going mobile

by Leah Mueller

I scored admission to the St Paul date of the 1982 Who tour through a combination of tenacity and luck. Tickets cost twenty bucks apiece, and I only had eighteen. My best friend Ezra, a huge fan, was flat broke and lived on my couch in Madison. He never offered much monetary help, but he was good in bed.

On weekday afternoons, Ezra and I had the house to ourselves. Our roommates were either working, attending school, or sleeping off their hangovers. The two of us reclined on the floor and blasted albums through my kickass stereo speakers. Ezra’s eyes glazed over whenever he heard “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”

“That’s rock and roll,” he always said.

Four days before the Saturday night show, Ezra acquired two free tickets. “A guy said he wasn’t going after all.” A miracle had taken place. “He didn’t want these. Can you imagine?”

We’d scored our entries to the inner sanctum but still needed to catch a ride to Minneapolis. Neither of us owned a car. Ezra had never bothered to obtain a driver’s license. Mine had expired like a half-opened can of beer.

“We should check the ride board at the student union,” I said. “Someone must be driving up for the concert. It’s only 300 miles.”

For the next 48 hours, Ezra and I hovered beside the ride board, taking breaks only to eat and sleep. I perused the attached slips of notebook paper, searching in vain for transportation. People seemed to be going everywhere except Minneapolis. Most of them were headed east.

“Why the fuck is everyone driving to New York City?” I snarled. “That doesn’t help us a bit.”

Two mornings before the show, I stood in my usual spot beside the ride board, rubbing my eyes. There, thumbtacked to the pockmarked surface, was a passenger request. “Offering transport to Minneapolis, early Saturday morning. Space for three riders. Call Joe.”

“Oh my GOD!” Ezra screamed. “We’d better get to a phone booth before it’s too late!”

I fumbled in my purse for a dime. “There’s one over there,” I said, pointing towards a wall on the other side of the room.

Trembling, I fed my coin into the metal slot. The receiver emitted five rings, each more interminable than the last. Ezra fidgeted and stared into space. He looked like he was about to burst out of his clothing.

Joe picked up on the sixth ring. “Sorry, didn’t hear the phone.” His voice sounded affable, though he was out of breath. “Yeah, I’ve still got room. Two riders? No problem.”

After I hung up, Ezra sprang into the air like a jackrabbit. He pumped his fist and grinned. “We are so lucky. I had almost abandoned hope. I tell you, the two of us are like, a magical combination.”

I spent the next two days in a euphoric haze. Joe only wanted ten bucks for gas money, and he’d promised to take us back to Madison on Sunday night. That left me with eight bucks, plus some change I’d stashed in a corner of my dresser. I wouldn’t need to eat much, anyway.

On Saturday morning, Joe parked in front of my hovel and tapped his horn. The October sun had just risen, illuminating neighbors’ rooftops. I wasn’t normally an early riser, and excitement had rendered me sleepless. Perhaps I could catch a nap in the car, but I was inclined to doubt it.

Ezra rose from the couch and threw his tattered daypack over one shoulder. “Ready to go mobile? We only have twelve hours until the show. Chuck’s gonna meet us there. He’s hitchhiking from Michigan.”

Ezra’s older brother alternated between being a Zen monk and a drunken criminal. During nice weather, he camped in the Upper Peninsula, often going for weeks without a shower. He usually returned to Madison in time to score a dishwashing job at one of the student restaurants. Chuck liked to live simply, a lifestyle he supported by stealing everything in sight.

“Great,” I said, without enthusiasm. “How are we going to find him? Saint Paul is a big place. And where are the three of us going to sleep?”

Ezra scoffed. “We won’t need sleep. But since you asked, our sister Darlene lives nearby, in Minneapolis. We can crash at her place. Chuck will meet us in front of the venue, a couple of hours beforehand. Don’t worry, everything’s handled.”

We clambered into Joe’s car and tossed our gear on the floor. Joe turned around to shake our hands. Young and buff, he sported an open-necked shirt, creased khakis, and a short blonde buzz cut. Perhaps he was an economics major, or had already devoted himself to a similar, practical discipline. Either way, he’d secured his future in corporate America.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said. “It’s a beautiful morning.”

