Tour Stories

Andy slouched against the cushions of the couch with a notebook balanced on the arm and a useless pen in his hand. Having woken at Too-Goddamn-Early he’d gotten up and decided to do some writing. Now, three hours later, he had two lines he was okay with and three pages of scribbles. He clicked his pen and scratched out one of the lines. “Fuck me,” he muttered. Out the bus window the English countryside streaked by in hues of gray and green. Rain peppered the window blurring the gentle hills and fields into an impressionist landscape.

From the bunk area a yawning Ashley emerged trying to comb out the tangles in his hair with his fingers. With a sleepy wave at Andy he headed for the small refrigerator. Andy yawned and flipped his notebook shut, shoving it off the arm of the couch and tossing his pen after it. Rain began to fall harder, rapping against the windshield and drumming on the metal roof. Bus wheels hummed on asphalt under him and someone, probably CC, still snored softly. Ashley sat down on the couch with Andy, sipping orange juice.

Andy lifted his chin trying to see more of England than just the tops of hills and rain heavy sky. Stretched out on the couch he couldn’t see much. With a sigh he pulled his upper half over the arm of the couch to pick up his notebook and plucked another pen from his stash in the cushions.

Perched on the small window ledge that, with a skinny enough ass, could be used as a seat he flipped to a clean page hoping inspiration would strike as lightening raced through the clouds. The day darkened even more as angrier clouds roiled in the sky. Thunder rumbled not long after. He leaned back against the window frame holding his notebook loosely in his lap tapping his pen in no obvious pattern.

Outside, England raced by. Trees speckled some of the hills, small farmhouses blurred by every now and then. Wind battered the side of the bus gently rocking him on his perch, lavender-colored lightning rippled across the clouds’ bellies, and concussive thunder shivered through the window.

Ashley shifted, drawing his attention away from the view. Orange juice gone, he slid back on the leather cushions until he could recline against Andy, his cheek resting on the vocalist’s inner thigh. Shaking his long hair forward until it shadowed his face he let out a content sigh. Andy went back to tapping his pen on his blank page. Ashley warmed part of his leg with slow, sleep heavy breaths.

Rain washed the landscape to vague shapes and mottled colors. Lightning flashed blue-white against the charcoal grey clouds and wind rocked the bus. A rush of awareness hit him as he stared out the window. Another farmhouse rose in the blurry distance; a farmhouse of weathered, sturdy stone, possibly older than his home country. He was in England, speeding to a sold out show in Scotland. Ashley fidgeted in his sleep and he set his pen down in favor of smoothing the bassist’s unruly hair.

Andy looked around the bus. With papers and empty beer bottles scattered over the two small tables, an open guitar case on the couch across from him, mascara tubes and other make up containers tossed in random places, belts and vests and Jake’s torn shirts scattered on the floor it wasn’t what most people would be proud of. But it was their bus, Black Veil Brides. It was their bus hurtling down the small country road. Their bus taking them to a venue in a city other people only dreamed of visiting.

He looked down at Ashley again, still sleeping against his leg. “Ash,” he murmured, the bassist didn’t stir. “Thanks,” he continued quiet enough he wouldn’t wake his friend. “For sticking with me, even when it felt like we weren’t going anywhere.” The bassist stayed deep in sleep and CC continued to snore.

“You guys mean everything to me,” he whispered. Andy picked up his pen again and wrote a line, it’s all done for you.