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The night before the proposition, Robbie was awake on the strange and unforgiving floor of the highway 71 motel room after a lost coin toss, lying still and silent below the bed where Levon was making it with a girl he’d just met at a party — the sedentary Arkansas air was thick with the bitter odor of red mulch and dead bugs from just outside the cracked window, with no relief from any AC on account of all the units being in a state of unusable since ‘47. Robbie wide awake under a paper-thin bedsheet was convinced no one could sleep in this heat, lamenting like a bad dream Levon and his girl who were dead set by the sound of it despite the suffocatingly itchy air and unintelligible yelling from somewhere far on the other side of the cracked window . .
“You go on without me,” Levon had drunkenly insisted to an equally drunk Robbie with a thumb pointing to a blurry figure behind him, adding something about spending the night with her — they stood in the middle of a wool-carpeted guest room smelling of perfume and sweat and liquor holding steady against the undulating current of strangers ambling around them — “O.K., Duke?” — not wanting to argue the fact that Levon was his ride Robbie just said “O.K.” . . so he walked the mile back to their motel with eyes weakly focusing on the endless void of highway, a black river flanked by a weedy bank adorned with trees and autoshops and houses silent against the pummeling echoes and cries of passing freight trains.
As Robbie drifted along the periphery of sleep the high tone of hushed groaning lulled him back awake — “really good — I need — please” — trying to think of anything else Robbie remembered how just before he left he looked Levon in the eye and told him they have an early morning tomorrow, “so you better not fuck up my sleep tonight” — Levon grabbed Robbie by the shoulder with a moonshine grin said “you ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, baby,” though now Levon on top of the only bed in the room was calling that girl “baby” and together sharing noises that were starting to make Robbie sweat —
Robbie would say he had no problem with the proximity, in fact he’d gotten used to it since he was freshly sixteen still wearing suits not yet broken-in and sneaking into bars as Hawkin’s bass-man, occasionally sharing rooms and beds with various bandmates and lovers — an arrangement that’d only gotten necessary after splitting from Ronnie and having no other option than one room or two on a good week split between the five of them. It was something they endured not unlike trench soldiers telling themselves it was nothing more than a temporary means to a just end, but Robbie’s gotten sick of spending nights in flickering rooms sharing blankets and warning girls not to trip over the drunken bandmates curled up on the floor below the bed — broken-lamp-lit nights spent wrapped in bed-bug-ridden cotton sheets with empty stomachs and rhythm blues still ringing in their ears— each week colored dimly by a destituted transience because it was all they had . . when they were all staying in a friend’s two-bedroom apartment somewhere in Texas Robbie and Rick sat on the stoop at the entrance sharing a day-old sandwich and Robbie asked if he was tired of it all — both having just taken ice-cold showers Rick of course knew what he meant — and so Rick with a genuine laugh very simply said “we can’t afford to be.”
Low vibrations of laughter rumbled from the bed down to the floor where Robbie was holding his breath and he settles it then: Robbie needs a bed or a room or more drugs or even just a good night’s sleep — left tempted by impossibility and still reeling from the moonshine, Robbie had nothing to do but squeeze his eyes shut until the nausea subsided thinking only to himself of the paper political advertisement pinned to the top of the bar they played in Fayetteville declaring SOMETHING HAS TO CHANGE . .
***
That night Robbie dreamt of the first train he took down to Arkansas, flying towards the edge of something great — scenic landscape looping out the window like a cut film reel repeating same movements over — looking through endless identical carriages going nowhere as the pistons creaked and moaned — instrumental echoing metronome thumping like a kick drum reverberating in an empty hall — train whistle swearing — bone-deep aching rhythm vibrations — just before it could get to be too much a cymbal crashed and Robbie woke up to a dark and silent room . . Levon was lying on the bed naked and alone, all of his clothes and a girl’s bra strewn unceremoniously on the floor. Robbie reluctantly looked under the thin, blank sheet covering himself and saw a small, dark wet spot on the crotch of his pants and whispered to himself “shit.”
***
The next morning Robbie woke up with a stiff back and a migraine and a grudge made even worse by the sight of a well-rested Levon, whistling Muddy Waters while buttoning his shirt — he turned around to look at Robbie and said, “you finally awake? Whoa, you look like shit.”
“Huh?” Robbie pressed his palms against his eyes. “Jesus. I’m surprised you got any rest last night. You and, uh, what’s-her-name.”
“You heard that? Sorry, Duke, I thought you were asleep.”
