Are You Experienced? (21 page)

“What do you think? The organizers are saying if I go on at midnight, the audience will be bigger, but I still think I should hold out, and let the all the other bands play before me.”

Michael asked, “Why are you asking a kid? Shouldn't you ask your manager or something?”

Of course, I knew why Jimi was asking me—he was just verifying what I had already told him would happen. And I knew Michael was just asking in order to find out what Jimi knew.

“Mike,” I said, “Jimi and I had a long talk before, okay? He needed some advice from me, that's all. Jimi, you're going to close out the concert.”

Jimi turned to Michael. “Now, we have some unfinished business from back at the medical tent.”

“We do?”

“Yeah. Gabriel tells me you've got yourself in a bit of a situation with Uncle Sam. I've been there myself, man. I don't know if you know this, but I was in the hundred and first airborne division back in '62. Then I broke my ankle, and that was the end of my life as a paratrooper, dig?”

“Wow, I didn't know that.”

“I'm not really into talking about it much.”

I knew why Jimi didn't like to talk about it, because I had read it in his biography. When the army started holding back his musical career, he had lied to a bunch of army psychologists in order to get discharged early. Nobody seemed to be 100 percent sure exactly what he had said, but the rumor was that he had pretended to be gay, which was a surefire way to horrify the army back in the sixties, but also a surefire way to mess up your reputation in the rock-music world at the time. When he talked about the discharge to reporters, he had always claimed it was because of an ankle injury.

“Anyway, yeah, I got my draft notice a few weeks ago. And I can't do it. I can't go.”

“Why not? Army life isn't so terrible, brother. Really.”

I wasn't sure how much Michael would reveal to Jimi—who, after all, was a total stranger—but he absolutely unloaded. Jimi and I both just sat and listened as Michael told us stuff that burned a hole in my heart forever.

“You want to know why I could never fight in a war, man? You're probably just going to think it's stupid. I mean, I've never told this to anybody, not even Willow. Davey was there, but he didn't see most of it, and I don't think he would remember it, anyhow. He was too little. I hope to God he doesn't.… It's bad enough that I have to.

“I was seven years old. There used to be this little pond on a vacant lot two doors down from our house. It's not there anymore, because they filled it in when they finished the subdivision a few years later. But all the kids in the neighborhood used to play near it, throwing rocks and sticks, building forts, that kind of stuff. You couldn't swim in it or anything, though—it had about a million snapping turtles.

“There were also these beautiful box turtles that would come out and sun themselves on nice days. So one morning, early, I was just sitting there alone. My parents weren't up yet, because they had been partying pretty hard the night before, so I had snuck out to the pond for some peace and quiet before I had to deal with their hangovers and making David's breakfast. I was watching this one turtle sitting on a rock. The turtle wasn't hurting anybody, and neither was I, you know? It was eating a leaf or something, and I was just squatting like a little Indian, checking it out.

“And this huge shadow fell over me. I looked up, and there was Starkey. He was ten years old, which meant he was at least a head and a half taller than me. He was also a whole hell of a lot meaner, and he had a full-on evil face going at that moment. He asked me, ‘Hey, Mikey, wanna guess what today is?'

“I didn't know whether to ignore him or try to humor him. When a big boy was in this kind of mood, it wasn't like either choice was a super-safe bet. I split the difference. I said, ‘I don't … know?' I remember hating that my voice sounded so weak.

“He shouted, right by my ear, so his spit hit my face, ‘It's Turtle Fun Day!'

“I asked him what Turtle Fun Day was, and he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a firecracker. He said, ‘You'll like Turtle Fun Day! It's like a science fair and the Fourth of July, all wrapped into one!' Then he reached into his other pocket and whipped out a matchbook and a roll of tape. The kid had deep pockets.

