Chasing Charlie

The first light of day struck the left eye of the sleeping man, burning onto the tender eyelid and causing him to stir. Groaning, he cracked the eye open, then hissed air out through his clenched teeth as the sun pierced into his hung over retina. Grabbing a pillow, he threw it towards the offending broken blind hanging limply in the window of the bedroom. When in hell was he going to learn to park the bus so that the bedroom window with the broken blind faced west? It had gone on too long. Everything had gone on too long.

He rolled over, relieving his eye of the flaming sun, and felt the thud of his head as it fell against the pillow. Oh dear God. This time he had really done it. It truly felt as if his brains were hitting the inside of his skull, the pain was so bad. It was just a hangover, but considering his night, this one would take more than the day to recover from. For now, he needed pain relief. He tried swallowing but his mouth was so dry it hurt to swallow. He needed water, water and pain relief. He remembered a blonde body at some point in his bed last night and slowly opened his eyes hoping to find her still asleep, perhaps a willing nurse maid for him. No luck, he was alone. Alone, thirsty as hell with a hangover that could kill a horse, and sprawled in the back bedroom of his tour bus in the early morning hours of his 51st birthday. Happy Birthday Charlie Morningstar!

Shit! He slowly sat up, feeling his stomach churn and roil with the movement. It had been years since he drank so much it made him sick to his stomach, and he wasn’t so sure today wouldn’t be a new date to go by. He slid his naked body off the bedside and reached for the doorway.

The door was open, validating the existence and departure of the blonde body; Charlie always slept with his door closed. Grabbing the walls along the hallway, he reached the bathroom stall and pulled at the mirrored cabinet door. Spotting the extra strength Advil he opened the cap, poured three, considered a fourth, but replaced the bottle leaving the cap off. He turned on the cold tap and bent over to drink from the faucet, having the sense to first wet down his mouth and throat. He gulped down the pills and drank for a few more seconds before turning off the tap. God, he felt like complete shit. If he could keep those pills down he might reduce the pounding in his skull. The only thing to do was head back to bed and sleep it off. He retreated back down the hallway and edged himself gently onto the bed, careful not to make any sudden moves that might bring back up the only hope he had of feeling somewhat better.

He lay down and instinctively curled into the fetal position. Ironic, he thought, that I should feel like dying today of all days, and be in the same position I was in 51 years ago. It nagged at him a little. Not wishing to do anything but rest, Charlie tried to erase any thoughts from his head. But his mind wasn’t having it. It kept drifting back to the thought of dying. Today. Today of all days – his 51st birthday. Christ! His head was pounding, his stomach was rolling, and his brain wanted to think about dying… on his birthday. Not a good sign. He vowed there and then to never drink that much again. Never, and Charlie never said never.

As he lay there, his mind continued plaguing him with morbid thoughts. It wasn’t that he truly wanted to die physically, he just felt like death. Actually, he felt quite alive which was surprising to him considering. He felt more alive than he expected to be. It dawned on him that he was very much alive in spite of last night’s activities. Charlie sat up and regretted the move instantly, but he only grabbed his aching head in his hand to steady himself, before launching himself up off the bed. Determined to keep moving, he grabbed for his jeans thrown over the dresser and stumbled up the hallway, raising his leg to pull up the right side of his jeans. He fell against the hallway wall but managed to brace himself with his back against the wall, all the while pushing the left leg through the pant leg. Fucking Cirque de Soleil move for this poor hung over birthday boy, he thought, as he pulled himself upright and began his trek again up the hallway.

His destination was the kitchen. He managed to make it without hitting the wall, using the handle of his fridge as leverage as he pulled it open. He grabbed the first bottled water he could easily reach, opened the cap and drank the ice cold water, letting it soothe his tongue, mouth and throat. He almost drained the bottle and stood leaning against the fridge. The bus looked like a bomb had gone off in it. Glasses, pizza boxes and liquor bottles of all manner were on every visible surface. And the smell… like four days of hard living in a sweat box bar; nasty, stale and stagnant. Suddenly his nostrils were assailed with the smell, forcing his stomach to start churning. He had to get fresh air. He dove for the front of the bus and pushed open the door, almost missing the last step and stumbling onto all fours, hitting the ground. He gagged and quickly started breathing in the clean morning air through his nose. In through the nose, out through the mouth, he continued. Using a four beat pace Charlie remained in this position until he believed his stomach had settled some. The new dawn and sounds of the rising day caused him to take pause for a moment as he stayed there. A new day. The dawn of a new day. This day. The day that wouldn’t come, but did.