“Real sorry, I bet.”
“Hey, don’t be like that. I’ve got good news.”
“You lettin’ me sleep in?”
“Better than that, baby.” Levon crouched on the floor next to Robbie. “Last night I got us a one-way ticket outta this dump.” Robbie sat up so he was level with Levon, suddenly forgetting all previous transgressions. “I talked to Jay at the party last night an’ he laid it all out — it’s already set up, we just need to walk in and grab the money.”
“What? Where?”
“A poker game up near Fayetteville, a bunch of drunk suckers carrying more cash than you’ve seen in your life. It’ll be like takin’ candy from a baby.”
Robbie scoffed. “You want us to rob them? You’re kidding.”
“I’m dead serious, Duke,” Levon said, and he looked it. “We can’t keep livin’ like this — shit, it’s hardly livin’, what we’re doing. Imagine what this could do for us.” He sighed when Robbie didn’t seem convinced. “Think about it, O.K.? Just think about it.”
***
On the road they watched road signs shrinking in the rear-view mirror wondering if the gas’ll run out before they made it to the nearest rest stop . . concurrent melodies and rhythms not all musical seeped through the cracking floorboards and stained the walls — the set began with a dwindling venue and ended in an empty one — there was just a man sleeping in a booth framed by flies and spilt milk pooling on the table— Richard whispered he might be dead so Levon hit his cymbals a few times and he still didn’t wake up . . the owner gave each two free beers and a coupon for the Chinese restaurant next-door — while sharing a takeout box of lo mein Robbie told Levon he’d think about it.
***
In a diner off 71 Robbie and Levon stood together huddled like conspirators dodging and stepping on cigarette butts and dirty napkins littering the checkered-tiled floor — hot air thickly permeated through the open windows lining the walls and the open grill cooking burgers and eggs — almost as unbearable as it was outside under skin pulsing from direct sun exposure — Robbie leaned into the soothing breezes blowing from oscillating fans that made him shiver from the feeling of rapidly cooling sweat —
“And what if they call the cops?” Robbie asked Levon, ducking his head to keep his voice low as if anyone were to get suspicious — patrons sparsely occupied the booths and tables around them however most too old or hungry to give them a second glance . . Robbie imagined the two of them stuck in the limbo of a local jailhouse sitting and waiting on a bail that would surely never arrive — to try and make Robbie laugh Levon would say it all added character and to make a point Robbie wouldn’t laugh — their mothers over the payphone would cry into the transmitter — Rick and Richard and Garth would be obliged to find a new guitarist and drummer or otherwise become the greatest three-piece-percussive-string-band in North America who on occasion played sets in their memory.
Levon pressed a button on the jukebox he was leaning over as if nothing meant anything. “That’s the point. It’s an illegal game — they’re not gonna risk their sorry asses by callin’ any cops.” Howlin’ Wolf started playing from the speakers — Levon then turned to Robbie and pulled out two cigarettes from his pocket putting one in each of their mouths before striking a match against his shoe.
One of the waitresses passed by holding a pitcher of ice water and asked if they were planning on eating anything or if they just came inside to stand around — Robbie looked at Levon who nodded and said “we’re still thinkin’,” which couldn’t have been true seeing as the money in their pockets wouldn’t add up to a cup of coffee but neither wanted to be kicked out for it . . the waitress continued on her route of refills and Robbie and Levon were alone again.
“Right . .” Robbie nodded slowly.
“Besides,” Levon smiled and nudged him slightly with his elbow while lighting his own cigarette, “we’ll have guns.”
“What do you know about using a gun?” Robbie asked. They moved to the back corner of the diner that prized a new pinball machine — when they spotted it Levon promised he’d been the best pinball player in Arkansas at one point and Robbie admitted he’d like to see what that looked like.
“Enough to seem like I know what I’m doin’.” Levon laughed and he handled the cabinet like it was some kind of wild animal he might be able to wrangle into submission — hitting on the side mumbling and swearing “c’mon” trying to tip it to the side and get the flippers to work like they never had before — after he’d eventually lost one of the balls he pulled back the plunger aiming to launch the next one — the rusty spring creaked horribly under the pressure waiting for relief in release and Robbie almost flinched when it flung back to rest with the sound and speed of a bullet . . electric carnival noises and flashing colors superimposed in the scenic mosaic and someone started playing The Exciters’ “He’s Got The Power” on the box . .
