Page 70 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

Yeah... that last 0.3 percent is a real asshole.

But I feel like this weekend is the turning point, the now or never, the point of no return. She asked me to drive her up to a festival her band is playing in San Luis Obispo. She assumed I was going already because Ryan Love and the Valentines are playing, and I didn’t correct her. I immediately informed Mom I’d have to skip the family barbecue and took the resulting guilt trip likea champ. I don’t know why Delilah couldn’t have hopped in her band’s van... or tagged along with Ryan for that matter. But I didn’t want to know. Four hours alone in a car with her, driving up the coast—that felt like a gift from the universe, an offering from whatever holiday mascot is in charge of Labor Day. A tree? No, that’s Arbor Day... I don’t know.

Anyway, I’m going to kiss Delilah this weekend.

I mean, I’m going to try. If she’s clearly, obviously, 100 percent into it. If all the signs are there that I won’t get swerved again and therefore crumble into a pile of dust on the ground forevermore. I’m going to do it then. For real this time.

Delilah

I’ve decided I’m going to quit the band this weekend.

Even if it means I’ll be bandless, even if I have to take a break from performing for a bit. At least I’ll have stood up for myself. I’ll have shown the guys—and myself—that I know my worth.

I thought I could make it work after Charlie’s brutal rejection on the Fourth of July. He didn’t say anything else about the song I played for him. In his eyes, the matter was resolved, so I could have easily just pretended like it never happened, too. Asher and Beau sure did. They may have been supportive at first, but once Charlie moved on, they followed his lead, which to me was just as devastating. And once I knew those feelings were there, once I knew where I really stood—it’s like that was lurking under every interaction, every annoyance that I was able to brush off before.

There’s how they handle all the band business without me—setting up more studio time with Neil at Brass Knuckle, committing to this festival in SLO that is admittedly a big deal but still reallyfar away. No one asked for my input, just assumed I’d be down for whatever. There are also just the little things, like how I rarely even get passed the fucking aux cable in the car. As if I have nothing to contribute, no opinions about what we should listen to on the way to our shows.

And yet I’m front and center on all our social media. From the sheer number of solo shots on our Instagram, you’d think this was my band, my music. But it’s all about the image, how I set them apart from different bands... because I’m Black. It’s so clear to me now that Charlie wants the benefits of that without giving me any actual power. I went along with it for so long. Too long.

It’s crazy how quickly things changed, how I started seeing him as irreversibly different, like the shifting portraits in the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland. What seemed so cool and confident before now reads as pretentious, try-hard... fake. I felt like I was faking it trying to fit in with him, with them—but what I was aspiring to wasn’t even real in the first place.

I walk down the path from our apartment complex and spot Reggie’s bright blue clunker of a car waiting for me at the curb. I didn’t need a ride. I could have gone with the guys, toughed it out in Asher’s mom’s minivan one last time. But when I brought it up, Reggie agreed so readily, and I chose not to think too much about if he was really already driving four hours—five to six with traffic—to one of Ryan’s shows.

I open the door and slide into Reggie’s car. It smells like laundry detergent and cocoa butter, the scent I know so well now. Reggie beams at me and pumps his fist. “Road trip!”

I feel like a plug has been pulled up, and all the worry and tension is draining out of me, just the good stuff left behind.

I’m going to quit the band. After the show, after maybe mylastshow. But not yet. First I get to be right here with Reggie, enjoying this.

Reggie

“Okay, first essential element of a successful road trip: music.”

Delilah was biting her lip and her eyes looked stormy as she walked out the gate, but I swear as soon as she saw my car, her whole face lit up. I want to keep that smile there.

“The good news: Bessie here”—I tap the dash— “is so old that her cassette player is now vintage and cassettes are a thing musicians make again. The bad news: Bessie’s cassette player ate my Anderson. Paak cassette tape last week, so now that’s all she plays. And if I have to listen to that album one more time I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“I thought you were supposed to end with the good news?”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I click my tongue, searching for one. “Okay, here’s some more good news: This means you get to play radio DJ. All those stations, just waiting for you to discover them. Who knows what you’ll find! It’s... uh, very exciting.”

“You’re really selling that,” she says, but I see that her smilegets even bigger, creating sunbursts on the sides of her eyes. She turns the dial on the stereo as I pull out onto the street, and soon “Lovely Day” is playing from Bessie’s speakers.

“Bill Withers!” Delilah giggles, turning it up.

I snap and shake my finger at her. “Bill Withers.”

“Okay, and what’s the next essential element of a successful road trip?” she asks. “You got a number two?”

“I do, in fact,” I say, right as we pull into the 7-Eleven parking lot. “Snacks!”

Ten minutes later, our arms are loaded up with Slurpees and chips and candy, even though it’s only late morning and these are definitely not typical breakfast fare.

“So, Twizzlers? Really?” I say as I turn the key in the ignition. Except, instead of roaring to life, it starts making this very troubling clicking noise. I look at Delilah, and her eyes are wide and worried, probably a mirror image to mine.

C’mon, don’t embarrass me, Bessie.

As if she can hear my pleas, Bessie does this weird gurgle thing, followed by a whine and then a deep rumble, like she’s a pack-a-day smoker having a cough attack. But she’s moving and that’s all that matters.

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