CHAPTER ONE
“Are you ready to rock and roll!?”
Melanie’s voice boomed through the barn causing a group of pigeons to take flight from the dusty rafters. Moonglow raised her head back in annoyance and gave me the eye. As a flighty Arabian horse, she was never too impressed with Mel’s approach.
“I’m ready!” I hollered back and quickly finished brushing down Moonglow as she stood uneasily in the crossties, her weight shifting from one leg to the other.
In seconds, a boisterous Mel appeared beside me, a thin sheen of sweat on her dark brown forehead.
“How the hell could you even be riding in this weather?” she asked, words popping with energy. She was returning Moonglow’s wild-eyed look and I couldn’t help but snicker at their exchange. It was Mel versus horse and Mel usually won.
“I have to practice,” I reminded her, wiping the sweat from my face. I probably deposited a million white horse hairs in its place. Even though Mel was obviously bothered by the oppressive heat that swamped the Kittitas Valley in late July, she still looked insanely hip and bitchin’ (as she liked to say). Me, on the other hand, well let’s just say I looked like I belonged in a stable.
“I know you have to practice,” she said, tearing her eyes off my horse and ducking under the crossties, “but the concert starts in an hour and…you’re…”
She trailed off and gave me an unimpressed squint as she looked me up and down, deciding to finish her sentence by plucking a few strands of hay out of my unruly hair.
I snatched them out of her hand and flung them onto the concrete floor.
“I’m fine,” I told her quickly and gave Moonglow a few more quick brushes down her legs. I was going to put her away slightly sweaty which was never good, but Mel was right. I was a mess and I had a concert to cover. I’d always made a point of looking as natural and professional as possible at shows just so people wouldn’t think I was some groupie. Still, being covered in sweat and horse hair wasn’t a good look either, even for rock and roll.
“If you say so,” she said and crossed her arms. The movement pushed up her br**sts in her low-cut scarf top. Mel was totally tight with the whole groupie term. Then again, she wasn’t the one trying to make a career for herself in the music industry. She just loved rock—and its men—as much as I did and made one hell of a fine partner in crime for live shows.
I gave her a dismissive look and took Moonglow to her stall, locking her in just as a rumble of thunder shook the ground.
“It’s a bit early in the season for thunderstorms,” I noted as we made our way out of my father’s small barn. The air was ripe with electricity, and a mess of dark gray clouds loomed on the rolling horizon, spilling down the brown hills like dust bunnies.
She patted at her small afro. “As long as it doesn’t mess up my hair. Now aren’t you glad I got the car for tonight?”
I lived a bit outside of Ellensburg on a small cattle ranch, turned hay farm, turned waste of space, and a symbol of lost money. I never had a car and my dad crashed his truck into our neighbor’s fence earlier in the year, so it was either my three-speed bike, Moonglow, or my own two feet for getting around. Or Mel, when she managed to snatch her older brother’s car keys.
We called it the Dumpster. It was an ugly Gremlin, patched and peeling paint, and it constantly smelled like garbage. Its newest nickname was the Shaggin’ Wagon, based on the rotation of chicks her brother picked up in Seattle when he was there for school. Something about city chicks being easy. With Ryan, my ex, going there for college in the fall, the idea made me feel sick to my stomach.
Mel must have caught the look on my face as we crossed the narrow road of crumbling asphalt to the Gremlin, because her brows furrowed.
“Is Eric home?” she asked. Her voice always sounded small when she said his name.
I shook my head and looked back at the aging farmhouse, empty and terribly dark despite the evening light. It was Friday and my brother was finishing up summer school. He should have been home an hour ago, so I hoped he found some friends and was hanging out with them after class. As for my dad, he was out at the bar. At least I knew where he was.
Mel stopped and put her hands on my shoulders, peering up at me. I was tall for a girl, 5’9”, and she was a tiny little thing. I tried not to let many people boss me around, but she had a way about her. She leaned in close and peered into my eyes.
“Dawn, tell it to me straight. Are you okay? You don’t look okay.”
I gave her a quick smile. My lips tasted like sweat.
“I guess I’m just feeling overwhelmed,” I admitted.
She gave me a nod, reached into the open window of the Gremlin’s back seat, and pulled out a flask. She tossed it to me and I caught it with ease.
“Drink that,” she said. “Shut off your brain.”
I opened my mouth to protest but knew it would be useless. I tipped the flask back into my mouth and got a burst of warm whiskey as it poured into my throat. I swallowed it quickly and wiped my lips, trying not to cough.
“How about tonight you stop worrying about everything…and I do mean everything,” she said, emphasizing the last word, “and just enjoy the music for music. Don’t even take notes. Just be. I love you girl, but you’re trying too hard. It’s the f**king summer. You’re not even writing this piece for a paper, right? So take the time to live a little, you dig?”
I wanted to argue with Mel about needing to keep going, about buckling down and trying harder. Being a music journalist in Ellensburg, Washington, home of a big rodeo and miles of Timothy hay, was difficult. Being a female music journalist was almost impossible. But I knew complaining to Mel would do me no good. She was black and she had her own share of prejudices and obstacles to deal with, even in a field like nursing. Even in everyday life.
I smiled just as another roll of thunder crashed across the waving fields. Goosebumps prickled up my arms, despite the sweat and waning sunshine.
“I’ll try to have fun,” I joked. “So are we ready to go?”
She took a small sip of the flask then handed it back to me, nodding at it. “Almost.”
I sighed and took one more chug of the burning liquid. The baloney sandwich I made myself for dinner hadn’t protected me in the slightest and I was already feeling buzzed. I tossed the flask back into the car and gave Mel an expectant look.