat would begin to make tents and vans feel like ovens, the air dents and dank with bodies. Big Blue Bertha was standing with all doors of jar, airing out and its regular inhabitants were in various stages of undress around it. Juju was sitting on the van's running board in the sundress, braiding Phoebe's hair. She was so beautiful and for a beat, I felt scared that horizon would see her and realized that he had made a mistake asking me to stay with him. With dark wavy hair, gray green eyes and features that were glaringly imperfect, but somehow cohesive, I always considered myself more cute than pretty, but I was a mutt compared to vivi. Juju breaks her fingers through vivi's curls, then saw us approaching. Hey girl, she said, voice made hoarse by a night of smoking and laughing. Vivi opened one eye and distorted her perfect face to see who had arrived through the bright light. Morning sunshine, she said, then closed her eyes again. She didn't even acknowledge horizon, completely vanishing my worries of being abandoned. Oh Vivi, I thought this is why everybody loves you. I felt a pain. These people, especially Juju, drove me crazy and I suspected glancing at Juju stole from me, but they were my people for the last few months. Could I leave them? Yo, yo, yo Zion, what is up? Easy said, using the nickname I had heard a few times the night before. He came around the van and gave horizon a thumping one-armed hug. He was shirtless, wearing the shorts he slept in on the nights that he didn't just pass out in his sweaty clothes or in no clothes at all. He didn't bother to acknowledge me because I was not new and cool and easy often ignored me. Horizon was treated with a sort of deference and I guess that easy felt it up to his game to be around Horizon. I wondered if Horizon registered the slight towards me. The paying of affection I had felt for this crew just seconds before instantly dissolved. Easy, what's up? Keeping your operation classy, I see. Horizon nodded at the mess still strewn around the campfire. Proof of the major partying that had gone on long after we had left. Horizon's small cruelty would only endear him to easy, a bro joke worth being the butt of if it meant calling Horizon a friend. The social capital of hardcore birds was undiscussed, but not unnoticed on tour. I wasn't sure if I was more relieved to be with Horizon, so therefore protected by and by some measure of proxy equal to his weird social status or embarrassed that merely one night ago, my social alignment had been with easy in this messy campsite. A moment of shame burned in me for thinking of the people that had been my family for months that way, but I hadn't done anything I reminded myself. I didn't forsake anybody. Horizon picked me. Before I could involuntarily delve any further into the question of my allegiances, both new and possibly crumbling, I felt an arm drape heavily around my shoulders. Looked like you at a good night, Earther rumbled into my ear and gave me a big kiss on the cheek. I looked over to where Horizon was chatting with Easy and tried unsuccessfully not to blush. Earther's blonde hair was hanging wildly from her head, big and out of control, always looking like it was one sweaty night away from finally becoming a head full of dreads, but never quite succumbing. I respected her for that. The field didn't need one more white girl with dreads walking around. Nevertheless, I had never actually seen Earther brush her hair, so I had to believe that her look was one cultivated over years of scaring her hair into submission. Some sort of purgatory between the soft Cinderella locks they probably once were and the wild orgy of knots they could so easily become. She threw a tangled dress out of the way, push her glasses back up on her nose and we walked back behind the van together where she picked up a blanket from a jumble on the ground. I always made the coffee, but Earther was a den mom, forever trying to keep things decently hygienic in the van, even if that sometimes only meant sweeping it free of dried mud and airing out the blankets, flicking them in the soft wind to rid them of the dirt that gathered on them each night. Grass and fluff flew off the blanket as she waved it into the breeze, traveling altogether in a line like punctuation marks in a sentence before floating away. So she said, "Horizon, huh?" I guess, I said, "What do you know about him?" Earther turned, considering me intently for a second. Why would I care to know what she thought about someone I was about to discard, someone who was just gonna be a field hookup? Was she deciding what she should tell me? For a second, my heart dropped. I trusted Earther and she'd always been protected of me like a big sister. Of course I was protective of her too, not that Earther ever seemed to need protecting. He's cool, she said, and went back to flicking blankets. "Okay, good, 'cause I think I'm gonna go to Olympia with him." Be careful, Kate, Herizon said a rough time. Her words surprised me. Maybe it wasn't me that Earther was being protective of. Rough time, how? What am I missing, Earther? Earther put down the blanket and rolled up a Scooby-Doo sleeping bag that belonged to Skate. If Skate wasn't in it this early in the morning, he had no doubt found some other sleeping