No Seven Day Weekends

unplugged / bryan adams






The roads seem narrower. The hills and valleys steeper and the houses just a bit more run down than I remember. For a town that is continually claiming growth, there is surprisingly few new houses.  We are in the middle of rural nowhere.

I have agreed to go on the “packey run” hoping that I will get some influence over which particular forms of alcohol will be purchased. Over ten years of being over the legal drinking age and Leah still gravitates to fruity white wine spritzers that vaguely resemble fruit juice gone bad.


We’ve driven the last 4 miles in silence.


“The world is certainly a strange place.” Leah sounds wistful.


I am not sure what to say. It is the day after her mother’s funeral and we have just driven past the house of one of her many old boy friends; one who is now deceased himself. I know she is thinking about Dave. I have a brief image of him and her mother sitting in white robes and angel wings discussing the woman next to me and wince at the thought.


“MM hmm,” I stare out the window. I want to ask her about Dave. What did she see in him? Why did she sleep with him? I know she did. We’d never liked him when we were all in school, but they had ended up at the same college. I still didn’t like him. But then, I liked almost none of the guys she liked. She and Dave started dating out of nowhere. Thankfully, it was short lived.  But a few months later, the guy was dead. A car accident.


I felt worse for his friend who he had been racing when he died. The town blamed Jess, but it wasn’t his fault. Not really. Dave was always the wild one. I dare not vocalize this to Leah, however. Better to loose myself among my own ghosts, I don't need hers too.


I stare at a spot on the side of the road. I see my old avocado green car, a flat tire, and the two nice old guys that stopped to help me. They were both over sixty if a day and opposites.  A short white man, with a scruffy white beard and a beer gut that made me think he wouldn't be able to reach the tire.  His buddy was a tall, thin, hairless black man. They had driven past me, and correctly assessed the situation: I was clearly clueless.  They taught me how to change a tire, right there on the spot. “In case I ever needed to again.”


“This is where you got that flat.” Leah’s voice broke the silence as if reading my mind or seeing my ghosts.


“I remember. I was on the way to get new tires. It couldn’t’ve just held out another twenty minutes.” I snorted.


“That tire needed changing forever. It had a spot that was soft canvas when you came up here for God’s sake.” She scoffed.


“Yeah I know, but still.”


“I should’ve followed you.” Her voice sounded full of regret.


“Don’t be silly, do you know how many years ago that was? Besides, She was supposed to be following me.” We both knew the She was my mother. She said with inflection was always my mother.


In this case, She was following me, in case the tire blew. It did. And She waved to me as she passed me. By the time she thought to come back and check on me, the two very nice old guys were waving good bye.


“Yeah, I know but still. I still think of him.”


She meant Dave, I knew. I was used to Leah’s schizophrenic conversation. I didn’t know what to say though, and in my silence she went on. “He really wasn’t as much of a jerk as he seemed.” It seems an odd, left handed compliment. “He could play guitar, did you know that?  He talked about trying to get a band together. He just didn’t want to grow up.” She shrugged.


“Neither do I.” I said to the window.