Page 23 of Reckless

She’s stunning.

I should delete it.

“Come on, if we want to make the campsite by nine, we need to get back on the road!”

With a nod, I jog back across to the RV.

“When can I drive?” I ask.

Krista laughs in response. I wait, but she doesn’t answer. Great. As she walks up the steps, I watch her ass, slap myself, then follow.

“You’ll need lessons before I let you loose on the highway.”

“I’m game,” I say as I grab us a couple of cans of soda.

In the cupboard by the fridge, I take out a bag of potato chips and pretzels we bought earlier, then sit down in the passenger seat, setting it all out on the handy fold away table. This place has more sneaky cupboards and hidden surfaces than I can fathom.

It’s surprising how at home I feel here.

“Maybe in a couple of days. If we can find an empty parking lot somewhere.”

Kicking off my sneakers, I put my feet up on the dash. I got told off for doing it with my shoes the first time. She doesn’t seem to mind my socks. I pick at the food and drink my soda while she focuses on the road.

The highway is quieter, though there is a steady stream of cars and trucks going in both directions. I watch the lights for a while, sipping on my drink. The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but I’m used to noise. This will be a big change. I should put on some music.

“What’s your favorite song?”

I stir from my thoughts. “That’s like asking a parent who their favorite kid is,” I say.

“Come on, don’t think about it, just say it. Everyone has a favorite song.”

“You can’t ask a musician that, Krista. It’s impossible to answer.”

“It’s in there. Come on, reach inside,” she laughs. “Okay, how about a favorite album instead of a song? That must be easier.”

“Vs, by Pearl Jam,” I say with no hesitation, surprising myself. It did just pop into my head. "Dissident is the best song on the album."

“I haven’t heard that one.”

“You should, it’s amazing. I spent a lot of time in my room listening to it when I was a teenager. It was their second album, rawer than their first, which was amazing too, but Vs was killer.”

“Find it and put it on. We’ll be at the stopover in about a half hour.”

I haven’t thought about that album in years. Dad introduced me to Pearl Jam. He’d been a big fan since their first album in the early nineties. It played a massive part in who I was growing up. Dad and I used to listen to them together while we worked on cars in his garage.

Fuck, it’s been an age since I thought back on those times. It’s also been a while since I spoke to dad. I have a sudden urge to call him. My parents have been in touch through this whole mess, wanting to make sure I’m okay, but it’s always rushed. No meaningful conversations. I can’t even remember if I asked them how they were.

I find the album and we listen to it the rest of the way to the stop for the night. Krista doesn’t ask any more questions, just listens to the music. After a while, I settle back in the chair and tip my head onto the headrest, closing my eyes. All the emotions and feelings I used to have when I listened as a kid come flooding back.

Back then, I was a dreamer, a determined one. I knew what I wanted, and that was to be like these guys, to be a musician. To make a mark on the world with the music people feel rather than just listen to. We achieved that, growing a fanbase early on.

The bigger we got, the more strangled I felt. The label wanted us to conform to their standards over what music we should put out. No one tells you when you sign a contract, the label will get a chokehold on you. Slowly, changes slip in. We were so happy to be making music we didn’t see it back then.

When a more mainstream song of ours hit and people other than our diehard fans discovered us, shit went stratospheric.

“Jude.”

My eyes open to Krista standing behind the chair. I must have drifted off because we’re parked up near several other RVs. There is a path lit up by a few streetlights with low wattage bulbs.

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