“I know the day couldn't actually have stopped being sunny at that exact moment, but when I remember it, it feels that way—like the whole world got cold. I asked him what he meant, and he said, ‘Well, Mikey, I have a fun little plan for an experiment, but I only have two hands, so I need an assistant, and you just got picked! Here's what we're gonna do. You grab the turtle and hold it. I'll grab this firecracker and hold it on top of his shell. Then you wrap the tape around the whole turtle and the firecracker a few times so it's stuck on him good and tight. Then I'll light a match and hand it to you so you can start the fuse on the firecracker.'

“I felt sick. I said, ‘And then what?'

“Starkey looked at me like I was a moron. He said, ‘What do you mean, and then what? And then BOOM! That's what!'

“I felt even sicker then, like I always felt when I knew my dad was about to belt me. I said, ‘No way.'

“Starkey stepped so close to me I could smell him. He had had peanut butter for breakfast. He said, ‘You're a pussy, Mikey.'

“What kind of ten-year-old kid calls a seven-year-old a pussy? I've thought about that a lot. But you know what, man? His life had to be a lot like mine. Maybe his parents drank all the time around him and said shit they shouldn't. Maybe they smacked him around, too. I don't know. But I do know I never threatened anybody the way he threatened me that day.

“I said, ‘Am not.' I didn't even know what that was, but I could tell it wasn't something I wanted to be.

“He said, ‘You're a pussy, Mikey, and you know what else? I stole this firecracker from my big brother, so I have to use it. If I bring it home, I'll have to hide it somewhere and I'll probably get caught with it. That means I've got to use it right now, today. So here's my backup plan. If I can't blow up this turtle, how about I just shove this firecracker up your ass and light it?'

“He was bluffing. He had to be. So I decided to call him on it. I said, ‘Okay, fine. Why don't you just blow up my … butt? If you can catch me!'

“I was just about to run, when I heard David's little four-year-old voice shouting from our backyard, ‘Mikey, I'm hungry!'

“The gate between our backyard and the vacant lots was stuck open by rust, and Dad never got around to fixing anything, so there was really nothing between David and us but a big empty field. I yelled, ‘Stay where you are, Davey!' Now I was scared. First of all, if the shouting woke up our parents, we were both doomed, and second, I didn't want my brother anywhere near Starkey and his firecrackers. Starkey knew it, too.

“He said, ‘Or maybe I could get your little brother to come over here and play? What do you say, Mikey?' Then he started to yell, ‘Hey, David—'

“I cut him off. I screamed, ‘Go back inside, Davey! I'll come in a minute and make you some toast, all right?'

“I held my breath for a few moments, until I heard our rickety back screen door slap shut. Then I turned to Starkey and said, ‘Gimme the tape.'

“The turtle's little legs started waving frantically as soon as I got close, but it didn't have time to get away. It tucked itself all the way into its shell as we taped the explosive to its midsection. I placed the turtle gently back on the rock, and then Starkey struck the match. There has never been a moment in my entire life when I wanted to do something less than I wanted to take that matchstick from him, but I held out my hand for it. I didn't want to be a pussy, whatever that was, and I definitely didn't want him going after David. He handed me the match, and I lit the fuse. My hand was shaking so hard it took me three tries to get it going, and by then, it was burning my first two fingers. As soon as I saw sparks start flying, I jumped back, dropped the match, and ran a few feet. It was then I noticed Starkey had run several paces and hidden behind a tree. That was the real reason he had needed me—he was afraid that whoever lit the fuse might get blown up. Anyway, my whole body was tensed up like the tightest fist you ever made. I was ready for a huge KABOOM noise. I thought the turtle would completely disintegrate, but it didn't. I wish it had.

“All I heard was a sickening thud, and a sad crack. I almost didn't want to look, but I had to. You know?

“I turned, and there was the turtle, still on the rock, but with a long crack running sideways along the top of its shell. Two or three of its legs were out again, and it was trying to move, but it was only crawling in a little circle. Its head was out, too, and it was looking right at me, like,
Why? Why, man?

“I knelt down next to it. There was all this wet gooey shit dripping out around it, and I was wearing newish sandals, but I didn't care right then, you know?