“What if they have guns?” Robbie asked. “What good’ll that do?”
After scoring a few hundred points the small metal ball rolled into the trough and Levon kicked one of the legs of the machine. “Shit. Quit distractin’ me.” Levon swatted at Robbie while keeping his eyes on a new ball with face lit in cold flashing colors. “Would it kill you to have a little faith?”
“In these circumstances, yes!”
“You’re paranoid.”
“And you’re full of shit. You can’t even focus on this dumb game.”
“It don’t count.”
And what did count to Levon anyway? Robbie watched him lightly tapping his fingers against the cold metal sides in a rhythm of adrenaline, likely something he didn’t even notice — Levon who liked to speed along dead streets and fight anyone who was drunkenly asking for it — Levon who liked to shave slow every morning and play tight rhythms every night — the juxtaposition didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Robbie but it never seemed to confuse Levon.
When he ran out of free balls Levon stood to look at the machine with his hands on his hips saying “they really don’t make ‘em how they used to . .” and Robbie agreed.
***
They were already sweating when they walked into the smoke-coated venue. Rick complained about a wrist sprain from Houston and joked “the sooner we get on, the sooner we get off” . . the lights were dim and there was trouble setting up Levon’s drums — Garth was standing asleep and Robbie discretely nudged him once with his shoulder to wake him up, said “the sooner we get on, the sooner we get off” — “the drums are no good,” the bartender said and they insisted “no, they are, they are” — two guys in the back corner sunken into black shadows started punching and kicking each other . . with everything ready they let Richard sing “Georgia” and as the organ flooded in the walls started melting.
***
Standing in the middle of a small local grocery mart Levon and Robbie browsed the bakery section — they and the others were set on doing their theft routine so Rick and Richard and Garth lurked around the rest of the mart looking for things that’d fit in their pockets . . Jay stopped by the motel earlier to solidify the plan — Robbie said there was no plan yet and Jay looked at Levon like he was crazy so Levon just said “give us a day,” to which Jay reminded them they only had two days before the game.
“It’s insane,” Robbie said while looking at price labels, “and it’s not . . honest.”
“Honest? Now, you’ve never had a problem with stealin’ before.”
“It’s different,” Robbie said, then whispered, “we’re threatening people for their money.”
“They don’t need the money,” Levon said in the same voice he used to get everyone on the same page about leaving Ronnie. “We do. You and I, we got a band to take care of.”
“I know.”
“And we deserve it. The shit we’ve been put through.” Only last week the five of them had been run out of a gas station by a man holding a gun yelling if they ever tried taking cigarettes from his machine again he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot — sitting in the car out of breath no one said anything for a full minute until they all fell apart laughing . . now to his left Robbie saw Rick trying to convince Richard that a watermelon would fit under his shirt without looking too stupid and he wondered what they’d say if they knew.
“You want the others in on it?”
“Nah,” Levon said. “It’ll be our little secret.”
Robbie held back a smile and looked away.
“Well?”
“Shit, Lee.” He looked back down at him and finally smiled unable to help it. “Just get the fuckin’ bread.”
So Levon paid for the cheapest loaf he could find as Robbie and the others snuck out of the mart as inconspicuously as they could with cheese and bologna stuffed down their pants.
Outside every surface reflected a blinding sun — scalding cars parked on a street that could melt tires — birds and squirrels hid in trees and under awnings but there was no possible escape . . Robbie and Levon were a few paces behind the rest and when Rick noticed he slowed down a bit — “Why the long faces?”
“What?”
Rick studied them for a moment. “You two have been acting kinda weird lately,” he said, “like you’re hiding something.”
“No we haven’t,” Robbie said, glancing at Levon and wondering how obvious they had been.
“It’s all right with me, I mean I just wanna know what’s up, you know,” he laughed.
“Nothin’s up,” Levon said, aiming for casual and maybe missing it — that’s to say Rick could probably tell — so they could tell that Rick could probably tell but not being the type to push he just shrugged and said “O.K.” and they walked in silence the rest of the way to the car.
***
In their motel room Robbie and Levon stretched out on the bed with their shirts off thinking it'd help beat the heat — Robbie had his acoustic trying to play alongside some western film screening on the muted TV set and Levon laid beside him with his belt and fly undone, thinking to take off his pants too before deciding against it.
Robbie tried a couple different cord changes for the shot looking for the right one before Levon said, “try a different key.”
“No wait, I got it.” Robbie stuck his tongue out in concentration.
