A Self-Pitying Enterprise

The Napa Springs sun mixes with the lights and the make-up, turning Miles into a puddle of eyeliner. He doesn’t know why he feels so nervous. He didn’t have to drink four bottles a night to stay energetic on stage unlike his idols. He didn’t have the constant self-doubt about supporting a family by churning out a poorly reviewed album either. Vanessa looked up at him as he touched the mic again. He played a single c-minor chord on his guitar, looking back at the drummer who cues him with his sticks.

“Napa Springs, my name is Miles Lerner. Let’s party,” he says. He does about 6 songs before the heat overwhelms him. A large bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey sits on his amp. The black and white label looks at him like a self association drawing a psychiatrist would show a troubled child. He approaches and takes a heavy swig, to the fanfare of 20,000 people. It took about 20 minutes in for Miles to begin slurring some of his words throughout the song. Everyone knew he had drank too much. The next three songs go by like nothing. But the energy of the crowd leaves him keeling over for another drink. Miles has overcome his greatest fear. Immediately after his set, he and Vanessa get on a golf cart to some area behind the stage where celebrities eat cheese and drink wine.

“You killed it,” she says leaning over to kiss him. They embrace for five seconds before she pulls away. The lace of her black flowy dress gets caught between the wheels of the cart and dust flies up everywhere. Neither of them could ever get use to the heat and dusty crowds of Napa Springs. You could only tolerate it. Miles says she looks beautiful. “You looked fabulous up there too,” she says. Miles and Vanessa had met at Napa Springs only two years before.

Back then, neither she nor anyone she knew had the connections to get into the festival without help. Adamant as her parents felt about music in general both immediately told the young, eager Vanessa she should wait. Her Dad had gone to a couple of Napa Springs, but the business no longer required him to attend in-person if he could delegate technical instruction.

Sitting on a park bench, Charlotte, her best friend, stared at her and laughed, enjoying a cigarette. She wore a seventies wool coat even though you could get away with just a t-shirt most afternoons (which Vanessa loved). She could blow smoke in through her mouth and exhale through her nose like an angry bull in cartoons. Vanessa told her friends how her parents did not abide, and she would not allow her to attend the festival.

“What a shame because Mark’s friend said he’d buy psychedelics for all of us. You don’t want to trip?” She tried to play off the sudden excitement and fear rushing over her because of ‘of course, she did’. The potential of a trip made her think about the ways in the which her brain had not healed only dabbling in other drugs. Nevertheless, she replied saying how she would get the money later and could somehow go after all.

Days later, she held a single tab in her hand, as she peered up at the whirring lights of the indoor festival. They had put the tabs in their socks walking past security, not like anyone really cared as she walked in. Charlotte gave her a kind nod and the first wave of the trip came to her very pleasantly. Then, Vanessa finally put the paper on her tongue and let the tasteless mixture dissolve. While waiting for it to fully kick-in Vanessa decided to scroll Instagram in the hopes of updating herself on some of the more wholesome activities of her friends.

The two of them sat on a small couch within the tent as the band Nicotine Breakfast played shoegaze melodies about breakups and sapphic relationships. The purplish, orange-ish light of the tent wanted to make her throw up. The tent had a cool breeze which she stuck her entire face in front of. She heard someone giggle. As she turned around, Charlotte’s face completely rearranged, looking like a mask of her former self. Vanessa sprinted out of the tent and lay on the grass; everything feeling completely still to her as she just took the time to breathe. Sensing the commotion, a medical personnel approached her.

“Hello. How are you?” the personnel asked her. He looked like a security guard but given her current state the distinction didn’t quite matter. Besides, the man had seen plenty of worse trips throughout the day, knowing she would pull through before he even came over. He adjusted his cap and asked the question again. As soon as Vanessa answered Charlotte came running towards her not wanting to get in trouble.

The Napa Springs grass felt soft and luscious perfect for running towards someone, giving a whimsical sense to the panic. Charlotte and the man talked for what felt like 30 minutes, easing his fears. Vanessa’s head told her all types of things: ‘Who are you?’ ‘Why do you always doubt yourself?’. Her life reflecting some type of game show where rather than a contestant, she found herself in the audience. Light crystals formed strange shapes and the noise of festival laughter enveloped her entire body. A group of three fellow high school aged boys, one wearing a bandanna, the other wearing a soccer jersey, and final one wearing a Blink 182 shirt, stared at Charlotte from a distance. She asked Vanessa if she could go with them and told her when everything mellowed out she would feel fine.

