Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 12

976 On a Plain

On a Plain

Western Tennessee has milder winters than Boston does, but it's not exactly tropical. The day I drove Courtney to the airport there was horizontal sleet freezing to the windshield. It did not make for a relaxing jaunt. A pickup truck passed us and sprayed gunk from its wheels.

"I hope the pilots have better visibility than I do," I said, trying in vain to clear the windshield with washer fluid and only succeeding at tinging the shmutz on the glass blue.

"Here's hoping they've got good de-icing here, or I could be stuck here for hours."

"If your flight gets cancelled, just call and I'll come back and get you."

"Well, assuming the roads are still open."

"True. Is it supposed to get worse or better?"

"No idea." This was back in the days before we each carried a supercomputer in our pocket that we could watch the doppler radar on any time we wanted. She hunched down in the passenger seat.

"Just let me know, all right? I have my pager on, the battery is even charged. Page me when you land, all right?"

"Jeez, Daron."

"Jeez, what?"

"You hate it when Remo acts like a dad to you. What makes you think anyone likes it when you act like that?" She sounded really chapped.

"I'm not acting like a dad." I couldn't take my eyes off the road for a second or my hands from the wheel. "If I was it would've been: page me when you get in or you're grounded."

"Yeah, right." She rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue like a surly teen and for a second I thought she was doing it ironically. But no. She was actually acting like a surly teen. "And what if I don't?"

"Then I'll be worried about you and that will suck," I said.

"Oh, so it's emotional blackmail now?"

"What?" I was already white-knuckled, which just made it feel even more like the conversation had gone off the rails. "I'm just telling you how I'll feel. Do what you want, Court. You're an adult."

"About time you started treating me like one."

"Okay, stop. Just stop." I had to pump the brakes gently to slow us down on the slick highway. "Is this still about how I didn't totally understand that you expected me to give you a real job?"

"No, that's a whole different thing," she said, and again I couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic.

"Court, listen. If what you want is to be an independent adult–and I say this carefully because I don't want you to think this is what I want you to do–then maybe going to work for your own brother isn't the best idea." Amazing. No snappy retort came to that. "Remember when you told me Carynne had offered to take you in at entry level at WTA and you told me you were mulling over that versus trying to get in on the ground floor in some record company? You want to know what I thought?"

Her reply was cautious. "You told me to keep my options open."

"I didn't tell you what I really thought at the time which was: Run. Run far away. Don't get trapped into working for a company if that's not really what you want to do because it will be hell." We were coming up behind a semi with its hazard lights flashing.

"Yeah, so, you said keep my options open until I figure it out."

"The thing is, if you work for me, will you feel like you can't quit because of non-business reasons? That's what I don't want to happen. And I sure as hell don't want every time I tell you I'm worried about you to get a lecture that I'm turning into the father figure that neither of us had?" Shit, the back end of our car fishtailed a little and I slowed down even more to put some space between us and the truck. If that thing jack-knifed I wanted a chance to avoid it. "Since when is it emotional blackmail to tell you how I feel? You know how long its taken me to–one–know how I feel about anything–and two–to tell anyone?"