“Nah, you’re losin’ it, man,” Levon said and Robbie shushed him — the cowboy’s face was melting under the stage lights but he looked solid and stood like he knew he was with dark fingers tight around his gun — he then said something they couldn't hear and finally let loose . . the movie ended soon after the bad guys died — ending shot panning down to two dead bodies limp in the dust — both dead and therefore alone but somehow splayed out on the ground in such a way that their hands touched . . suddenly an advertisement for soap began so Robbie continued on his guitar playing something he called dirt poor blues with a violent accompaniment of Levon on the drums breaking floorboards — “no one’s gonna get hurt,” Levon argued and pushed Robbie in the shoulder and Robbie twanged out the notes of a western score.
Levon then settled that they needed to get back to business so he continued trying out different voices to put on during the stick-up — Robbie said they’d recognize Levon’s voice too easy and Robbie couldn’t do any accent but Canadian, which Jay said would make the guys laugh them out of the room.
“I’m not scared, though. It needs to be rough, like, dangerous-sounding,” Robbie said. “No questions asked, put the money in the bag.”
So Levon stood on his knees as steady as he could on the wobbling bed and pointed a finger-gun at Robbie thinking he’ll look like the cowboy on the TV and said “put all the money in this sack or I’ll blow your fucking head off!” He tried to lose his accent because Robbie told him it made him sound more serious.
Robbie folded over laughing amazed, “shit, Levon, you gotta try that on Jay.”
“You think it'll work?” Levon asked grinning and sat back down beside him.
Robbie shrugged. “It's the best we got.”
A faint dirty wind blew through the opened window and Robbie feeling indulgent and curious asked, “hey, what would you do with your share of the money?”
Levon didn’t even have to think before he said, “send some of it to my folks. Get some new clothes. Do some travelin’.”
“Traveling, eh? Where you thinking?”
“I don’t know, Malibu or somethin’. Nice and sunny and beachy. Pretty women, long days, good music.”
“Malibu’s got good music?”
“We’ve got good music.” Levon hit Robbie with the back of his hand. “Just bring your guitar an’ we’re set.”
And just like how some things only make sense in the half-light the breaking dawn spilling through the window ushered in an idle comfort in a dreamed tomorrow — over the last half-decade Levon and Robbie appreciated what they had on the road for what it was — a lifestyle they yearned for since they were each kids growing up only a country apart — but now for maybe the first time ever Robbie considered something the extent of which still unknown: how much Levon too wished some things were different.
Levon then looked away and zipped up his fly — Robbie watched and then looked at the TV suddenly interested in an advertisement for a new brand of razor playing — FIND WHAT YOU WANT AND TAKE IT . .
Robbie felt Levon lightly shift beside him to sink deeper into the pillow and fidget with the hem of his pants. “It could be real, you know,” he said gently. “No more ratty motels, no more stale bread, bad weed, broken cars, old equipment. None of it. And we won’t get cheated outa anything by any dirty business boys. It’ll be ours, that’s it.”
Robbie weakly resisted, “we’re makin’ it fine without it.”
“But wouldn’t it be nice?” Levon asked and Robbie immediately thought, of course it would — and at the end of the day who could stand to blame them? Robbie pictured them stood side by side in front of the jury of an old Arkansas courthouse accused of the crime they would commit — the evidence laid before the people: the guns and money and admissions of motives — it would be a losing case but at last Robbie would say “what if you were in my position?” and as the words echoed the jury would shrug and nod to agree that the only thing those two boys were guilty of was thinking their dreams had an infallible right to come true . . and who could stand to blame them?
“Yeah. I guess so,” Robbie quietly admitted.
“Yeah?” A smile was spreading on Levon’s face and it felt contagious.
“Yeah!”
***
Robbie sat on a velvet couch kissing a girl who looked like some french actress — there was a Ronettes record on and the room seemed to move with it — pictures framed on the wall liquified and furniture swayed — about to ask her if she’d like to go somewhere more private Robbie saw behind her on the other side of the room Levon watching him. “Uh . .” was all he managed, already languid from the heat and horniness and half-stunned by Levon’s gaze — Levon discretely gestured for Robbie to come over and he had to do it a couple more times after Robbie just sat and stared at him for a minute —
When Robbie finally maneuvered his way out of the too-cramped couch and nearly tripped over the bodies sprawled on the floor he made it to Levon who pulled him in and said into his ear “it’s time.”
