Rob scratched at the sand building under his eyes as he continued to drink his caffeine. By the time Jane had approached, he was about to get up. [i]If i’d be so lucky…[/i]

[i]“I, uh,  I had a bad trip,”[/i] She said. Rob could only nod. [i]Same here,[/i] he thought. 

Jane, from time to time, was spontaneous, wild, and hard to understand. Other times, such as now, she was being [i]more[/i] than obvious. As if the record wasn’t enough, or the apology. Truth was, Rob knew Jane long enough to know she couldn’t stand just accepting that someone was mad at her. Jane had to fix it, and that was a good quality to have under normal circumstances. Normally, Rob could get away from everyone. Take a walk, have a smoke, enjoy some time away from people. Here…he couldn’t go forty minutes.

He looked to Jane’s hand as he held it out to him. She might not have been subtle, but…at least she seemed honest enough. Rob took her hand, playing along with the peace that had been made. Maybe, it wasn’t honest to have done so—Rob was still conflicted. But at least it meant he would try. 

“I don’t hate you,” he had said after she seemed to joke that he did. “I’m just…I don’t know. Tired.” 

Jane was noticeably cheery as the two approached the van, even bothering Sam with the Basement song he secretly liked. Rob took the opportunity to take another nap, sleeping his way from the mall all the way to El Paso. 

[hr]

Time had been good to them when they arrived at El Paso. There was another thirty minutes before load in, and not much to do. 

“I’ll take the CD’s over,” he said to the others when they had arrived, before pushing the hoodie off his head and taking off to the trailer before anyone could protest. He picked up one of the boxes of CD’s the band had finished printing just days before the tour, and bolted for the front entrance. He could use the time alone. 

At these sorts of festivals, merch was usually handled in two different ways, depending on the size of your band. If you were on that day and you were a big enough band, they’d give you your own merch table to set up, with T-Shirts, CD’s—the whole nine yards. If you were a smaller band (read: In Bloom) and you weren’t selling much, you could get a stack of CD’s over to the festivals proprietary merch table. There’d be too much hassle in passing the money back to the bands, so El Paso’s festival had decided to just offer discounts based on how fell the CD’s sold. The whole system worked different ways in different towns, and Rob wondered if it was even worth the hassle. Who the hell buys CD’s anymore, anyways? 

Rob showed off his artist pass at the entrance gate and made his way over to the directed table near the front. As he did, thoughts of the day passed by him, he felt himself visibly cringe at some of the things he had muttered to people in the mall that day. He made a mental note to at least apologize to Sam some time later. 

Surprisingly, a small crowd was formed in front of the merch table, completely ignoring the (admittedly much bigger) band that was on before them. The staff worker behind the table saw Rob and seemed to breathe out a sigh of relief, before motioning him to move behind the table with her. 

“In Bloom?” she asked as he slid around behind her. Rob patiently set down the box on the ground. 

“Yeah?”

The staff worker immediately grabbed the box and about slammed it down on the table, atop some festival T-shirts. The small crowd of festival-goers turned to see the small spectacle. 

“They’ve been asking for your CD’s all day,” she said, starting to take money from the nearest fan. “We played a few tracks from your record yesterday after a band decided not to show. Called it a preview until we could rush the next band on stage. Now all I hear is ‘[i]Where’s the In Bloom record?’[/i]”

She put on a mocking tone as she said it, and turned to the crowd. “Well, it’s here,” she said, almost to herself. 

While the two had been talking, Rob had watched her sell three of their CD’s already. In the crowd in front of them, Rob noticed a guy look down at his artist pass, then back up to him. 

“You’re the drummer, right?” He asked, holding out the CD. Rob nodded, trying to put a good face on. “Could you sign my copy?”

Rob agreed, and quickly signed a copy for the guy, before watching him disappear into the crowd, headed towards the stage. “You’re on at eight, right?” Another person called out in the crowd. 

“Yeah, I’ve gotta get back there now,” Rob responded. The interaction with actual fans, not just friends and family, was starting to become exciting. Before he left, Rob signed another four CD’s and was handed $200 from the staffer for finally bringing her a box. The last thing he heard her say as he took the back route to the stage was something about needing more CDs. 

[hr]

By the time Rob made it to the stage, load in had already started. He quickly ran over to help Austin, who was struggling with carrying the bass drum. 

“About damn time,” he said, panting slightly at the weight of the thing. “Where were you?” 

“Signing CD’s,” Rob said, almost shocked to hear the words come out of his mouth. “It was surreal. People were actually buying our shit.” 

Austin was not one for much reaction. “Well, we could use some groupies to help move this shit anyways.”

Smiling, Rob helped Austin and the others set up the stage. He returned to the van, and after making sure no one was inside, reached into the back and pulled out his leather-bound journal. He climbed into the back seat and sat on the floor, his back to the door, and hastily began scribbling down what he could. Moments alone were few-and-far between on the road, or so it seemed, and he certainly [i]seemed[/i] alone enough. Rob hoped writing down all the endless shit running in his mind about the tour would help him clear his mind. Eventually, the writing turned to Jane, and Rob simply tried to jot down what he thought. Just being able to read the words on the page was comforting enough. After he was satisfied, he closed the book and set it on his lap, hoping for just another five minutes. Even if it was in this hot, closed, black van.