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Pushing open the rusty metal door, I’m met with more sticky, heavy humidity.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, draining the last of my tequila and pulling an already soaked neck towel from my back pocket to run across my forehead and push away the locks of hair that have decided to cling for their lives against my face.
The door slams to a close behind me, cutting off the murmured noise of the crowd and leaving me in peace, the parking lot basically deserted back here besides a few guys having a smoke break. They lift a hand toward me, and I return the wave before walking over to the second bus in line, only knowing it’s ours by the tiny white square in the door window.
To not make it too obvious to an outsider, each of the buses have a little colored patch in the lower left corner of the bus window to designate whose bus is whose. Ours is white, Boone’s is red, and the crew’s is yellow. No rhyme or reason from what I understand, but I like the understated approach. A good additional security measure.
The bus is quiet as I step on, no lights on except for the ones that run along the floor, illuminating the narrow walkway. I make my way to my bunk, grabbing the pair of gray sweatpants I stashed there before the show, and head toward the bathroom.
I strip off my sweat-soaked clothes and add them to a laundry bag to be sent out to wash at our next hotel stop, and have a quick shower. By the time I’m out and scrounging around the kitchen for a late night snack, my fingers are still restless from the buzz of the show, and even though I’m physically exhausted, I know sleep is far from me yet. So I find a bag of chips, onion dip, and crack open a beer before heading to the back room of the bus to play some video games before everyone else is back and ready to head out.
As I reach to my left to flip on the light switch, I’m startled and almost drop my loot.
“Shit,” I say, taking a step back as Scar shoots up to a sitting position, just as surprised as me. “Sorry, didn’t know anyone else was in here.”
Her dark hair is damp like mine, fresh off a shower, although the ends are beginning to dry and slightly curl. She’s dressed in an oversized black hoodie and short black shorts.
Scar’s face is clean of any traces of makeup. A rosy blush spreads across both cheeks, stark against her otherwise naked complexion.
She removes her headphones, which explains why she didn’t hear me earlier. But it doesn’t explain what she was doing lying back here in the dark…
I ask her just that, and she diverts her eyes, almost as if she’s embarrassed.
“The space is yours,” she says, scooting off the couch and standing to walk past me, but I keep the doorway blocked with my body.
“You don’t have to scurry off,” I say, leaning against the frame, watching her shift from foot to foot, sizing me up.
Maybe scurry was the wrong word, because she’s not some frightened little bird that I need to step carefully around so as to not spook it. No, she’s more like a cat standing in front of me, sizing me up just as much as I am her, watching for an opening to excuse herself from any social interaction.
I’ve gathered that she doesn’t seem one for small talk, but we’re going to be on this bus together for a long time, and the least we can do is get to know each other a little bit.
“Want to watch a movie?” I propose, moving further into the room, leaving the door open, free for her to leave if she wants, but hoping the promise of social time without much talking will have her stay. I set my snacks and drink down on the armrest that sits between two of the sections of the couch, flopping down into the soft leather and letting out a sigh I didn’t know needed release.
Scar watches me, her gaze sharp, trying to read me to find out if there’s some deeper meaning to me offering to watch a movie with her. I don’t look away, matching her stare with my own, honest and open. She must like what she sees, or at least be satisfied with it, because she sits back down on the other side of the couch where she was previously lying and reaches for a handful of my chips.
I smile in silent victory, and she frowns, settling back and popping a chip in her mouth. My eyes follow the way she licks the salt from her lips.
“You want a beer?” I ask and then cringe; the conversation with Boone popping up in my head.
“I don’t drink,” Scar answers before I can amend my question.
“I’m sorry, I knew that. Just always used to offering one, I guess.”
Scar’s eyes narrow. “How did you know that?”
Clearing my throat with a sip of beer, I tell her about my conversation with Boone, downplaying the way he asked me to keep an eye on her. She doesn’t seem like she’d appreciate someone watching her like that.
“He seems to really care about you and just wanted to make sure that we were keeping ourselves in check on the bus and don’t unknowingly offer you something, like I just did.”
She seems to settle a bit at my answer, but there’s still something off about her expression, and I don’t know how to place it. She’s quiet for a few moments and just as I don’t think she’s about to say anything further, she says, “I’ve been sober for almost two years now.” Her face glows with pride as she says it.
“That’s amazing,” I tell her and hope she can hear the sincerity with which I say it.
I wait for her to elaborate more, and I’ll admit I’m curious about her story and what led her to her sobriety, but she doesn’t add anything else.
“I can go throw this out—” I start to rise off the couch but she grabs my arm to stop me, her skin burning into my own from where she touches me.
“No,” she tells me. “You don’t have to do that. Trust me, I’m good.”