So they left without saying goodbye and ducked from rain and ran into the car. Robbie felt more dizzyingly anxious then than he had been day-dreaming about whispered promises from the girl on the couch who wanted to see him sweat — as they drove down 71 lit by the blue moon and yellow headlights Levon noticed Robbie’s erection so he lightly hit him on the crotch telling him to “put it away” before they saw Jay — so Robbie took deep breaths and thought very intently about the license plate on the car in front of them trying to tune out the disorientingly soft breaths and laughter coming from Levon a foot away —
“Duke?”
“Yeah?” Robbie said with his mouth dry and eyes locked on the glowing plate.
“Nothin’,” Levon smiled.
Back in the motel Jay brought sock masks, plumbers’ clothes, a bag for the money, and two guns — they laid them all out on the bed and acted like it was normal enough to discuss what should be done with them — Levon tried on one of the masks and Jay told him that if he didn’t know him he’d shit himself. Rain pattered and thudded against the roof and window sills and concrete ground — Robbie remembered once when they were sheltering from a thunderstorm in the back of a venue in the middle of Toronto they tried to find a song somewhere in it — impossible rhythmic patterns only Garth was able to discover some semblance of musicality in it with his organ and all of them watched amazed until the power went out—
“Uh, what’s going on here?” they suddenly heard Richard’s voice ask — he stood at the door and the sound of the rain was almost unbearable — Robbie heard Levon whisper “fuck” under his breath as he took the mask off — Jay quickly said he would see them tomorrow and slipped past Richard out the door leaving them all alone.
“Give us a minute?” Levon asked Richard.
“Huh?”
“Beak, just go away an’ we’ll explain everythin’ later.”
“Are those guns?”
Levon massaged his forehead and Robbie just stood there dumbly. “Yeah,” Levon eventually said.
“Ah. What’s it for?”
And what could they say? They were planning on committing an armed robbery? Robbie could hardly face that fact himself so he said nothing — Levon stood up a little straighter and said, “we gotta go get you some money, son. Tired of this scrounging by.”
Richard grinned and his eyebrows turned up in disbelief. Levon tried to explain everything until he couldn’t and only then Richard agreed to finally give them some space — he is going to tell the others, Robbie thought when he left — watching him walk out the door Levon sighed, “he’s gonna tell the others.”
Robbie followed Richard outside though he didn’t plan on what to say, so they both stood under the motel awning watching the rain puddle in the grass and holed-concrete — frogs croaked and flies buzzed around the flickering overhead lights — in their dim yellow glow Richard didn’t look angry but only so young . .
“Wouldn’t you do it?” Robbie asked.
“Are you crazy?”
“If Levon asked you to?” Robbie assumed there was really only one answer — it was in the natural laws of band hierarchy and ultimately if Richard were drunk they were all convinced he’d do anything if you’d ask nice enough . . maybe if he had a few drinks he would’ve said yes, Robbie thought, or maybe if he saw the way Levon sold it — but didn’t he? — So that’s it. Robbie waited for Richard to admit that of course, he understood perfectly why Robbie would do it. But he didn’t.
“You are crazy,” he said instead. “Levon too. You’re both out of your minds.”
“It’s not crazy, it’s—it’s not always so pretty, you know, having a band and tryin’ to make a living. Sometimes you gotta do things you don’t want to do.” Robbie offered, “I mean, how is this any different from stealing groceries?”
“Garth’s not carrying a gun in his back pocket.”
“We’re not gonna use the guns.”
“What if you get arrested?”
“There’s not gonna be any cops.”
“All right, Robbie.”
“Rich, come on.”
“All right! You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Richard laughed, and Robbie then realized that for some reason in that moment he felt like he really did. But he knew there was no real need for justification since the responsibility they had for each other only went so far — it was always better to just let those things air themselves out and besides Richard never wanted to tell someone what to do.
“But you don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You do?”
“Levon does,” he said, and a part of him felt embarrassed, realizing in that moment that he never really grew out of the clothes that he wore when he was sixteen hauling instruments in and out of trailers and trying to impress the young drummer with knowledge gathered from whatever southern radio stations could reach his bedroom radio in Canada — he only had three years on him but he somehow felt prehistoric, like one of those ancient monoliths built by god-knows-whom that loomed over every walking man and happened to know all the secrets to life simply because it was built with them . . he’d like to say the myth diluted over the years and in some ways it did — Robbie was taller than Levon and knew how to make him laugh or piss him off and he even ate his own mother’s cooking before sleeping in his childhood bedroom — though despite the closeness they shared there was always an air of untouchability about him — a different closeness he felt an almost devastating desire for but couldn’t even begin to name or resolve. Did Richard feel it too? Could he have ever understood it?