Ezra and I settled into our cushioned seats and stared out the window. Joe’s vehicle glided through the streets of Madison. We passed a series of dilapidated student dwellings and entered the freeway. Trees floated past, adorned with brilliant autumnal foliage. I stared at explosive flashes of orange, red, and yellow. Wisconsin was always beautiful, but it looked its best in October.

Joe emitted a long sigh. “Such gorgeous colors. They remind me of a bowl of Fruity Pebbles.”

Ezra laughed. “You know, they really do.”

I didn’t think much of Joe’s metaphor, but my opinion never seemed to matter. The rest of the trip passed in a haze. I felt as though Ezra and I were passengers in a long canoe, helmed by an expert guide. When we reached St Paul, Joe pulled into a side street and cut the engine. “I need to head into Minneapolis.” His tone sounded regretful, like he’d miss our camaraderie. “Call me tomorrow at my mom’s place and let me know where to pick you up.”

Ezra and I grabbed our stuff and piled onto the sidewalk. Lunchtime was in full swing. People wandered into coffee shops and hot dog stands, emerging with cups and sandwiches. I tried not to think about how hungry I was. Eight bucks wouldn’t take me far. I needed to conserve my cash. And what about Ezra? He never had any money. When the two of us left the house together, I always paid for everything.

“Where would you like to go?” I asked.

Ezra shrugged. “I think we’d better look for Chuck. It might take a while to find him.”

We trudged towards the Civic Center. Its main building was an immense structure, ringed by rows of neatly trimmed bushes. The attached lawn seemed completely barren, like it belonged to another planet. Ezra paused in front of a bush and turned his head from side to side, scanning the passersby. Chuck was like a deranged Muppet and was liable to pop up anywhere. He’d promised to meet us in front of the venue, but we were six hours early.

A small crowd had already started to form. Ezra was nervous around other people. Their sense of purpose made him feel inadequate. Ezra was hardwired towards sullen passivity. Chuck had always taken the lead over his younger brother, and the two of them fought constantly. Ezra expected blows to fall at any moment.

Chuck emerged from behind one of the bushes. He hovered before us, waving his arms. “Wow, I knew exactly where to find you guys. Must be that acid I took. Doors of perception and all that. The dude who picked me up gave me a couple of tabs. Good shit.”

We were stuck with Chuck for the duration. It was like a particularly odious babysitting gig, without any pay. As we meandered along the sidewalk, Chuck giggled and talked nonstop.

“Hey, did you know it’s the Who’s last tour? I wonder how many times Townshend is gonna do that windmill thing before he permanently fucks up his shoulder. That guy can really shred. Last time I saw the band was in the late 70s, with Pablo and John. We got so ripped beforehand that I can’t remember a single song they played. Those were the days, man. Not like now.”

Several blocks later, we arrived at a tiny park. I sank into a bench and stretched out my aching legs. My eyes felt heavy, like they might close by themselves. Perhaps I could take a short nap. I didn’t want to be the person who fell asleep during a Who show.

The three of us looked like we’d been trudging for days through the streets of St Paul. Chuck’s filthy jeans were adorned with rips and holes of various sizes. Ezra always slept in his clothing. He only owned two pairs of pants. My own outfit was less decrepit, but I was guilty by association. Why was a 23-year-old girl hanging out with a couple of freaks?

Two cops stormed in our direction. Undoubtedly, they’d spotted us from the other side of the park and decided we were suspicious characters. “Let me see those packs,” one of them growled. “It’s a felony to drink in the park.”

Chuck shrugged. “Go right ahead.”

The pair tore into Chuck’s pack like a couple of starving dogs. With increasing disgust, they extracted wads of dirty underwear, old plastic bags, and a tattered copy of “Be Here Now.” Soon, Chuck’s worldly possessions were spread across the grass like an unappetizing picnic lunch. The cops turned their attention to Ezra’s bag. It was almost empty, except for a pack of Camels and two rolled-up pairs of socks.

I dangled my purse in mid-air, hoping to make the job easier. One of the cops shook his head. “Never mind, miss.” He managed to sound both disappointed and apologetic.

