I leave my sweater in the motel. My navy blue cotton roll neck. Even though it’s sweater weather and I could use more layers, it feels good to let it go, leave it draped on the dingy flowered armchair in the corner of the room. I throw it at the chair a few times, until it falls just so and looks like maybe I forgot it. The right cuff is unraveling from getting caught in my guitar strings. I’ll never have to fix it, sneaking yarn from the inside seam to bind the sleeve. Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

I give the sweater a half wave and a sympathetic smile before I close the door.

— Chapter 34 —

No matter how many miles I put in, I can’t get myself back to normal. The bruises on my wrist are yellowing, but I can’t bury the fear. Can’t forget the bump and Ray’s scream, the feeling of bones cracking under the car. It’s there every time I give it space in my head.

I don’t listen to the radio. The people who talk between songs sound too real. It makes me lonely. The tape deck is busted. I drive, listening to the sound of the tires on the pavement. They’re too soft. I can hear the way they stick to the road. It reminds me of being a kid, pressing my cheek to an inner tube, the kind that are really from old truck tires. I remember the smell of rubber baking in the sun, and the way it sounded when I tapped my finger on it. Ping, ping. A metallic, inflated echo. I loved that sound even more than I loved the way the river felt creeping up the fibers of my bathing suit, making the colors darker, until all of it was wet.

I drive up to Binghamton. There’s a dive bar on Main Street that lets me play whenever I roll into town. Arnie has an old PA that’s usually collecting dust in the corner, so if I want to set it all up, he’s happy to charge a cover and give me a cut. The PA pops and hisses, and it’s full of distortion, but the crowd is mostly college kids and they’re usually too drunk and horny to care if I don’t sound perfect. The drunk kids are pretty good about buying my CDs. And they like to sing along with me if I play a song they know. It’s nice, really, to have fans, to see familiar faces in a crowd sometimes. I need that right now, I think.

It’s ten a.m. when I get into town. Arnie is behind the bar wiping down bottles and checking inventory. I knock on the window. He yells, “Closed!” but then he sees that it’s me and lets me in.