It's my first of three trips to Boulder today. I drive timidly as I don't want to wreck Jim's car. I don't know Jim, but I'm driving his car.
"Oh look, it's Red Rocks!" I say out loud to myself. "I'm getting a little misty-eyed. A little, Father John Misty-eyed ha ha ha ha".
I wish someone were here to hear my witty anecdotes. Especially when I pass the Colorado School of Mines.
"Oh man, I thought that said mimes. Can you just imagine a bunch of mimes in a mine? Ha ha ha ha".
Being by myself, as it turns out, is not really my strong suit.
JOE
I've been missing old friends recently. Once I left my job, I've been feeling very lonely and even more displaced than usual. It's nice to see friends from the past- you know what you're getting. The same conversations that I know that'll make me laugh, the same gossip about kids from high school/college, the same chatter of older and better times. When I drive up to the old house on Mapleton, I am expecting the same old dark-haired kid with the big smile, and I am greeted by a kid with bleached blonde hair.
"I have no one to impress" he tells me as he rubs his head. He turns towards the historic house. "Welcome to my home!" as he flashes that signature smile.
He's house-sitting for a family that is currently in Canada. We don't know this family, but we're sleeping in their home. I wonder how they'd feel if they knew a bunch of 30-somethings who are not accustomed to any kind of luxury are sleeping in their kids' beds.
We find ourselves walking past the large, charming homes we end up in downtown Boulder. We regale each other of our past adventures of the year and he asks, "So when are you moving out west?!" I chuckle a little bit, not really knowing that it's a question that stings just a little bit. I tell him of my Montana woes. It's always hard to talk about it; I haven't mastered the art of conveying my thoughts and feelings like a normal adult as my conversations usually end up with me blurting out "The light inside me is slowly dying!" followed by a hearty laugh. (I can only imagine how my therapy sessions would go) I quickly change the subject and we grab a beer.
Later, after a reckless time trying to rent inner tubes, we're floating down Boulder Creek. We were informed that the water is low; it's almost painfully banal, but I hear Joe's cackle every time we slide down a tiny rapid. And it's there, under these sublime mountains I'm finally forgetting about all the shit that I've had to deal with for weeks. I look up and soak up the sun, still giggling and splashing my feet around, barely having any time to prepare for when my tube hits a rock and I suddenly flip over. My knee is gushing blood, but the real tragedy is that my beer went under too, flowing all the way down Boulder Creek.
JOSHUA TILLMAN AND THE INFAMOUS CAN FLUB
"Nashvilllleeeee nooooo wayyyyyyy". I'm talking to Alisha. I don't know Alisha, but she's quite a character. Spunky curly hair, a large smile full of adult braces, and incredibly drunk. She's wobbles back and forth while taking sips of her beer. Her obviously sober brother/driver stands next to her and stares out into the distance. The sun has just set. The red rocks towering above us are slowly illuminated by artificial lighting and you can see the twinkle of downtown Denver in the distance.
Alisha thinks it's "supppperrrr awwesssoooommmmeee" that I traveled to Red Rocks just to see Father John Misty. I think it's pretty normal. I try to talk about my obsession with this man, but it sounds like she's just here for the thin air and alcohol. She asks about what awesome venues in Nashville are worth traveling for, but I basically say don't ever go to Nashville. I normally try to talk up the place, but it seems now that all ties have been severed. I'm over it, Alisha.
At least she's inspired me to do one thing: get my own beer and return to my seat. No one seems to want to have a conversation about FJM with me. I crane my neck looking around for those I believe are in the Can Flub. Yeah, there's a Facebook group. And yeah, I'm in it. I'm too shy to go and introduce myself. Plus I'm still out of breath after all those damn stairs.
My knees shake as the lights finally go down. It's a strange and wild feeling to be seeing someone whom I have come to care about so much. You know when people talk about out of body experience? Floating around in some kind of lucid-like dream state? It's like that. I'm not sure if a lot of people have those feelings watching a scrappy dude from Maryland dance around in a crisp white suit, but here we are. I continue to sway back and forth while the lyrics of the past few months, especially of those times curled up in a ball in my dark bedroom, blast through the mountains: Honey, I'm worried bout you, you're too much too lose, you're all that I have.
I sit around in a haze post-show. It's 2am and I cannot go to sleep. I furiously edit photos on my phone, thinking posting them on Instagram and sharing with my FB Can Flub will be a good use of all my extra energy. I wake up in the morning to 15 measly Instagram likes. 15? I know I'm not supposed to be equating my life to likes on social media, but don't these people know how great that fucking show was?????
I go to the Flub. Messages pour in from those around the globe. Those who understand how great that fucking show was. Those who are near and far, and will always be a solid source of support. Those who will always be there, wherever I go.
LAURA
We're sat in the middle of what essentially is a giant sandbox. It grows darker as the dunes become eerie black mounds against the night sky, the stars are beginning to twinkle, and I'm only mildly freaking out they we won't find our way back to the car. The wind is blowing hard; the clouds are slowly creeping up to the moon and sand is everywhere. I tightly grip my beer as to not have it infested with sand (I'm sure there's still some in there, but I'll continue to drink anyway). We're utterly alone in this magical, celestial paradise.
The great thing about Laura is that we can fluidly slip in and out of meaningful conversations. We bounce our experiences and emotions off of each other and it's never forced or awkward. Then we can slide right into conversations about Mumford and Sons. It's all very cathartic. We've shared a lot of adventures together (we would later explore this land of sand in the daytime, helplessly falling over, romping around in the cool sand, sitting in tears because we would laugh so damn much), which is notable because we've really only seen each other a handful of times in the "real world".
I've come to terms with leaving Nashville, and I wonder on a daily (hourly, more like it) basis of where I'll end up. It's scary. Fucking terrifying. But knowing friendships like these, with those kindred spirits, make everything so much easier. It's easy to feel wholly desolate in my situation, but connecting with others who understand- those who also feel alone and scared by change- are there for me; sometimes intimidating change is the only way to move forward, and as much as I can feel lonely, I am never alone.