The driving, jangly acoustic guitar of “Carry On” byCrosby, Stills, Nash & Young rings out through the cab speakers, bathing us in its upbeat pulse. I’ve caught this track at the perfect time, somehow managing to jump in halfway through the first few opening strums. I lean back in my seat, and from the corner of my eye I see a smile creeping its way across Eddie’s pale, dead face.
The emotion is so pure and genuine that, for a moment, it seems to bring some warmth back into his body.
The Splitting Headache
One morning I woke up and I knew you were really gone,” CSNY sing in unison, their voices stacked in a towering pancake of harmonies.
Eddie pats his hand against the door, subconsciously falling into the groove as he nods his head to the music. I can already tell that he’s hearing this song in a slightly elevated way, every little polyrhythm and tonal shift swirling within his brain. Meanwhile, I’m just thinking to myself:That sounds really nice.
“Perfect song for your first day as a dead guy,” I say.
Eddie glances over at me, pausing briefly, then erupting in a fit of laughter.
Now that I’ve gotten used to Eddie’s strange wet gurgle, the thing that I really latch on to is his tone. His speaking voice was familiar enough, but hearing him project likethis makes everything fall into place. It almost sounds like he’s singing.
“You know, I nearly played keys on this track,” Eddie informs me. “I was crashing up in Laurel Canyon at the time. Stephen asked me to swing by, so I did, but I got in a fight with Neil and then the whole thing kinda blew up.”
“Wait, are you serious?” I ask, unable to hide my excitement.
Eddie nods, then points to an upcoming cross street. “Turn right here.”
His instruction pulls me back into focus, reminding me that tonight is about much more than driving around and reminiscing over quintessential classic rock jams. We’re on a mission.
Now that a thread of connection has been made between us, I find myself feeling a little more comfortable in the presence of this strange companion. He is, after all, a hero of mine, and no amount of decomposition is going to erase that entirely.
We drive down the road a bit before Eddie instructs me to turn again. Soon enough, I’ve slowed and entered a long, secluded lane that runs the length of the tightly packed houses.
Eddie reaches out and switches off the stereo. His single eye is peeled, focused on our surroundings and scanning the homes. Eventually, Eddie motions to a patch of dirt just off the pavement, a place for me to pull over that’s shrouded in darkness.
I park my truck against a long white wall. Large desertboulders rest in the nearby dirt, gathered around an abandoned refrigerator and a massive aloe plant that reaches out with its sharp green arms. A few dumpsters line the cracked alleyway ahead.
“Here we are,” Eddie says, handing over a set of handcuffs. “Lock yourself to the steering wheel. Tight.”
I close the metal links around my hands.
“Don’t ask me any questions,” he continues. “I’m really sorry about those cuffs, sport. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. All you have to do is wait here and not do anything stupid. Can you handle that?”
“Yes,” I confirm. I pride myself on not doing stupid things, so it’s the truth.
Eddie nods and climbs out of the cab. He moves to close the door, then stops. “All you gotta do is drive me around for one night, and then,poof, I’ll disappear,” he reminds me, stretching his fingers out in a simple pantomime as he says the wordpoof. “This whole thing can really be that simple.”
“I understand.”
Eddie lowers his sunglasses a bit, offering me a wink over the pink, heart-shaped rim before pushing them back onto his face. “Rock ’n’ roll. Don’t draw any attention to yourself.”
With that, he shuts the door and strolls away, disappearing into the night.
The second Eddie leaves my sight, a strange feeling washes over me. It’s similar to what I experienced back at the diner.
Am I dreaming? Is this actually happening?
The events of this evening have been so surreal that it’s honestly hard to tell. Now that I’m no longer staring at a reanimated corpse as it dances around, the logical part of my brain is beginning to question if he was ever there at all. Of course, there’s a simple enough way to test this. As Eddie left me, his instructions were clear:Don’t draw any attention.
I gaze down at the car horn just below my hands, considering how easy it would be to cause a ruckus.
Then again, even if Iweren’tbound by some demonic power, is drawing attention the best course of action? Right now, it seems like I’m on Eddie’s good side, and there are much worse things I could be doing than driving around a queer icon.
What about the money?
