I’d been with them for ten days, and it already felt normal.
Like he’d done in Houston and Fort Worth, Riot disappeared immediately after the show. I tried to follow him, but the area backstage was a maze, and Milo distracted me just long enough for Riot to lose me.
I was beginning to wonder if he wastryingto lose me. Where the hell was he going?
Atlanta was the next city on the tour. While stuck in traffic on Interstate 65, I moved to the front of the bus and sat in the passenger seat next to Cash.
“This is fun,” I said, gesturing at the endless line of brake lights ahead of us.
“I’m a patient man,” Cash said, tapping his ear. He had an EarPod in. “Traffic is easier to deal with when you’re listening to an audiobook.”
“Different book than the one about oceans?”
“I finished that days ago.” He smiled and pointed at another paperback on the dashboard. “That’s about cultural anthropology. I’ll finish it by the time we leave Atlanta in a few days. And to answer your question: yes, my audiobook is different. It’s an autobiography.”
“Anyone interesting?”
“Depends on who you think is interesting. It’s Seth Rogan’s book,Yearbook.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I said, “but that doesn’t seem high-brow enough for you.”
“I like a good variety,” he replied. “Besides, he narrates his own audiobook, which makes his stories about doing mushrooms in Amsterdam a lot funnier.”
I paused to bookmark it on Audible. “Added! Thanks for the recommendation. Do you always read while on tour?”
“Usually. It’s a healthy habit while on the road. It makes me feel more productive than playing videogames or binge-watching TV shows.”
“Didn’t I see you watching an episode of MythBusters in your bunk last night?” I teased.
He glanced over at me and smiled. “I allow myself exactlyoneguilty pleasure episode per night. I’m only human.”
“No judgement. I’m just impressed you’re able to stop at just one!”
As the traffic began moving again, I decided that I liked Cash a lot more than I first thought. I’d mistaken his quiet stares as judgmental, but in reality he was the kind of man who lived in his own head.
The concert venue was the new Atlanta Falcons stadium, which was like a massive open-air cathedral with windows and other modern amenities backstage. As the band prepared to go out on stage, we did our pre-show group hug again.
Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like Riot positioned himself so that he would be next to me while the five of us squeezed in tight together. I was hyper-aware of his arm around me, his palm resting on my lower back while they said a few words of encouragement to each other.
Then they were gone, out on stage while the crowd roared for them.
I stayed in the wings to watch the show again. A roadie had noticed, and now placed a stool for me to sit on, which was better than standing up for the whole show. I didn’t mind standing when I was in the crowd, but doing it foreveryshow was beginning to wreak havoc on my feet. I couldn’t imagine how much harder it was to be one of the musicians. Milo was the only one who got to sit the entire time, but the way he played his drums was its own crazy workout.
It was fun to pick out the differences between each show. Every one was unique in its own way. Back in New Orleans, the crowd wasn’t super enthusiastic, so Riot’s “Hello New Orleans!” greeting after the first song was subdued. But Atlantawasbumpingfrom the moment they went on stage, so Riot practically screamed his welcome.
There was also a variety in the music itself. At the last show, Riot had a long guitar solo during the songWasteland. But in Atlanta, he moved the guitar solo to the end ofPark Street Homicide, near the end of the show.
But one thing stayed the same from night to night: the quality of their performance. Whether it was Violet on the keyboard, Milo on drums, or Riot and Cash plucking their strings, they always sounded phenomenal and never phoned it in.
When their encore was done, we shared another group hug backstage. “Sorry for the sweat,” Riot told me running a hand through his glistening hair.
“I don’t mind!” I replied. “It makes me feel like I did something tonight.”
“You may not know it,” Riot leaned in to whisper, “but you did.”
He started walking away, and I prepared to follow him.
But then Milo clapped me on the back and said, “What’d you think of the drum solo?”
