Glimmering

Trip’s performance that night was off-kilter, almost frenzied. At first Jerry and the other musicians were nonplussed, but after the first three songs they seemed to catch Trip’s frantic buzz, segueing from a cover of “Walking with the Big Man” into “The End of the End.” Trip crouched bare-chested at the edge of the stage and sang in a soft moan, his bare skin glistening in the spotlights. John Drinkwater stood in the wings and watched in silence. When Trip finally walked off, the front of the stage was heaped with crosses and flowers and T-shirts flung there by fans, and a single broken-spined Bible.

Backstage, an exhausted Trip made straight for the door that led outside, where the limos waited to bring him and the others back to the hotel. Three teenage girls and their parents stood beneath the EXIT sign, beaming as he approached. In the shadows nearby, John Drinkwater stood in his hempen suit.

“Hi, thanks for coming to the show, hi,” Trip mumbled. The girls giggled and held out copies of LIVE FROM GOLGOTHA for him to sign. Trip glanced at John Drinkwater.

“Kind of a short set tonight, huh, Trip?” one of the fathers asked in a conspiratorial tone. He lowered his surgeon’s mask, looked askance at the cross branded on Trip’s forehead.

“Uh, I hate these darn masks—”

“Yeah, me too,” murmured Trip. He scrawled his name across the disc and shoved it back at the girl, shot her a quick smile.

“Kayla, huh? Pretty name.”

The girl’s father shook his head. “You look tired, Trip,” he boomed, clapping Trip’s shoulder with a powerful hand. “Singing takes it out of you, eh?”

Trip forced another smile. The girl, rosy-cheeked and golden-haired, plucked her surgeon’s mask from her face and smiled beatifically. “These are for you,” she said, and shyly thrust a fistful of lilacs at him. Trip took the flowers, his smile frozen; they were limp and warm and grayish, wrapped in damp shreds of paper towel.

“Th-thanks.” He glanced at the outside door, then at John Drinkwater. “Thanks again. Uh, I better go—”

On the way back to the hotel, Trip deliberately sat between Jerry Disney and their bass player. That didn’t stop John Drinkwater from giving them all a brief lecture on the perils of the road, along with a reminder of the terms of their morality contracts. Trip looked contrite, but when they got to the Four Seasons Jerry cornered him in the hotel lobby.

“That was some crazy shit you pulled!” he exclaimed exultantly, punching Trip’s arm. “Man, I almost swallowed my gum—”

Trip went cold. He knows! he thought, and saw the blond girl’s luminous eyes staring at him from between the yellow leaves. But then Jerry grabbed him. ‘“Walking with the Big Man!’ I forgot I even knew that song!”

“Yeah,” Trip said, relieved. “Yeah, it sounded good.”

“It was fucking great! We gotta put that on the next album—maybe live, huh? LIVE FROM GOLGOTHA LIVE! Oooweee—” Jerry spun in place, laughing. “This is so great—”

Trip watched his friend. The next album… He thought of Nellie Candry of Agrippa Music and Mustard Seed’s army of red-faced lawyers back in Branson. He thought of Marz. “I’m going to bed,” he announced, and headed for the elevator.

“Boston tomorrow, Trip!” Jerry yelled after him. “College boys and girls! We’re gonna be wicked big stars! Wicked big!”

“We already are,” said Trip, as the elevator door slid shut.

In his room, Trip moaned and collapsed into an armchair.

“Jesus God.” He stared dazedly at the pathetic handful of lilacs he still clutched. The grass withereth, the flower fadeth…

Since the glimmering began, flowers no longer thrived, especially early-spring flowers like lilacs. These looked puny to begin with, but he didn’t have the heart to toss them away. So he put the lilacs in a tumbler of water on the table beside his bed, shoving aside one of John’s Guideposts discs to make room. Then he took another shower. Afterward he walked dripping from the bathroom, tossing the towel onto a heap of dirty clothes as he made his way to bed. He stopped.

When he’d put the lilacs in their glass, the flowers had been lank and gray, leaves curled as discolored ribbon. Now the stems were supple and thick as his finger, the heart-shaped leaves fresh and green. The blossoms fairly glowed. The scent of lilacs was everywhere, and the soft monotonous buzz of a bumblebee. He stared open mouthed, then closed his eyes and inhaled.