Driving the back roads of the Texas panhandle makes you feel like you've stumbled into a punishment from a Greek myth. Cows, empty miles of brown grass, barn. Cows, empty miles of brown grass, barn. Repeat forever. When I crest a small hill and see a farm with emus on it, I can feel weight come off my chest. I'm not far enough along in my new life that I can rule out being in someone's hell.
I settle back down and crank the radio. It's all country music again, but I just need the background noise right now. Clementine is covered in dust from all the gravel roads, and I owe her a proper wash soon. I'm fumbling around with the map, when the System attempts murder.
*Ding!*
It's as loud and unexpected as a gunshot at a funeral. I should have crashed. Gravel flew in cascades and by the time we stopped we are sitting sideways in the road.
*New Mission: Earn money by entertaining a live crowd. Time Limit: 24:00 hours. Reward: Musical Instrument Mastery and 1 Stat Point*
*
Name: Sam Jones
Race: Human
Body: 3 / Mind: 2 / Spirit: 2
Available Stat Points: 0
Level: 3
Class: Wandering Bard
Class Features: Musical Talent, Free Movement
Professions: Bard, Fisherman, Detective, Soldier, Hunter, Automotive Repair, Gambler
Talents: Hyper-Perception / Beloved by Machines / Spatial Storage
Detriments: Inexorable Truth / Strange Luck
*
I close the System. Clementine is 19 feet of pure steel. Getting her turned around on this narrow gravel road is a process, but we manage and continue on until I hit a crossroad back to Route 66. I stop at a filling station, and check for dents, dings, scrapes, and scratches. Put some air in the tires while I ramp up my freak out.
I'm not a perform in front of people type of guy. I spent most of my old life hidden in the middle of the group, or following my targets quietly from behind. Standing alone on a stage is not my style. I'm starting to hyperventilate when Clementine's engine clicks at me while cooling.
I pop her hood and check the oil. The ritual of the movements is calming me down. She's so clean inside. Whatever Michigan boy sealed her up on the assembly line really earned his paycheck that day. I drive around back of the store and find a faucet and hose. I rinse the dust off of her. It will have to do until I can find a proper carwash.
I make my way into the store and replenish my free snacks. I feel strange leaving without buying anything, so I walk to the counter. "Hey man, give a pack of Camels. Is...uh...is there some kind of bar or roadhouse around here?"
He makes change for me and leans on the counter, "Nothing real close. What kind of place you looking for?"
"I honestly don't know. I'm a musician, so I'm looking for a place to play. Somewhere they want live music."
"I'm Darren," he smiles and sticks his hand out for a shake. I oblige him. "My cousin runs a place about 50 miles West of here. Rock Creek Cantina. It's got a stage in the corner of the main room. Good food too. They have a band in on the weekend, but I've seen people playing other nights too."
"Alright, that sounds promising. Hopefully it all works out."
"What kind of music do you play?", he pops a piece of bubble gum and leans back on a stool.
"I can play whatever. Rock mostly, but I'll play something else if I need to."
"Cool! You tell Cassie that Darren sent you when you get there. Tell her hi for me too."
We chat back and forth a while. Nothing strange comes up and there are no uncomfortable questions. Just talking about cars and music. Eventually, a new customer comes in, and I wave as I take off. It's the longest I've talked to anyone except Clementine in I don't know how long. It was nice.
I'm smiling as I light a Camel and think about time. I remember I quit smoking when I started getting old. So, how long ago was that? Let's estimate old age to death at 20 years. From rebirth to now is a little over a week. The real question is, how long was I dead. I'm on a different timeline now, or maybe a different world. Difficult to estimate that way. I don't remember much about it, but if feels like I was dead for a LONG time. Let's estimate an infinite amount of time. My Spatial Storage already proves that time is just a suggestion from the universe and forever feels like the right amount of time to be dead. I could be the first person to ever truthfully say, "It's been forever since I had a smoke."
"It's been forever since I had a good chat." "With a human", I say while rubbing my hand across Clementine's dash. I want more of that. I probably need it. I've decided I have a case of post death PTSD. "PDSD? If I can find a therapist for that it will definitely be in California."
I need to be clever. I need a way to interact with people that doesn't require me to just get lucky with the questions they ask. Forcing myself not to answer a question truthfully is painful. It feels like it damages my Spirit. Literally, it feels like the holes in my Spirit are ripping open farther when I try it. I think it could kill me eventually. As the world leading expert on being dead, trust me when I say I'm in no hurry to try it again.
I glare at my sunglass covered eyes in the rearview, "Think Sam, Think." I leave the sunglasses on all the time now. With Hyper-Perception, I can see perfectly through them. In the dark, probably even under water. Why take them off? I look badass! I sing, "I wear my sunglasses at night! So I can, so..I...can."
I slowly pull to the edge of the road. My brain can't handle the volume of the idea and also drive. I'm still looking at myself in the mirror. "Am I a genius or am I an idiot?" There is musical precedent. The real question is, "Do I have the sheer testicular fortitude to be this shameless? In front of people? All the time?"
It's do or die time. I'm already cringing. It's October and I'm heading back to Walmart.