Daron's Guitar Chronicles: Vol 4

309 WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?

WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE THIS?

So that was how Cain got a ride to Atlanta when the rest of his band never even got there. They stayed put in Pensacola until the morning, and so did Digger, when a lot of phone calls went back and forth. Carynne had come with us, and set up her office at the venue, even though our show wasn't until the next day and none of the equipment was here yet either.

I got to miss all the phone stuff because I stayed in the dark. A tour bus bunk is the perfect place to recuperate an eye injury: no windows. I took the bandage off and flushed it out like I was supposed to and put the antibiotic drops in, but I was hammering on the wall of the bus bathroom with my fist afterward, waiting for it to stop hurting. Have you ever had bloodshot eyes so bad it felt like you had sand in them? Up that to broken glass and that was about how it felt. Then I just stuck the bandages back on and went back to the nice, dark bunk.

It was probably a good thing the show wasn't that night or we might have had to cancel anyway, given how I was feeling. I was like a wounded fox hiding in its den.

I came out for lunch, because Carynne came looking. She knocked on the wall next to my curtain.

I pulled it back a little.

"You need to eat, don't you?" she asked.

"Mmmaybe."

"Ziggy, you too."

Ziggy poked his head out from behind his own curtain. "I could eat."

"Do we have to go anywhere?" I asked. "I don't want to go anywhere."

"You don't have to go anywhere. I'll get whatever you want brought here. Next question, are you up to talking to a reporter after that?"

"Mmmaybe?" I hedged. "Who, how, and where? No photos, obviously." I patted the bandage over my eye. "How long am I supposed to wear this again?"

"Keep it on until soundcheck tomorrow. We'll change you to the eye patch then," she said. "The paper is Creative Loafing. It's like the Boston Phoenix."

"I can do it if Ziggy can do it with me."

"I was going to say the same thing," Ziggy said. "Can we sit outside? I'm feeling a little cooped up, now."

We climbed out of our bunks while Carynne flipped through the pages of the daybook. "Fried chicken okay?"

"Sure."

With Marty's blessing we took two cushions from the front lounge outside and made ourselves seats in the parking area on top of small road cases. None of the heavy equipment was there yet. They were still figuring out at that point who would be going where.

Zig and I sat there watching tall clouds sail overhead like big ships.

"Gonna thunderstorm I bet," he said.

"Probably." I squinted with my one eye. I couldn't put a pair of sunglasses on with the bandage the way it currently was.

"How's it feel?"

"Everything's starting to itch," I admitted. "But anything so long as it doesn't hurt like it did. How about you?"

"Hurts like hell."

"Where'd you get it? You haven't even shown me."

He raised his right hand, which was bandaged from most of the way way down to his elbow to covering most of his fingers. His pinky and ring fingers were completely gauzed, while about half of his other fingers stuck out. My own burned hand seemed nowhere near as bad.