“You kids behave yourselves,” his cohort said. Both cops snickered. Then they stomped away, leaving us with Chuck’s pile of garbage.

“Fucking pigs,” Chuck snarled.

“If only we had money for beer,” Ezra said.

As usual, my friend had articulated what I was thinking before I had a chance to say it. The two of us locked eyeballs. Ezra’s face had gone pale with humiliation. He scooped his pack from the ground and carefully placed it over his shoulders.

“What should we do now?” The poor guy sounded close to tears.

“Maybe just head towards the Center.” I couldn’t fathom how we’d pass the time after our arrival. The concert wouldn’t begin until seven, and it wasn’t even three o’clock yet.

“I wish I’d stolen a sixer when I was at the store earlier,” Chuck said. “It wouldn’t fit under my jacket, though. No point in taking unnecessary chances. Last time I tried that, I had to drop the beer on the floor and run like hell. At least I got my daily exercise.”

“Those cops would’ve confiscated it anyway,” I pointed out.

Chuck shoved his possessions into his backpack, muttering under his breath. “Cops take people’s beer so they can drink it themselves. Same thing with reefer. They’re some of the biggest stoners around. Bunch of goddamn hypocrites.”

The man never shut up. His words rained down like heavy artillery as we trudged towards the Civic Center. The concert line was already huge. It stretched for blocks, disappearing around a corner. Festival seating always proved tricky, and patience was key to the experience.

Three hours later, our queue began to move—slowly at first, then with increasing velocity as we drew closer. Thousands of people roamed through the building, purchasing overpriced pretzels and cups of beer. Several tables featured jet-black tee shirts, emblazoned with the band’s trademark silhouette.

I entered the concert hall and began to climb the risers. Improbable as it seemed, the three of us had arrived too late to score a decent spot. We finally found seats in the far reaches of a nosebleed section. The stage looked tiny, as if it were half a mile away.

“It’s the music that matters, anyway.” Ezra said. “Besides, we didn’t need to pay.”

I felt tempted to say that I’d shelled out ten bucks for gas money. The reminder seemed petty, however, since my ride would have cost the same if I’d done the trip solo. Ezra was right, of course. The music was more important than anything else.

At 7:45, I staggered upright and screamed with joy as the band mounted the stage. It felt good to release my pent-up frustration. The Who launched into their well-rehearsed set. “Substitute.” “I Can’t Explain.” “Dangerous.” “Sister Disco.”

The concert seemed off. Every few minutes, Pete Townshend removed something from his pocket and held it to his nose. Then he placed the object back into his pocket. He probably wasn’t snorting cocaine. Perhaps he had a cold. The band sounded curiously lackluster. After so many days of anticipation, it pained me to admit that I’d derived more sonic enjoyment from lying between my stereo speakers while listening to “Quadrophenia.”  Meanwhile, Chuck and Ezra swayed in their seats, lost in the music.

Finally, the band blasted into a rendition of “Won’t Get Fooled Again”, and the audience rose to its feet. I lurched forward and almost fell on the guy in front of me. His girlfriend gave me a dirty look.

“That’s rock and roll,” Ezra said when it was over.

I had missed the point, somehow. Perhaps I needed more sleep, or at least a bite to eat. As we filed out of the auditorium, I began to feel dizzy. I leaned against one of Ezra’s shoulders, and he gave my head a gentle pat.

The traditional boyfriend/girlfriend dynamic had always seemed silly to both of us. Ezra and I got together when we felt like it. The rest of the time, he slept on the couch. Our relationship transcended categorization, which is why it worked so well.

“I guess it’s time to head over to Darlene’s.” Ezra turned towards his brother. “Can you give her a call, Chuck? She must be expecting us. It’s getting late.”

Chuck emitted a loud guffaw. “She’s not expecting us, to my knowledge. I thought you were gonna set this up a long time ago.”

Ezra sighed. “Fine, I’ll call her now.” He turned to me. “Do you have a dime?”

Fortunately, I had raided my change jar before our departure. We found a phone booth a block from the Center. Someone had smashed its Plexiglas wall, creating a spider web effect. Ezra stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Seconds later, he re-emerged, looking disgusted.