“All of a sudden, Sharkey was right next to me, going, ‘Oh, my God. Oh, my God. I just thought he was going to blow up. I didn't think he was going to live!'

“Like it would have been fine if the turtle had just totally blown up.

“I didn't say anything. Mostly because I was crying. Really crying, like with snot running down into my mouth and everything.

“Sharkey said, ‘He's looking right at me, man. Shit. Turn his head, Mikey! I just wanted to see what would happen. That's all. I just wanted to see what would happen.'

“The turtle tipped over onto its side a bit, which made things even worse. Now one of its legs was scratching at empty air, and blood was dripping from the raised edge of its shell.

“I couldn't stand it. I picked up the turtle as gently as I could—which was horrible, because I could feel his shell flexing in the middle—and started walking the few steps toward the edge of the water. I thought that maybe if he could get back into the water, he might stand a chance, somehow.

“And if he was back in the pond, we wouldn't have to watch him die.

“Starkey said, ‘What are you doing?'

“I said, ‘Saving him. He needs to go back in the water.'

“Starkey said, ‘No, he needs his shell fixed. I … I'll go get some glue!'

“So I put the turtle down in the weeds maybe half a foot from the water, and told Starkey to hurry. He ran home, and I waited. I sat there and sat there. The turtle twitched and whipped his limbs around; my brother eventually started calling for me again; my mother yelled; my brother cried.

“Starkey never came back.

“Finally, when my brother had had breakfast, and the turtle was hardly even moving anymore, I picked it up one more time and pushed it sideways out onto the water. It drifted a few feet, swam a few more, and then went straight to the bottom.

“I stayed there the rest of the morning, until I was starving and sunburned, but that turtle never came back up.

“I think about that all the damn time, man. See, it was easy for Starkey to be a big-ass he-man with his explosives and his threats and his plans, right? And then he made me do the dirty work. But when he saw the actual results, he couldn't face them. All he could say was, ‘I just wanted to see what would happen.' And then he ran away.

“And I think that's how this war is going. Can you dig it? These old men in power are making their big plans, and they want to try out their bombs and their tanks and their guns. So they threaten guys like me into going over there and blowing up their turtles for them.

“For what, man? I've already seen how this game plays out. In ten years, or twenty, when they're even older men, they're going to have to see what they've done, and they're going to say, ‘I just wanted to see what would happen.'

“Well, fuck that, brother. I ain't playing.”

My uncle looked at Jimi and me angrily, almost as though he were daring us to argue with him. But of course, I wasn't going to, and Jimi himself had quit the army. After a long, uncomfortable silence—which wasn't really silent, because the next band, Ten Years After, was wailing away onstage only a hundred or so feet away—Jimi whipped a huge home-rolled marijuana cigarette out of his pants pocket.

“That's a heavy tale, Michael,” he said, lighting and passing the joint. “And the thing is, you have to follow your conscience, you know what I'm saying? Here, let's all have a smoke before my manager declares me dead and keeps my share of the gig fees.

“But do you know what I'm going to do, man? I'm going to give you my guitar after I play in the morning.”

Michael coughed out a massive plume of pot smoke. “What?” he asked, choking.

“My guitar, man … my white Stratocaster. I've already talked to Gabriel here about it. This guitar was given to me by an old woman in Europe, and it has some unusual … you know … properties. Gabriel is going to go away for a long time right after I play my set, but you're going to hold on to the guitar for him, all right? And if anything should happen to you, Gabriel will make sure your brother knows this whole story some day. Gabriel said you can't tell David any of this yourself because you're worried about what your parents will do to him. But this way, you'll know that eventually, your brother will understand. All right?”

“But—does this mean—”

Jimi took back the joint from Michael's now-shaking fingers. “Don't think too hard about anything tonight, my friend. You're at the biggest party in history with your brother and your lady, you've got backstage passes, and the evening is young. All this means is that everything will make sense in time, brother. Everything will make sense in time. Right, Gabriel? Your job is to bring the truth home. You've already done it for me. Can you swear you'll do the same for Michael and David if you have to?”