“You better swear you’ll be careful. Both of you,” Richard eventually said, and Robbie nodded. “And don’t you two go running off with all the money when you get the chance. You’ve got three more mouths to feed,” he added and Robbie didn’t allow himself the chance to think about what a thing like that meant — and so he just said “of course not.”
***
The next night, after the two of them were dressed and ready Robbie and Levon stood outside the motel waiting for their watches to hit 2:00 a.m. — Jay told them to leave at that time and park down the road from the building to wait for him to scope the place out and give them the go-ahead.
“You ever shoot somethin’ before?” Levon asked to pass the time. The guns were heavy in their oversized pockets.
Robbie looked up at the sky, which looked like oil — “yeah,” he said thinking about a dead bird and a Daisy Red Ryder BB gun he got for Christmas in ‘53 — he told this to Levon too. So Levon got to telling a story about how Howlin’ Wolf was shot by his woman, “so you always need to be prepared,” he said, “to know how to defend yourself” — Robbie told him that every girl Levon’s ever had fell in love with him so really he had nothing to worry about and Levon definitively replied, “but loving’s the problem.”
“You don’t go an’ shoot your man ‘cause you don’t love him,” he explained.
“I don’t think you could shoot your man if you do, though.”
“I’m just sayin’, if I had to do somethin’ so terrible, I wouldn’t be doin’ it for someone I wasn’t crazy about.”
And Robbie supposed it made as good a sense as any since really what were they doing out there in the middle of the night if not planning to commit a crime for something they loved, so he asked, “like a band?”
Levon smiled. “Well, sure. Why not?”
“Sure you might shoot some other folks for us but would you shoot one of us? If it came down to it.”
Levon was quiet for a moment looking at the sky. “Nah. But that’s the point, ain’t it? You don’t think you could until your heart’s broken. Then hell breaks loose, I guess.”
Robbie couldn't say he was convinced. “All right. Remind me to never break your heart,” he muttered.
They still had a few minutes so Levon and Robbie fixed to sit on the curb and smoke the last of their cigarettes. Robbie looked at Levon who was fiddling with his mask.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“A little shaky,” Levon said and stood up. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The drive there was silent and neither moved to turn on the radio — Robbie opened the side-vent window to try and get some air, taking deep breaths to stop his hands from shaking — Levon slapped him on the knee and said, “it will be over before we know it, son. Don’t worry, we got it, baby.”
Jay wasn’t there when they arrived. Somewhere behind them a train whistle coughed and dogs imprisoned by chain-link fences fought against the wire gate while barking uselessly — Robbie saw Levon’s back standing in front of the car and uneasily felt as though he were a stranger or at least replaced by one — he looked down at his own hands to see if he recognized them and in the dark night they were morphed by grey-purple shadows and his own straining eyes — nothing felt real, and it was — it was as if the realization came suddenly and with finality: it was real.
“Lee,” Robbie whispered frantically while grabbing at Levon’s sleeve. “I don’t think — I can’t do it.”
“What? We’re already here, what do you mean—”
“I’m serious, Lee.”
Levon then turned toward him and held Robbie’s arms maybe imagining he was going to faint or run away. He shook Robbie a bit trying to get him to look in his eyes. “Hey, it’s gonna be O.K., all right?” Seeing that he might not be getting through to him Levon dropped the authoritative facade and very desperately whispered, “I — we need this. Please.” Faced with the blindingly raw sincerity Robbie cracked under its weight and in a horribly unclouded instant he realized he couldn’t make himself say no — so Robbie standing wide-eyed and breathless slowly nodded his head and in doing so cemented that small personal truth: he would’ve done anything Levon had asked him to do in that moment.
Levon grinned in relief and his eyes darted across Robbie’s face — then with bruised and calloused hands he cupped Robbie’s face not exactly gently, though maybe it was as gently as he could’ve managed in the moment, and forcefully kissed Robbie on the mouth. Before anything could register, Levon moved away — Robbie leaned against the car door he was standing by paralyzed — the craters of mud-puddles below him spun and the night turned inside itself like a memory —
Suddenly coming out of the shadows Robbie saw Jay running towards them moving through the field like a dream through air like putty and with a voice underwater . . he couldn't tell what Jay was yelling until he repeated it for the fourth time crazed and out of breath — “there's no one there . .”