“Busy signal. Guess we’ll be waiting for a while.”

We wandered back into the fray of pedestrians. Everyone else seemed to know where they were headed. Eventually, the raucous concert crowd gave way to clusters of street denizens—prostitutes, old men in faded clothing, vagrants of various ages. Saturday night in St Paul.

Ezra spotted another payphone. It was even more decrepit than the first. The October air had become frigid, and I shivered in my flimsy jacket. This time, Ezra remained in the booth for a couple of minutes. When he finally came out, he did not look happy.

“She’s not there. I’m pretty sure I woke up her goddamned roommate. She said she had no idea when Darlene will be back.”

“Shit, Darlene never goes anywhere,” Chuck said. “I’m sure she won’t be gone long.”

“We’ll need to keep walking, then. Minneapolis isn’t far, and it’s such a lovely night.” Ezra’s tone was laced with a potent combination of sarcasm and hatred.

Chuck seemed surprised by his brother’s vitriol. “I really thought you’d give her a call before coming all the way up here.” He shrugged. “I don’t mind hoofing it for a while longer. How far is Minneapolis?”

“I think it’s about six miles,” I said. “Of course, it depends on which neighborhood Darlene lives in. Can either of you tell me?”

I already knew the answer to my question. We trudged westward, trying our best to avoid looking at each other. Eye contact could lead to conversation, which would only serve to slow us down. Occasionally, Chuck muttered under his breath, but Ezra and I ignored him.

Half an hour later, another payphone loomed in front of us. It was one of the freeform varieties that didn’t require a plastic enclosure.

“Better give Darlene another call,” Chuck said. “It’s after midnight.”

“You call her, Chuck.” Ezra spat his words through clenched teeth. “I phoned her the last two times. It’s your goddamned turn.”

“Okay, okay. Calm down, man.” Chuck turned in my direction. “You got another dime?”

My coin stash was dwindling fast. I extracted a dime from my purse and shoved it in Chuck’s direction. Three rings later, Darlene’s roommate picked up. I could hear every word of her nasal voice as she berated Chuck for his impudence.

“No, she didn’t say when she’ll be back, and I don’t know where she went. Do you have any idea what time it is? Do you even own a watch? I don’t care if you are her brother. You shouldn’t be calling folks in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry,” Chuck said. “I’ll try again later.” He carefully placed the receiver in its cradle and backed away from the phone. “Wow, she was angry. I guess people don’t call Darlene very often.”

“Not nearly often enough,” I snapped. The two brothers looked at me with surprise. I usually went along with their schemes without much complaint. “One call is all it would have taken to avoid this bullshit. Just a solitary conversation, with simple questions like, ‘Can we stay at your house after the concert?’ and ‘Oh, thank you, what time will you be home?’ Instead, we’re traipsing around town like a pack of derelicts.”

Chuck fell silent, a feat I would’ve sworn was impossible. The three of us resumed our trek. I had a growing fear that we would still be on our feet at sunrise. We wandered into a residential neighborhood filled with two-story houses. Their inhabitants were either curled up under sheets and blankets, or enjoying a late-night movie and a snack. Normal folks didn’t meander through the streets in the middle of the night.

“We must be in Minneapolis already.” Ezra had an uncanny sense of direction, gleaned from years of aimless wandering. “Look, Chuck, there’s another payphone. Go ahead and give Darlene a call. This area looks vaguely familiar. I think we’re close.”

“Oh no, man,” Chuck said. “I called her last time. It’s your turn now.”

Ezra savagely yanked the receiver from its cradle, grabbed a coin from my outstretched palm, and dialed. His voice was almost inaudible. “Hello. This is Darlene’s other brother. Oh my God. You just got home? Can we come right over? Let me find a pen and write down the directions.”

We were two miles from Darlene’s residence. It would only take another hour, and then we could finally catch some rest. The three of us quickened our steps. My stiff legs seemed to stagger forward from sheer force of will. I envisioned a cushiony mattress, ringed by heaps of soft pillows. A few hours of sleep would do wonders for my equilibrium.