bag to spend the night in. Earther turned to me, still holding Scooby-Doo. Herizon was with this girl, Larissa, for ages, like before tour even. They're both from Vancouver. I kinda knew their friend group there. Maybe they even went to high school together, I'm not sure. Anyway, they hit East Coast Tour a few years ago and got sucked up into some hardcore shit, dealing, but not just weed, E, Coke, and then I heard it was heroin. You didn't know them on the East Coast? Larissa is fucking gorgeous. They were like the golden couple. I thought everybody knew them. Fantastic. A beautiful junkie with a beautiful junkie ex-girlfriend. What the fuck? I can handle it, I thought, and tried not to laugh out loud. I walked over to help Earther fold up the rest of the blankets while she told me what she knew of Herizon's story. Apparently, things got really sketchy once tour ended, and Herizon and Larissa were squatting somewhere in Boston, just wrecked and hopeless. Somehow, Larissa's family tracked them down and took her back to Vancouver, but Herizon got busted. Maybe Larissa's parents even called the cops on him. Earther was unsure of details, but Herizon was able to go to rehab instead of jail, and after that, he went back to BC to finish college. But that didn't work out either, for some reason. So here he was, back on open road tour, apparently without a girlfriend or a drug problem. Seems a bit weird, don't you think, Earther asked me? What's weird, I asked back. Going back on tour where all of his problems started, it's not like this is a chaste and clean place. I thought of our night last night. It had most decidedly not been either chaste or clean. But this had all gone down a few years ago. People got over stuff like that, and Herizon seemed seriously in control of his situation. I think he's okay now, I said to Earther. I could handle this. I'm sure he is, though I hear his ex goes to school in Olympia now, my heart sank. I could handle this. That's all you've got? Herizon pointed at my bag, a Patrick Satchel that I slung across my body. That's all I can find, I said, and glanced at Jujube. She was actually wearing a pair of my jeans under her sundress, but she had taken them out of my bag so many months ago without asking or acknowledging that they were now more hers than mine. Jujube was a habitual thief without self-control or shame. Sometimes she would deny taking things. Other times, like with the jeans, she would just shrug when confronted. Like, oh well, I guess I have them now. I didn't even know what I was missing anymore. It's all right, I assured him. I didn't really start out with a lot more than this anyway. I don't need much. Everybody from Bertha had gathered to see me off. Jujube gave me a perfunctory hug more because she was not a hugger than out of any malice between us. I didn't trust her, but I liked her. Vivi hugged me close and long and rubbed both my arms and quoted a song from the road. "Be well, my sweet one. "May we meet when we're both done." I laughed and kissed her cheek. That line was often quoted by birds, but more for a dead friend than a traveling one. Oh, Vivi, next came easy, who wrapped his long, lanky arms around me. "See you in Olympia, Katie Cat, be good." You too, ease, I said. He hugged me tighter, and I felt my affection for him bubble back to the surface. He nodded to her eyes and, "Good luck with her." Easy, I cried, "Are you gonna miss me?" Nah, he said, "You can still make me coffee "when we get to Olympia." Eartha was next, bearing me in her substantial bosom and squeezing tight. "You be careful, and if we don't see you on the highway, "come find me in the field as soon as you get to Olympia." I nodded. Eartha meant when they got to Olympia, which would probably be an entire day after we did. Easy like to ring the last drop out of every party, never hitting the highway until venue security finally told him and the other stragglers, it was time to roll out. Horizon was obviously not somebody who cared to Delhi when there were places to go. I was excited to travel with someone who had a plan. I bet we wouldn't ever run out of gas or gas money either. Seriously though, said Eartha, leading me by the hand slightly away from the group. If anything starts to seem sketchy, you're coming back to us. I know he's a great guy, and he seems to have his shit together. But if things don't work out for you the way you want them to in Olympia, don't you dare space on us. I nodded, but I was a bit annoyed. I didn't really want to be reminded of a possible ex-girlfriend situation again, and besides, I had no clue if I really even wanted to stay with Horizon. It just felt like the right move right now. Be smart girl, I love you. Eartha squeezed me hard again. I know Eartha, love you too. Me and Horizon were just about to leave when I heard the unmistakable sound of skate riding back towards the van. He flipped the board up into his hand and looked around at the gathering. I pulled him into a hug. Hey, I said, you're just in time to say goodbye. What's up, Katie? Where are you going? Hey man, he nodded to Horizon. I'm gonna head to Olympia with Horizon, so you'll have room to bring a new girl into the van every night. I tousled, Skate's already very tousled hair. Are you serious? He stepped back