𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎

Big Red Delicious

APRIL, 1995

The highway hummed beneath the tires of the van, a low, steady rhythm that matched the gentle sway of Big Red Delicious as it tore through some forgotten stretch of Midwest asphalt. Outside, the world was a blur of black trees and yellow lines, and inside, the air smelled like beer, sweat, and the kind of exhaustion that only comes from pouring your soul out onstage.

Nate and William were curled in awkward, crumpled shapes in the back bench seat, both long gone to whatever dreams found drummers and bassists after a show. The only light came from the dim green glow of the dashboard and the occasional flicker of a passing highway sign.

Iris Jane leaned her head against Dave Grohl's shoulder, her breath warm and slow, a half-empty bottle of something cheap and strong balanced between her knees.

"You ever think about how weird all this is?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper. "Like... this life?"

Dave looked down at her, his hair still damp from the show, a few strands stuck to his forehead. He smiled.

"All the time."

She was quiet for a moment. Then, "I've been thinking about everything lately. Just... how the hell I even ended up here."

Dave shifted slightly, careful not to disturb her. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." She let out a soft laugh, almost incredulous. "I spent half my life thinking music was a dead end. That it was just something other people did. I was supposed to be a real estate agent. Like my mom. Like my uncles. Everyone in my family wore suits and sold dreams that came with 30-year mortgages."

Dave chuckled. "You'd have been the coolest real estate agent in the country."

Iris smiled against his shoulder. "You joke, but I really thought that was going to be my life."

"I was asked to join Nirvana and said no because I was scared. Scared it wouldn't work. Scared I'd disappoint everyone. Scared I'd disappoint myself. And that's my biggest regret."

There was a long silence between them, filled only by the low rumble of the road.

"But it taught me something. Even after everything. It taught me to live for passion. To stop letting fear drive the car. And now I'm here."

Dave was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I wish I could've taken you on my first tour. With Scream. I was seventeen. It was chaos. We were broke, dirty, hungry half the time... but it was everything. You would've loved it."

He glanced at her, eyes soft in the dashboard light. "You belong in this life, Iris. You get it. So few people do anymore. Most musicians I meet are chasing something hollow, but you live for it. For the fire. That's so special."

Iris looked up at him, her expression unreadable for a second. Then she turned fully toward him, one leg pulled up on the seat.

"Thank you," she said, voice thick. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

"I think I do."

"You've been my biggest inspiration, Dave." Her voice cracked a little, the truth of it breaking through. "You make me want to write... You make me believe in passion again."

Dave looked like he wanted to say something, but she kept going.

"I've never been happier. Even with the broken AC, the fast food dinners, and the stiff van seats." She laughed lightly. "I'm so damn grateful for this."

Dave's eyes didn't leave hers. The van rattled over a bump in the road, and somewhere behind them, Nate stirred and groaned, then settled again.

"I've never been happier either," Dave said quietly. "Not in a long time."