“They cancelled the game this week, I guess,” he said when he reached them — his hand pushed through his hair as he tore off his mask — train tracks whined and dogs rattled from far away— for a fleeting moment Robbie thought Levon was going to kill Jay. And then it was over.
***
On the drive back they were both looking for something to say but there was nothing — it was silent except on the side of an empty long stretch of highway where Levon had to pull over because Robbie said he was gonna be sick — after a few seconds Robbie pushed open the car door and tumbled out, sitting on the wet grass unable to stand back up — soon after Levon walked over and sat down next to Robbie.
Robbie was stuck with the notion that something very bad was supposed to happen that night, and since the robbery plan dissolved into thin air, something else had to occur — though he had no idea what it could be.
As his heartbeat slowed and breathing evened out Robbie felt an inexplicable anger aimed at the night and at himself and most of all at Levon — “we could've gotten into some real deep shit . . hell, we could've gotten hurt — bad.” He wiped a shaky hand across his face. “God, Lee, that was so fucking stupid.”
Levon nodded while squinting at the vast blue field stretched in front of them. He picked up a rock by his shoe and turned it over with his fingers. “That why you almost chickened-out last minute?” he asked with an unexpected harshness.
“Hey, I didn’t even want to do it in the first place. It was your idea.”
“Who fuckin’ cares whose idea it was.”
“It’s just not fair, you know. You always get what you want.”
“No I don’t,” Levon argued.
“I didn’t want to do it.” Robbie repeated.
“Well then why the fuck did you come along?” Levon said, throwing the rock into the blue abyss. “I didn’t make you do anythin’. Did I hold a gun to your head?”
“No.”
“Exactly. I get everything I want? We’re broke! How’s that work?”
“Who cares! You said you didn’t care so long as the music was right.”
“So I don’t wanna sell out, an’ now I’m bein’ blamed for that?”
“I’m only saying it’s what you wanted.”
“It’s what we wanted,” Levon replied with a tinge of hurt defeat . . smoking the last of Butterfield’s weed en route to Texas from Chicago and they promised as much to each other as the sun set.
“But at the end of the day it’s your call, you know, ‘cause you’re the leader.”
“Just ‘cause the band’s got my name I get everything I want? You really don’t know shit, Robbie. If I —” Levon started. “Forget it.” He stood up, swaying against the tenuous balance of tired eyes propped on weak knees.
“No, go on. Name one thing.”
“Robbie,” Levon warned.
“You don’t even know how easy you have it,” Robbie added, standing up, “you've always had it —” and before he could finish Levon pushed him hard in the shoulder — it might’ve ended there but Robbie thinking he deserved it pushed Levon back and with that they started wrestling each other to the ground . . the adrenaline made it easy, built up with nowhere else to go, but there was also something cathartic about it . . pinball springs snapping to rest — violently bending into place some kind of resolution — an empty poker table in an unlit room — a fistfight on the side of a dark and empty road — stagnant rivers and dead birds . .
When Levon finally had him pinned they both stilled and looked at each other out of breath. “You think I wanna be responsible for all this shit? The band . .” he panted — his head eclipsed the stale moon — Robbie remained quiet — “You can’t put that on me. You came along ‘cause you wanted to . . an’ I ain’t got nothin’ to do with that.” Levon said it with an authoritative finality — so maybe he really believed it . . crickets in the grass sang to train whistles and dogs barking and wet breathing in a looping audio track . .
Robbie licked his lips and noticed Levon glance down at his mouth — eyes lingering for what could’ve only been a second — but Robbie suddenly thought about that kiss that meant nothing hidden under the veil of midnight and the idea of death — so he thought about calloused hands and dream-summers in Malibu and sex in shared rooms — he thought about whispered secrets and unknown watching and pressure rising . . with the inexplicable feeling pulling at his stomach and in his chest he was momentarily certain he would burst open at the seams right there between Levon and the dirt.