for me, a look of concern on his face. I'd never really seen before. It was disconcerting. Yes, Skate, I'm going to Olympia with Horizon. No biggie, what's wrong? Skate squinted at Horizon, then back at me. He shook his head. Nah, nothing man, it's cool. Don't worry, I'll come bug you in Olympia. See you soon. Skate hugged me again, then kissed me on the lips. It was a bit longer than just a goodbye kiss between friends, and I blushed just a bit wondering what Horizon might be thinking. Had that been Skate's intention? But if anything did pass through Horizon's mind about me and Skate, it didn't seem to show, or rather I admitted, I didn't know him well enough to know if it did. Ready Freddy? Horizon smiled at me and put the camper in gear. It felt strange being upfront next to him in the girlfriend's seat. In Easy's van, that was always VV unless she was sleeping, and then it was Skate. The only time I ever sat in the front seat was when Easy asked me to roll him up a cigarette. But here, with Horizon, everything was different. The whole thing felt a bit like an absurd scene in a movie. Horizon at the wheel, me and the passenger seat, trying like hell to find a natural, non-selfconscious way to look relaxed, and like I belong there. The entire cab and the camper space behind kind of glowing from the sun and the paint and the joy. It was such a random, unthinkable place for me to end up, but it wasn't difficult to banish any second thoughts. It's karma that I ended up here, I thought, and then laughed, because even though I had dealt with some unconventional situations in my life, I didn't think anybody was saintly enough to deserve this. What's so funny, asked my driver, smiling with me. I just, I'm happy to be here, I said. I'm happy you're here too. Horizon turned the wide steering wheel and revolutions that brought us out of the field and onto the road that led to the interstate. I was holding the map book that he had taken out of the glove compartment in my lap. Girlfriend's seat, co-pilot, partner. But this made me think of Skate again, sitting in the front seat in Easy's van. I found my sunglasses in my Patrick Satchel and put them on. They were cheap with white plastic frames and large dark round lenses, I loved them. You look like Sunny and Sharon, those horizon said, but you know, way cuter. Well, thank you, I said in a deep melodic voice imitating the 70s icon. So, hey, I asked, how do you know Skate? From tour, Horizon said, he's coast. My heart sank. Skate knew Horizon from back then. He must have known Larissa too, and all about what had happened. Were you guys friends? Not exactly, but we had some friends in common. You know how it is. We weren't really into the same thing. No, because Skate had never been a junkie. The thought came to me before I could stop it. I didn't really wanna know the story right now. I decided not so soon. I didn't want the crazy glow to fade yet to discover that I had made a mistake in being here and trusting him enough to go along with him. And I certainly didn't wanna flirt with the possibility that he felt like he had made a similar mistake. We had been driving northeast from Eugene for nearly two hours on route to Cougar Rock, where we would camp for a few days before the shows in Olympia. Going to Cougar Rock with its pretty beach and nearby Hot Springs was a good plan, better than just hanging out in Olympia watching the freaks roll in. It would give us a few days of just the two of us to get to know each other. There was no way we'd be alone on the beach. This was the same route all the other birds were taking to get to Olympia, and no doubt some others would have the same detour idea we did, but we had no plans to meet up with anybody, so the trip felt deliciously private. You hungry, my girl? My heart flipped, his girl. Could this guy make me fall for him any harder, any faster? I almost laughed with the ridiculousness of it. I am, how about you? Totally, starving. Let's hit the bennies, bennies, tour food. The 24-hour diners were fluorescent lip beacons of consistency in the always-changing landscape and relative uncertainty of the road and incredibly popular with yellowbirds, or anybody on a long trip, really. The food was cheap, plentiful, and familiar, and the restaurants were just dingy enough that nobody judged the ratty throngs of kids ordering stacks of comforting pancakes. Not that horizon was ratty, at all. And I was glad that I had never succumbed to the pull of total hygiene inertia, managing to stay clean and preferring to wear cute little handmade dresses I bought in the field, or jeans with tank tops, rather than a raggedy costume of some of my compatriots, like Ju-Ju, but unless she was in my stolen clothes. We snaked past several small groups of birds standing around in the bennies' front vestibule. They were waiting to be seated or waiting for a friend to get out of the bathroom or waiting for a coffee to go. I smiled warmly or said, "Hey," to just about everybody. Some were familiar, all who seemed familiar. That's how it was on tour. Seeing the other birds up and down the highway no matter where you stopped was one of my favorite things. We were yellowbirds, a pack, a herd, a flock. I slid past some ragamuffins to follow the host to our table. There