Darlene’s house was pitch-dark, its shades drawn against the night. After Chuck rang the doorbell, a single light illuminated a downstairs window. The door flew open, and two faces peered at us. Neither of them looked welcoming.

“It’s about time the three of you got here,” one of the women said. “I thought you were going to be right over. Well, come in.” She turned towards me. “You must be Leah. Why is a cute girl like you hanging around with my crazy brothers? Don’t bother answering.”

Obviously, Darlene favored a direct mode of self-expression. She flipped a switch, illuminating the spartan living room. Its walls were completely covered with crucifixes and pictures of Jesus. The crosses had been assembled from an assortment of materials, including wicker and stone. Christ stretched his arms towards a field of slumbering lambs, gazed sideways with a pensive expression, and smiled benevolently from his perch above a mantel.

A lumpy couch squatted in one of the corners. Someone had tossed a thin blanket and a pillow on top of it. Otherwise, the living room was devoid of furniture. Darlene pointed towards the couch. “You three can fight over who gets to sleep there. Otherwise, the floor is available. I’m off to bed.”

“I call dibs on the couch,” I said, before anyone else could speak.

Darlene’s roommate was a portly, middle-aged woman, adorned in a housedress and men’s slippers. Her hair had been pinned into a severe-looking bun. She gave me a look of searing contempt and marched towards the stairwell. “Make sure all three of you are out of here in the morning. I don’t want to see you again.”

“Sure thing.” Chuck sank onto the dingy carpet and tossed his pack aside. “Guess I’ll just make myself comfortable.” A minute later, he was snoring with contentment.

Prior to my misadventure, I had stashed a nightgown in my purse. I’d planned on slumbering in a guest room but was in no position to complain. I ducked into the bathroom and changed into my sleepwear. It felt slightly damp from the night air, but at least it wasn’t coated in sweat.

As I approached the couch, Ezra fixed me with a lascivious expression. “Cute pajamas.” His voice overflowed with yearning. “I wish we were anywhere but here. I’m sorry to put you through this.”

“It’s okay, Ezra.” I contorted my body into a semi-comfortable position, between two misshapen cushions. “Is Darlene religious? Jesus seems to be leering at us from every cranny.”

“No, but her roommate is. We kids were raised Catholic. I think this place reminds Darlene of our parents’ house.” Ezra stretched out on the floor and pushed a couch pillow under his head. “Jesus can watch us all sleep.”

On the opposite wall, an illuminated clock read 3:25. I hadn’t eaten or slept for almost two days. In the morning, I could devour a huge breakfast, washed down with a truckload of strong coffee. Ignoring my stomach’s contortions, I drifted into a fitful slumber. I dreamed that Ezra and I were walking through an endless series of hallways. We kept asking Jesus for directions, but he turned his head away, refusing to speak.

Two hours later, the overhead light switched on, and Darlene appeared. “Time to rise and shine, kids. I’m off to my job. You all need to leave now.”

Chuck sat bolt upright. “Seriously? Where do you work? The sun’s not even up yet.”

“White Castle. I’m on the early morning shift. I thought you KNEW that.”

After my eyes came into focus, I noticed that Darlene was dressed in a blue polyester shirt with a matching hat. “White Castle” was emblazoned across her chest in garish letters. She looked amazingly well-rested.

Darlene’s expression softened a bit. “I can give the three of you a ride downtown. From there, you can catch a bus or grab breakfast."

“What we really want is money,” Chuck said. “Got any? Ezra and I are flat broke.”

You had to hand it to Chuck. He had no problem asking for what he needed. Darlene groped inside her apron pockets and pulled out a fistful of coins. “These are my tips from yesterday. Don’t spend them all in one place.”

Chuck’s eyes became huge. “Wow, this is way more than I expected. There must be at least six bucks here. Thanks, sis.”

Darlene shrugged. “Last time I saw my kid brothers was four years ago. I want you to leave town with a full stomach.”

Darlene’s car was at least fifteen years old. The undercarriage had long since been shredded into a lattice of road salt holes. Chuck settled himself in the passenger seat, while Ezra and I piled into the back. We sped towards downtown, running yellow lights at forty miles per hour. Darlene was late for work; a fact she wanted us to know.

