Page 69 of The Girl with No Name

“Are you…tripping right now?”

“Yes. But I’m not lying.”

I guide her through the crowd, and when we get back to the bathroom line where I was standing, the bottom drops out of my heart.

They’re not here.

“They were right here! I swear.” I drop Luna’s hand, and she gives me a confused look.

Did I hallucinate all of that?

Then a sweet female voice calls out behind me. “Hey, Reed!”

We whip around and see Henry and Violet.

“Violet.”

“Come on! We have to hurry. You better not be some lame karaoke singer.” She smiles.

“He’s not. Hi, by the way,” Luna says.

“Wow. You’re gorgeous.” Vi turns to me. “This is your girlfriend?”

I open my mouth to explain that no, she’s not, but Henry talks over me. “C’mon y’all. Time’s a wasting.”

We hastily follow them to their trailer, and Vi opens the door. Inside is her Johnny Blue guitar.

Vi hands it to me. “Let’s hear it.”

I take it from her, though I’m almost afraid to touch it, and turn to lock eyes with the girl whose name I still don’t know. She gives me a nod. She’s ready.

Quite honestly, at this point I’ve started to wonder if this entire weekend is some kind of fever dream. But dream or not, I take a deep breath and play the infamous riff that opens their song.

15

REED

“WE DON’T NEED TENNESSEE WHISKEY” – THE RED LEMONS

Every time Violet Benson gets on stage, she plays Johnny’s old, faded blue acoustic guitar, known affectionately as Johnny Blue.

Now, I feel honored, and a little shocked, holding JB in my hands and play their song. Luna sings right along with me, providing lovely harmony during the chorus, just like Violet does in the Red Lemons’ version.

When we’re done, Violet actually wipes a tear away. “That was…really good,” she says.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“Sorry,” she says, clearing her throat. “Just need a moment.” She runs to the bathroom in her trailer—which has me wondering why she was using the other bathroom when I met her.

Fate?

“Bro.” Henry nods. “That was about ten times better than I was expecting. You play back at home?”

“Yes, he does,” Luna interjects when I hesitate. “He writes, too.”

“No shit? Well, we’ll have to chat after the show. You have Insta? Five minutes, Vi!”

“Okay!” she calls.

---