Charlie raised his head and squinted at the rise of this new day. For so long no day held promise; now, here it was, the one day he figured wouldn’t be his to have and it was here. He pushed his right hand off the ground and stood upright, blocking the sun’s rays from his eyes with his hand. His pounding head had started to numb and he was glad for the relief. He turned back towards the door he had stumbled out of and found a seat on the bottom step, needing to take a minute to collect his thoughts.

Where was he? San Francisco? No, that was last week. They had come further south on Friday. No, he was in Carmel. That’s right, Carmel, California. And where had they played? The Indigo Palace. Good, he remembered. Now if only last night would return to his memory. There was the singing of “Happy Birthday”, before, during and after the show. A cake was presented along with a bottle of Jägermeister, probably the culprit of his near death experience today, but he really couldn’t recall how he got back to the bus, or with whom. There had to have been more than one person to have made such a mess, surely. He groaned as he brought his head down into his hands and dropped his head between his knees. Once again he was aware of the sun as if it were continuously tapping him on the shoulder, beating down onto him with its warmth. Again with the nagging feeling of life and death and the irony. He looked up and this time looked directly into the blazing circle of light. Of life. On this day. Life on this day. He closed his eyes and raised his face to the welcoming warmth, and allowed a few minutes to pass as he basked in the glow of this new day.

Despite his hangover, Charlie felt better. Maybe it was the pills, maybe not, but he truly felt better. He opened his eyes and took stock of himself. Still a hurting unit but there was hope. His right side leaning against the doorway, he wondered if going back to bed and sleeping more would help, but for some reason Charlie wanted to be awake. He wanted to be alive. He pulled himself up and turned to head back into the bus.

He left the door open and started opening the windows at the front as much as he could to air the stink out. The morning breeze helped. No more partying on the bus, he thought.

With fresh air now slipping through crossways, Charlie sank into the couch near the door and wondered where to go from here. Literally. Last night’s gig was a one-off at the Indigo Palace and he hadn’t bothered to book past this date. He hadn’t thought of anything past this date. Now that it was here, what did he want to do? Go ahead Birthday Boy, make your wish. And for the first time in 44 years, Charlie made a birthday wish. There, all alone, hung over on his tour bus on his 51st birthday, Charlie Morningstar wished for the one thing that he had run from all those years ago. He wished to go home. A thought occurred to him that made his heart lurch. An idea. One that could make his wish come true, if only for a little while. He felt around his jeans pocket. Damn! What had he done with it? He looked over the lounge and kitchen area from his seat on the couch. He couldn’t see anything but party clutter.

As he was about to raise himself off of the couch to hunt the damn thing down, the muffled ringing located his lost cell phone. He was sitting on it; rather, it was somehow under the cushions of the couch. He pulled the entire cushion out from underneath him, grabbed the phone and looked to see who the caller was. Chase. What an ass, calling him at this hour after a raging party on his 51st birthday. Probably doing it just to piss him off. Charlie rejected the call and placed one of his own. When the operator answered, he asked her for help in finding the number for Wade McGrath of Chicago, Illinois. Thankfully, the mid-west was ahead by three hours, so he wouldn’t be calling at the crack of dawn there. Sure enough, after two rings, the line was answered by a gruff old voice. “Black and Blue, Wade here.”

“Wade?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah?” Wade answered.

“Charlie Morningstar.”

There was a moment’s silence where Charlie wondered if Wade had gotten so old he didn’t remember him, but Wade started laughing and said, “Well how the hell are ya, Charlie? Long time no see for these poor old eyes! I half expected to hear from you long before now. Finally ready to bring that band of yours home and treat your hometown to some good old blues?”

“Something like that,” Charlie stated.

“Well, how soon are ya coming?” Wade asked.

“You know me, Wade, haven’t changed much in 20 years. I’ll be driving the bus up. It’ll take a good three to four days before we get there, but no gigs along the way so it’ll make the trip direct.”

“Come see me when you get in and we’ll talk business then. Good to know you’re finally coming home, boy. You’ll sure have the town buzzing.” Wade said.

“Yeah, the prodigal son returns, huh?”

“Ha!” Wade laughed out loud. “Something like that!”

“I’ll see you in a few days, Wade. And thanks for the invite.”

“Think nothing of it. Oh, and, by-the-way, happy birthday.” With that, Wade hung the phone up.

Charlie was floored! He didn’t even say goodbye, his mouth hung open at a loss for words. It was hard to believe Wade had known his birth date, let alone remembered and had the presence of mind to say so to him. I mean, it’s not like Wade was expecting his call. They hadn’t spoken in some 20 years and now he was heading back to where it had all begun for him. And for Chase. Charlie Morningstar was headed home. Alive.