were people from tour lining both sides of the entryway to the dining room, a jam, a jam of yellowbirds. "If we were flamingos, "our collective noun would be called flamboyance," I said to Horizon. "Ha," he answered, "some of us certainly are." "We were seated at a round booth big enough for eight, "and though I could have spent days wondering "exactly where I should sit in relation "to where Horizon may or may not end up perched, "he simply followed me right into the depths "of the deep final bench, "until I scooch to a stop, smack dab in the center, "and there he was, right next to me." A bespectacled waitress who looked like she had walked straight out of a Gary Larson cartoon stepped up to the table. "Coffee," she asked. "Yes, please," I answered for both of us, "and skim the menu. "Under the table, Horizon took my hand, "casual as can be. "I need to just learn to fucking relax." I willed myself not to think about literally every single move my body was making and accept that what we were doing was real, that we belonged here together. Fake it 'til you make it and all that, my mother liked to say, which is not actually reassuring advice at all. So you're a Benny's guy, huh? I asked Horizon sipping the coffee that had just been set down before us. My parents stopped at Bob Evans when we were on road trips when I was a kid, Horizon said. They joked that we were related and would be getting our inheritance any day now. Turns out I'm a Benny man myself. They have cuter waitresses. I laughed, and our blue haired server turned back to take a quick look at us, a little disapprovingly. Horizon winked at her. You take your coffee black, Horizon nodded at my chip mug. Yeah, I said, "You just never know "if you're gonna have cream and sugar around." So it's smarter just to learn to like it as is. That is very pragmatic and just a little sad, Horizon said, "As he poured cream from the plastic cup "into his own mug, also chipped." I don't think I wanna live in a world where I have to take my coffee black out of desperation. There's usually a gas station or you know a store to be found. And also, Horizon picked up a few of the remaining half dozen accordioned plastic cream containers and held them towards me like an offering. As long as we stop at a Benny's every now and then, we'll always have cream for our coffee. He tipped his hand over my bag and the containers fell in. Very pragmatic and illegal, I said to him. Illegal, no way. These are to go creamers. They build it into the price of the food. The waitress came back and we ordered while we she refilled our coffee mugs. Excuse me, Horizon said to her. Can we please have some more cream? I stifled a laugh worried I was gonna do a spit take of hot coffee all over the table. And when I looked over at Horizon, his eyes were goddamn sparkling in the dusty light of the Benny's dining room. ♪ ♪ ♪ Trucking, got my tip stainless steel. Keep trucking, like the dude I'm in together. Oh, that's in line. Just keep trucking all the more. ♪ ♪ Thanks for tuning in, Lit listeners. If you enjoyed the show, please subscribe and leave a rating and comment on Good Pods and Apple Podcasts. Links in the show notes. Wyatt, the Rock Is Lit mascot and I really appreciate your support. Until next time, keep rockin' and readin' and gettin' lit. Rock is lit. ♪ ♪ (upbeat music)
In this installment of the Rock is Lit Season 4 Reading Series, Karen Green discusses and reads an excerpt from her novel, ‘Yellow Birds’.
‘Yellow Birds’ synopsis: Set in a time just before the digital revolution, Kait is a young woman searching for identity and community. A group of outcasts called the Yellow Birds take her town to town on what they refer to as the Open Road Tour. One night, when Kait is feeling kinship with this group of Birds, a man sits beside her who alters her fragile plans for the foreseeable future. Filled with sex, drugs, music, and cults, readers won’t be able to get enough of the groupie lifestyle entangled within a bohemian love story.
Karen Green is a writer and editor in southwestern Ontario. Her essays, poetry, and fiction pieces have appeared in The Globe and Mail, CBC, Today’s Parent, Room Magazine, Harlequin, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Bustle, and The Rumpus. She is also the author of two young readers books and is the lyricist for several children’s pop songs.
MUSIC IN THE EPISODE IN ORDER OF APPEARANCE:
Rock is Lit theme music
[Guitar Instrumental Beat] Sad Rock [Free Use Music] Punch Deck—“I Can’t Stop”
The Grateful Dead “Shakedown Street”
The Grateful Dead “Box of Rain”
The Grateful Dead “Truckin’ ”
[Guitar Instrumental Beat] Sad Rock [Free Use Music] Punch Deck—“I Can’t Stop”
Rock is Lit theme music
LINKS:
Leave a rating and comment for Rock is Lit on Goodpods: https://goodpods.com/podcasts/rock-is-lit-212451
Leave a rating and comment for Rock is Lit on Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/rock-is-lit/id1642987350
Karen Green on Instagram: @karengreen_author
Karen Green on Twitter: @karengreeners
Christy Alexander Hallberg’s website: https://www.christyalexanderhallberg.com/rockislit
Christy Alexander Hallberg on Instagram, Twitter, YouTube: @ChristyHallberg
Rock is Lit on Instagram: @rockislitpodcast
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