To Catch a Dream

Chapter One - A Thousand Miles

 The dusty sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the small neighborhood where my friends and I gathered in the fading light. The cool spring breeze blew through our hair as we crowded around a small picnic table at Osage Park.

We all shared a common dream: creating a successful and original band. We had easily accomplished being original. There was no question about it. The successful part, on the other hand, would be a longer journey.

Shoddily parked on the side of the street a few yards from us was Logan's blue Volkswagen van, which we didn't know the year of. It was left to him by his grandfather, who had maintained it well ever since he bought it from some long-forgotten car dealership.

Across the table, we had sprawled out an old, weathered map of the United States, a few Sharpies, and notebooks, all for the trip we were planning to The Battle of The Bands competition. We had watched the competition on TV before and always wanted to participate, but it took place in California, which made it much too far and expensive for us to actually consider going. But this year was different. It was our year. This year, we were going to go, and we were going to win.

People across the world all went to San Francisco for this competition and played all sorts of music. It lasted a week, and the first order of business was to split up everyone according to their genres of music, the number of players in a band, and age. But as the week progressed, all of these groups would slowly blend into one, and the audience would determine the winner. The competition was almost twenty years old, every year beginning on the second week of June in San Francisco.

To join the Battle of the Bands took months of preparation. We signed up in February, started practicing for hours a day in March, and, we found that we had to stop spending money on frivolous things in April, if we wanted to afford the trip. Now, here we were on the first day of May, finally planning the route, the hotels, the stops, everything.

We had saved up a fraction of our paychecks for two years just for this moment. We took the week before and the week of the competition off from our jobs and were finally ready to book hotels, campsites, and anything.

We all wrote down The Plan in our notebooks. We were to leave a week in advance to give us enough time to hit any tourist stops we wanted while we drove to California. The drive would be 1,800 miles anyway, so we'll make some fun of it.

Logan drew our general route on the map. We'd go through the little corner of Kansas we lived in and cut through Missouri to hit Nebraska. Then we'd zigzag through to hit the top of Colorado and the bottom of Wyoming and cut through Utah and Nevada before we made it to the coast of California. Then, on the way back, we'd go through Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico, a small part of Texas, and Oklahoma. Then we'd be back home in Kansas.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

There were five of us. Our band has been through many names like Stranger Creek, Sneezer, Chopped Liver, and countless others. We eventually decided to stick with The Centipedes, because our music crawls into your ears like centipedes!

"Do you think this trip will give us new ideas to write songs about?" Logan asked.

We all smiled and nodded in response; laughter echoed throughout the Osage Park pavilion as we continued talking.

"I've never been outside Kansas," Zahra admits, "I've barely been outside Millwood."

Everyone looked at her, a mix of emotions on everyone's face.

"You've never been outside Millwood?" Jasper asked.

Zahra shook her head. "Never."

"Loser!" Jasper quickly yelled, a shrieking laugh following his words.

More laughter echoed through the picnic area, and I'm glad there are the people I chose to be friends with. I'm happy they're not bad influences or try to pressure me into things. They're funny, respectful, kind, and just the most amazing friends a girl could ask for.

Logan smiled as he stood up, climbing onto the table we were sitting at. He outstretched his arms and yelled towards the dimly lit playground, "We are The Centipedes, and we are going to California! We are The Centipedes, and we are going to win!"

He looked down at us, smiling.

"This is going to be the trip of a lifetime!" He started to pause, thinking about his words.

"This trip, it's not just about the music, and it's not about California or winning; it's about the journey, the stories we collect, the experiences and opportunities we will have!" He paused again, and everyone looked up at him with smiles.

"We aren't just a band; we're a family!" He finished his speech, standing there and looking down at us, his arms outstretched and a smile slowly growing.

We all cheered for him after his brief speech. Smiles remained glued to our faces as laughter and cheers echoed around the pavilion. Logan was right; we were a family, and we were going to play in this Battle of the Bands, and we were going to win.

Excitement and anticipation filled the air as the sun had finally set and the harsh bulbs from the streetlights held back the darkness from the road. We quickly rolled the map up, shoved it in Logan's backpack's side pocket, and promptly cleaned the rest of our stuff before we piled into the van.

Hope for the future filled my brain. We would meet many people, see a lot, and do things together.

But first, ice cream.