Tabbs

Chapter 11

Tabbs pulled her struggling Saturn into the parking lot of Terry's Tavern to join the other rust buckets, trucks and sedans. The Saturn more so died in a spot than parked and Tabbs slid out, slammed the door, heard a loud pop as the plastic interior of the passenger side door fell off, and walked towards the squat building. Ever present, multicolored Christmas lights stretched along the sloping shingled roof, drooped over the busted rain gutters and reflected off the tinted windows housed in cheap, wood-paneled sodding. Passing a myriad of smoking, middle aged men in leather vests and sunglasses, she crossed a deck reeking of mildew and through a pair of well-oiled glass doors. A bell overhead jingled as she entered, but went unguarded in the brimming bar of similarly dressed regulars. Guys in leather vests with patches and short, copped, gelled hair talking with women with various faded band tees stuffed into blue jeans. A bartender with a jaw seemingly chiseled out of stone darted between loudly talking customers, pouring and sliding drinks without so much as spilling a drop. Overhead, several old TVs played the same sports game, all muted as a Willy Nelson tune filled in any gaps of sound in the roaring and whooping customers.

I didn't take long to find Spacey Dave in the crowd. Sitting at one of the smaller tables in the middle of the room, he was decked out head to toe in black, complete with a Slayer hoodie and torn black jeans. He really didn't look a day out of high school.

"What up?" she asked, pulling up an oddly sticky chair. The wafting smoke from outside and the vague stench of whiskey made her feel right at home. It all reminded her of the old holes that Grease Monkey used to haunt back in the day.

"Sup?" Dave nodded approvingly at her, eyes glued to his clutched phone.

"Work today? How'd it go?"

He gave a single shoulder shrug. "Was aight," he said, then sipped from a can of diet coke and continued scrolling through something on his phone. Tabbs pursed her lips, smiled, waited for any sort of elaboration. When it didn't come, she glanced some more around the room and found a clearing near the bar. A faded banner across the dark paneled wall read 'Open Mic. Every Tuesday 8 - 10.' A lone microphone stood on a stand plugged into a small soundboard and stack of Bose amps. Several other quarter inch plugs dangled on guitar stands, presumably for others to plug in their instruments. She glanced around some more and found the wall opposite them supported four acoustic guitars off of padded instrument hooks, all well within arms reach for even her.

"What's that about?" she pointed in their direction.

Spacey Dave vaguely glanced over his shoulder at them, then back at her. "For people who want to play. In case you forgot your axe or something." He wiped under his nose with the back of his hand and continued scrolling.

"Huh." She paused, lightly scratched at her knee without thinking. "Just curious, have you heard from Dot or Dakota? Haven't seen them in years."

"Well Dot went down to the coast a few years ago," he stated a little sleepily.

Tabbs nodded. "Old news, dude. What happened since?"

"Since the break up?" The bluntness in which Spacey Dave had approached the end of not only their old band, but their collective friendship as well stung a little more then Tabbs cared to admit. "Dakota is still in town somewhere I think." Dave took another pull from his soda. "Dot, don't know. Still on the coast somewhere probably. Studying dolphins or whatever."

"Dakota is still in town?" Tabbs blinked. Dave and Dakota both still living in this backwater town after all these years was a little mind-boggling to her. Back in school, they all swore to find a way out of River Oak as soon as possible, and yet... well, here they were.

"Yeah. Sells insurance or something now."

She couldn't help but scoff. "Insurance? The most anti-establishment guy I've ever known is selling insurance?"