“I gave you folks an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. You just looked so peaceful there on the carpet.” She snickered. “If my boss cans me, I’ll hunt you down in Madison and sleep on YOUR floor. Then I’ll kick your asses.”

We pulled up in front of Darlene’s workplace. A thick odor of grease permeated the air. Darlene cut the engine and raced inside, tying her apron around her waist. I stood on the sidewalk and watched her disappear into the rear office. Hopefully, the boss wouldn’t be too hard on the poor woman, once Darlene made it clear that her itinerant siblings were at fault.

“I’m starving,” Chuck said. “There’s a proper sit-down restaurant across the street. Let’s get some breakfast.”

For once, I felt grateful for Chuck’s input. We wandered into the restaurant and found an empty table. Instantly, I felt enraptured by the joint’s utter blandness. There was something irresistible about an enormous, family-style place with Formica tables, bottomless coffee, and greasy, American breakfasts. Best of all, we had the room to ourselves.

Our server wandered over, notepad in hand. I ordered my usual: two eggs over hard, hash browns, and whole wheat toast. Chuck ordered a platter of pancakes with extra butter. Ezra deliberated for a while, finally deciding on a breakfast of sausage, bacon, and ham with toast on the side.

“Jesus, man, why do you eat so much meat?” Chuck was a vegetarian, and he made sure everybody knew it. “No wonder you’re always so angry.” He reached over and refilled his coffee cup.

“Shut up, Chuck.” Ezra’s voice was low and venomous. “I’ll get whatever I want. If I’m angry, it’s because I have to look at you all day.”

I swiveled in my chair and stared at Ezra. His face wore a truculent expression, like he was ready to deck his brother at any moment. Somebody needed to intervene. “I’m going to call Joe now, Ezra. Remember him? The guy who brought us here? He promised to take us home today.”

Chuck’s face lit up with glee, as if someone had given him an unexpected present. “You have a ride back to Madison? Is there space for another rider?”

“No,” Ezra snarled.

“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll need to ask him.”

Joe picked up his mother’s phone on the first ring. “Three people? No problem. You want to meet at ten in front of the City Center Mall? It’s only a few blocks from my mom’s place.” He sounded like he was looking forward to returning home.

As I approached the table, I could see that breakfast had already arrived. My eggs were done right, with both yolks pre-popped and crusty, the way I liked them. The potatoes had been frozen for weeks and then thrown into a sizzling vat of grease, but who cared? I sipped my coffee and nibbled on a toasted bread crust. Perfect.

Chuck took a final swallow from his third cup of coffee, reached over to a neighboring table, and grabbed its half-full pot. The customers had paid and left shortly before we arrived. He set the receptacle in front of him. “Gotta fortify myself for the trip ahead. Black coffee gives me stamina.”

Seconds later, Chuck shoved one hand inside his pack and extracted a wad of plastic bags. After a couple of furtive glances, he groped towards the empty table again. His fingers closed around one of the pepper shakers.

Chuck unscrewed the lid and dumped the pepper into one of his plastic bags. Then, just as quickly, he snatched the saltshaker and poured its contents into another bag. The process was fast and dirty, like a magician’s sleight-of-hand trick. Chuck’s gall knew no bounds. Ezra and I watched, dumbfounded, unable to protest.

“A man’s gotta have condiments,” Chuck said. “I mean, why pay for them unless you need to, right? Do you know what a typical restaurant’s profit margin is? It’s astronomical. They won’t miss some salt and pepper.”

After emptying four more shakers, Chuck leaned back in his chair and sloshed some extra coffee into his cup. “One more for the road.” He took a huge gulp, then smiled. “I’m still thinking about last night’s concert. It was the best I’ve seen in a long time. Townshend was at the absolute top of his game.”

Did the two of us even see the same show? I had often marveled at the discrepancy of perception that two people could harbor towards a shared experience. I glanced over at Ezra. He looked dazed, as though the events of the past two days were just beginning to hit him.

“We have to go,” I said. “Joe’s going to meet us at the mall. I’m not sure where it is, but he gave an address.”