Giving her a hand, she lifted her up from the grass and the personnel walked away. The boys chuckling looked hostile like at any moment they could do or say something to hurt both of them. The moment Vanessa got up, chunks of everything she had ate the morning prior came pouring out of her mouth. Charlotte patted her back and her soft caress felt goddess-like. In moments like the current one, she felt almost like a pet to Charlotte— a pet to all. She thought about her actual pet dog, Boyo. One time the vet gave him several hundred milligrams of pain killers after a surgery from the vet’s. Vanessa wondered if painkillers really worked.

Combined with all of her psychedelic induced trauma, the next few hours compounded Vanessa’s hatred of all men. She watched in disgust as every one of them flirted with Charlotte. She needed someone gentle to build her up. Vanessa had never kissed anyone on a first date let alone, a first meeting. She saw Charlotte kissing one of them out of nowhere. Everything changed when she saw Miles across the field. He started walking towards her. Miles didn’t come off as intimidating or well-dressed in a white t-shirt and jeans. Perhaps a bit handsome but so beyond her type she decided to let him approach. Worse came to worse she could let him know exactly how she felt.

He slicked his long hair back with so much gel it looked sculpted in some places. In other places, white dandruff flakes fell on his shoulders. Below his shirt, she noticed a skinny gold chain with nothing at the end. When she looked in his eyes, the instant high she had achieved all began to fade. He had an untamed look. Every once in a while, he looked far-off like some loud voice in the back of his head had spoken.

“Hi,” Miles said, as he stuck out his hand for her. “I don’t like anyone else here either,” he added. Charlotte looked back at her, interrupting a conversation. Vanessa took out her hand to meet his, and Charlotte smiled, wanting the interaction to continue. Flash forward to today, Miles makes conversation in the same awkward manner and the two realize nothing has changed.

“I need a bathroom,” Miles says wiping sweat from his face. He peers into her loving eyes. She points out the reserved area of bathrooms just for performers. He coughs before hitting her vape which he wipes on his sleeve before smoking. He always knew vaping did his voice no good, but he couldn’t resist the temptation. Vanessa checks the time on her phone before the cart revs down. The two of them jump off. Miles steps left; she steps right.

“Can you meet me back in the artist area by 8:45?” she questions. Miles confirms with her before. In the porta potty, a random musician he had met on Instagram left a singular gram of coke on the seat. The person sent him a message then in the distance gave him a hand signal to pick up his product in the bathroom. Back as a no name he could only pay cash for such a deal, but months of successful abuse had earned him privilege. He ended up sending the guy an extra ten as good faith, and the guy responded saying he should swing by their rental house tomorrow afternoon for a party. Miles had heard of the wild day parties of Napa Springs but only Vanessa had attended.

As soon as he shut the door, Miles dumped the whole bag onto the granite hotel room counter. A few doors down, he could hear some faint music but nothing to suggest a party. After a few lines and manic social media scrolls Miles decided to go to bed. When he couldn’t sleep, he drank as much as possible to calm himself down.

Listening to his heart racing came as nothing to new; he had only changed the location. Tears welled up in his eyes as he began to think about Vanessa although she had escaped to some after parties, dancing in the Napa Springs heat with a cold glass of champagne. They had met at Napa Springs two years ago, so she must have felt at ease. He heard in a podcast about how addiction doesn’t really exist. Something about how it only really exists in your mind and the social conceptions around it.

The show didn’t stop Miles from feeling like a drunk addict. Not like it affected his career, but he never understood ways in which he could live without it— coke and whiskey. He began to cry. Days later, the two return to Los Angeles and their normal life. As Miles peers at the road back into town, he looks at her and asks one question: “do you remember how we met?”

“Yes. Yes, I do,” she replies. Both of them look forward as if she has brought up something horrible. Miles pulls to the left dodging the normal entrance to their street.

“Do you want a smoothie?” he asks. They both search for groceries as another weekend at Napa Springs fades into their memory. How after all the festivals and parties did they still know each other? The relationship betrayed time and reason because both had cheated several times. They could not last but for a brief moment, everything felt right. Miles texted a number in his phone.