Could they have known each other better at the end of the robbery? Would it have made them closer? Was this the next best thing? To know what his body felt like on top of his own, the weight of his touch and attention — after the music there was little else they could share with the other and perhaps they both supposed committing some irreparable act witnessed by the other was the only thing left — they didn’t think they could die but a chance to experience it with the other was undeniable . . just then Robbie came to terms with something that had always been true but not as clear to him as it was in that moment — he would’ve done it yes but not for the band and not for any amount of money that could’ve been laid out on the table —
“I came for you,” Robbie admitted between gasps of air and dropped his head back against the wet grass defeated. “I don’t know why. I can’t help it, I — you asked me to,” his voice strained from asthma, “so I woulda done it . .” Levon’s grip on his wrists loosened then but neither moved to get up — under Levon’s quiet searching eyes Robbie felt like an open bleeding cadaver and altogether very small and pathetic. “I’m sorry. For what I was saying before. And I’m sorry about the money. Everything . . I didn’t mean to let you down.”
There was another stretch of silence where Levon watched Robbie’s face with an unreadable expression before he sighed and very quietly and seriously said, “you can’t let me down.”
“Shut up,” Robbie winced, squirming beneath Levon to signal that he wanted to get up.
“Hey, listen to me, O.K.?” Levon said, retightening his grip as if to make a point, and Robbie looked back up at him. “Fuck the money and fuck Jay. I'm with you — no matter what. Got it?”
Robbie nodded.
“Now what do you want?”
Just then it was as though time had stopped and as Robbie's senses came back into full focus he quickly looked down to confirm what he thought he felt — he wouldn’t’ve have believed it if he didn’t see it himself that they were both hard against the other — “fuck,” he breathed out, then he looked back up at Levon who had his eyes glued to where Robbie was just looking. When his eyes finally darted back to him scared and wild Robbie understood what Levon understood — it wasn't so much a decision as it was an unstoppable unconscious impulse when Robbie started unbuttoning his oversized uniform with eyes locked on Levon's — pressing his hips up into him aching for a kind of relief Levon leaned into . .
***
It was unspoken and it was destructive but from it blossomed something wonderfully unknown — the deal of belonging — Robbie owned a Telecaster and ten good fingers and a solid ear for lyricism — Levon had a drum set and Delta rhythm in his blood and a best friend who’d already had his hands taking off his uniform after his own with big black eyes looking up through dark lashes — when they each finally had a hand around the other fumbling into a new irreversible understanding Levon tentatively leaned his face in, flinching back as if Robbie’s were a candle that’d blow out if he moved too quickly — after the gap between them finally closed the tension was snuffed and it was like breathing life into the other — briefly Robbie wondered to himself if he had somehow died in that poker basement without even knowing it and woke up in some kind of afterlife or otherwise very vivid dreamstate — “You’re beautiful,” Robbie said between kisses, “I always thought . .” — “Really?” — “I don’t know. I must’ve. Really.” — “God, Robbie.” — they moved in sweat and spit and old rain careful as to not disturb the precarious state of discovery but impatient with need — saying things that they meant and things they didn’t mean and things they didn’t know existed somewhere in their mind before the words fell out of their own mouth — leaning into the night where weeds and loves are long and sharp like swords exposed by the solitary light of the moon and each others eyes — Levon finished on Robbie’s bare stomach and at the sight of it Robbie soon followed.
***
Levon sat back against the cold metal of the car and looked down at Robbie who was laying flat on his back on the wet grass tapping a rhythm against Levon’s knee with the side of his shoe — “what’re you smilin’ at?”
“Nothin’,” Robbie said. “You’re funny, that’s all.”
“I didn’t do nothin’.”
“Sure you did. You like me?”
“What kinda dumbass question is that,” Levon asked, though he started smiling — seeing him smile was nothing short of thrilling and Robbie thought, this is it! — where tomorrow a shitty motel could be Shangri-La and love could be found in private sweat-stained mornings in dried alcohol-soaked clothes — he’d forgotten about the poker game and what it felt like to think he ever needed something like it —
“What a night, man,” he laughed. “I really am sorry about the money.”
“Yeah, so am I,” Levon sighed. “This is so fucked up. We’re still poor as shit and got nothin’ to show for ‘cept dirty laundry.”
“That’s true.” Robbie laid his head back down and looked up at the stars, which were almost then overwhelmed by the gradient light of the rising sun. “S’not too bad.” He glanced back at beautiful Levon, who was already looking at him.
“No, I guess not.”
***
Cold night clouds covered the black sky as the five of them tumbled out of the car and into one of the motel rooms — passing around a joint unable to see because they were all laughing so hard — flicking through TV stations looking for anything but static — pointing fingers deciding who has to suck it up and answer the phone that’d been ringing for the past minute — Rick stumbled over picking it up off of the hook . . later he dizzyingly relayed what their producer said about cutting some new records up north and they all cheered.