The three of us signaled for our checks. Our server dropped them on the table and vanished from sight. She didn’t seem to notice the empty condiment containers. Most likely, she felt reluctant to interact with us any more than she needed to.

I pulled four singles from my wallet and placed them on the table. Ezra dumped a fistful of change on top of his check. Chuck rose to his feet and smirked. “Maybe I’ll pay at the register,” he said. “Let’s get out of here.”

As we wandered towards the exit, I noticed that the cashier was gone. Chuck had already spotted the unmanned register and divined that the restaurant had no security. He inched towards the door, pulled it open, and sprinted into the parking lot.

“Better run!” he yelled. “I just walked the check.”

Ezra and I had no reason to hurry. We were upright, law-abiding citizens who had purchased our breakfast. If Chuck wanted to be a restaurant scofflaw, it was no concern of ours. Still, the employees could decide that we were guilty by association. Worst of all, I might need to pay for Chuck’s meal out of my own pocket.

I took off running across the asphalt, with Ezra right behind me. The three of us dashed down the block, finally disappearing around a corner. Two blocks later, I chanced a furtive glance backwards. Several cars rumbled past, but the sidewalk was entirely empty.

Ezra glared at his brother. “You self-centered asshole. How dare you jeopardize our safety like that?”

Chuck shrugged. “I make life interesting, though, don’t I?”

We strolled towards the mall in silence. Only an hour remained before our meeting with Joe. We’d climb into his comfortable sedan, ride back to Madison, and disembark in front of my house. I couldn’t believe that only fourteen hours had passed since the concert. My experience already seemed distant. Townshend had insisted that the Who planned to quit touring. At least I’d been able to see them before they faded away.

The mall loomed in front of us—monolithic and anonymous, with its trademark array of chain department stores and fast-food outlets. I ducked inside to use the bathroom, then re-emerged. Chuck and Ezra stood beside the entrance, waiting for Joe to arrive. Their faces seemed haggard, like the rigors of the past few years had taken a heavy toll. Both men were only in their mid-twenties, but they looked much older.

I wondered about the bond that held them together. Ezra was touchy and passive-aggressive, but I’d experienced his sweeter side on many occasions. Chuck liked to raise hell, but deep down, he was afraid people would think he was dull. Despite their differences, the brothers maintained an unbreakable relationship, forged by poverty and mutual trauma. Their tyrant father had ruled the house with an armored fist.

Chuck pulled a plastic water bottle from his pack. Most likely, he’d swiped it from a nearby mini mart. He unscrewed the lid, threw back his head, and dumped the contents into his mouth. A few shoppers stared at him with horror and disgust. After tightening their grips on their shopping bags, they scuttled away without looking back.

The patrons must have thought that Chuck was guzzling hard liquor, but the truth was much less glamorous. He continued to pull on the bottle, unperturbed. Ezra fidgeted and stared at his feet. I draped an arm around my friend’s waist, pulling him closer. “You okay? It’s almost ten. We won’t need to wait long.”

Ezra smiled. “I’m all right, thanks.”

I kept an eye on the overhead clock. At 9:58, Joe pulled up to the curb. I had never felt so happy to see a vehicle in my life. As Chuck slid into the passenger seat, I climbed into the back with Ezra. He leaned his head against one of my shoulders and fell asleep. Soon, both brothers were snoring, oblivious to their surroundings. I felt wide awake, though I couldn’t imagine why. Perhaps it was the coffee, or the thrill of going home.

“How was the concert?”  Joe asked. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh yeah,” I said. “Best one I ever saw.”

*Originally published at Lunch Hour (print only)

Photo of Leah Mueller

BIO: Leah Mueller's work is published in Rattle, NonBinary Review, Brilliant Flash Fiction, Citron Review, New Flash Fiction Review, Does It Have Pockets, Outlook Springs, Your Impossible Voice, etc. She has received several nominations for Pushcart and Best of the Net. One of her short stories appears in the 2022 edition of Best Small Fictions. Her fourteenth book, "Stealing Buddha" was published by Anxiety Press in 2024. Website: http://www.leahmueller.org.