Page 44 of Echoes of a Muted Song

Snickering, I tried not to think about the way the RV had looked by the time we’d quit trying to scrounge up meals without potential contaminants.

“About twenty minutes later, we’re in the parking lot of a packed IHOP, when we realize it’s Sunday morning and it’s gonna be a long wait,” I said. “Then Ozzy looks around and we all sort of realize that Dash isn’t even up yet, despite all the noise as we wreaked havoc on the kitchen. So we go to back to the bunks and there’s Dash, half dangling off one of the bottom ones, passed out cold with ear buds in his ears and his hair in his eyes, just snoozing, blissfully immune to everything that had been going on. That’s when we noticed the crumbs, and all the real food he’dbeen hording. It was easy to see why he was sleeping easily while the rest of us were hangry as hell.”

“Wow, that’s some story.”

“It’s a great memory, too,” Rebel said. “It earned Dash the title of prank king, which he refused to let us forget until Ozzy finally dethroned him a few months later, not that he held on to the crown for long before Dash snatched it back.”

“Who holds it now?” Cyril asked.

“Dash,” Rebel and I replied simultaneously.

“Not to bring down the mood, but my viewers would be pissed if I didn’t ask about Johnny’s recent legal troubles and your feelings now that he’s been exonerated.”

“My feelings are the same as they’ve always been,” Rebel said. “I was in the car with him that night. I saw the red blur and the taillights, too, only no one was interested in what I had to say because I’d had a bit to much to drink that night. No one had to convince me that Johnny didn’t cause that accident, because I lived it. People need to stop rushing to condemn others without knowing the facts. Now I get that there were folks who were grieving and being extremely loud when they spoke to the media, but none of them were there, either. Pain doesn’t give anyone the right to slander someone.”

I got where Rebel was coming from, but I hoped that this would be the last time we’d everhave to address the issue with anyone.

“I’m just glad the guy who caused the wreck is in the hands of the authorities now,” I said. “The roads are a lot safer.”

“Will we be seeing any part of the experience represented in your upcoming songs?” Cyril asked.

“Probably not,” I replied. “It’s not something I could ever see myself wanting to sing about, for so many different reasons. A tragedy took place that night and three little kids lost their parents. The legal system did what it always does and reached for the easiest conclusion because they were over worked and in many cases underfunded. The problem is that the people know that, so the criminals use it to their favor, while the public worries that saying anything at all might turn the cops’ suspicions on them. The guy who waited so long to step up about what he saw, that’s why he stayed silent. Because he didn’t think the description he gave of the other car would be good enough and he worried about them trying to pin it on him the way they were trying to pin it on me. I can’t say I blame him for that. After what I went through, I don’t think I’d be so eager to stick around the way I did, when my vehicle barely touched the other one and only after the wreck had already taken place. Doubt I’d be in a hurry to call up and admit to being a witness to something either, despite how desperate I was for the guy in thevan to come forward. It’s a vicious cycle that doesn’t really have a solution, except that we just need to be better toward one another overall. If the guy who caused the wreck had just been honest, I wouldn’t have been accused, and the driver of the van wouldn’t have been terrified of not being believed. People just need to own their own crap and deal with what comes, good or bad, so innocent people don’t get caught in the crossfire.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Cyril said. “I’m glad you’re able to put that chapter behind you, but that begs the question of what lies ahead for Blissfully Immune on this tour that we’re told doesn’t have an end date yet. Any idea of how long you guys plan to be on the road?”

“Nope,” I said. “At some point, we’ll schedule a break to record, but that’s the only break I can see us taking for a while. We’ve got some exclusive merchandise that will be popping up soon, so make sure you subscribe to our newsletter or visit our website regularly to see them as we roll them out.”

“Care to elaborate a little on some of those items?” Cyril asked.

“Oh man, we’ve been brushing up on old recipes, from our early years,” Rebel explained. “Some of them are a little off the wall but we decided to put together a cookbook, along with some of the stories behind the conception of each dish.”

“Sounds like an awesome way for the fans to connect with you guys on a different level,” Cyril said. “What should we expect, in terms of your own contributions to the cookbook?”

While Rebel stroked his chin, deep in thought, I plowed right ahead with what I considered to be my piece de resistance.

“Tuna mockfredo,” I declared, to which Rebel snorted, while Cyril’s eyes went wide.

“I hope it doesn’t taste as heinous as it sounds,” Cyril groaned. “My call screen just lit up with a line of vomit emojis and WTFs.”

“Thank you!” Rebel said. “That’s the same response the rest of us had when he sat it on the table. It sounds worse than it is, though. I can admit that, at least. The smell, though, oh my god, dude, it lingers in the air forever. No amount of Febreze can get it out. I don’t care what scent you use. The place smelled like Peach Fresh Linen with a Hawaiian Aloha tuna chaser.”

Snorting, I tried not to laugh directly into the mic, because he wasn’t wrong.

“Oh my god, that sounds awful,” Cyril declared.

“No bull,” Rebel moaned. “Seriously, though, the dish itself is pretty good and easy to make, which is always helpful. Three ingredients and a bit of seasoning and bam, done.”

“Okay, I’m curious now,” Cyril said. “What are the three ingredients?”

“Tuna, cream of mushroom soup, andwhatever pasta you have on hand,” I explained.

Cyril sputtered, his eyes widening a little.

“If we had a handful of cheese left in the bottom of a pack, or a couple of cheese slices, I’d melt them in, too, just to enhance the creaminess.”

“And justify calling it mockfredo, I suspect,” Cyril said.

“Pretty much,” Rebel chimed in. “This one time, he had a couple mozzarella sticks left from this bar we played at, so he peeled the breading off, threw the cheese in the sauce, then pulverized the breading and mixed it with a few packets of parmesan cheese and red pepper flakes we had left over from a couple pizzas that we’d had delivered. Talk about elevating a dish to the next level. That batch was pretty phenomenal.”

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