Searching for Moore (6 page)

An entourage of about 25 students trekked to the Campus Police station following Schooner, Mia and Beast. The statements from everyone were consistent. Beast went to physically attack Mia and Schooner jumped in to thwart the attack. The Campus Police were alarmed that a student the size of Beast had a hair trigger temper that did not preclude violence toward women. The guy was bad press waiting to happen.

Beast was not seen again until Spring semester.

It was late by the time all of the paperwork was filled out and Mia and Schooner walked back together toward their dorms.

Mia left the officer with a wink, “I’m still bummed you didn’t have cuffs for me.” Schooner thought Mia’s dorm would be seeing some extra patrol these next few weeks.

“Let’s go, Mia before you start another riot,” he ushered her out of the campus police building. She smiled, his remark clearly pleasing her devil.

“Are you ok?” Mia asked, genuinely concerned. Schooner had a nasty cut on his cheek and some other scrapes.

“I’m fine,” he made light of it.

“I would tell you that I’d come back to your dorm and help you clean out those cuts, but I have a feeling I’m persona non grata there.”

“Yeah, probably not safe,” he agreed, “might not even be safe for me!”

“Oh fuck!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t even think of that. I am so sorry.”

“It’ll be fine. Everyone knows what an ass Beast is. These guys can be jerks, but I’d bet most of them have real issues seeing a girl being attacked. You notice no one came up to the Campus Police station in his defense.”

“Hmm, that’s true.”

They walked along in the cool, dank late night air in silence. Schooner put his arm around Mia’s shoulder and pulled her in to him as they continued to walk. She didn’t fight him and seemed to find her place right under his arm. She is so tiny, he thought and smiled. A tiny, uncontrollable fireball.

“So, you like the way I look in cuffs, huh?” It was time to give her some of her own medicine.

“Mmm-hmm, you looked hot,” she didn’t miss a beat. Schooner just laughed and pulled her tighter into him, this time her arm went around the back of his waist, and without thinking, he kissed her on the top of her head. She was really getting under his skin and he didn’t know whether to be excited or scared.

They reached her dorm and Schooner stopped. “You want to come in and I can take a look at your cuts?” Mia asked.

“I want to,” Schooner whispered, “but it’s after 1 A.M. and I’ve got to be on the courts at six. Not sure how good I’m going to be feeling in the morning or what flack I’ll be taking from the coach when he gets a load of me.”

Mia nodded her head. “Schooner,” she paused, clearly grappling with word choice, “What you did tonight… well, it was amazing. That crazy son-of-a-bitch was going to tackle me. He could’ve really hurt me. And you went against one of the guys you live with. That’s huge.”

Schooner quickly closed the space between he and Mia and wrapped his arms around her tightly, he smiled as her arms circled his back. With his chin resting on the top of her head, softly he said, “I would never have let him hurt you, Baby Girl.” He was as surprised by the term of endearment as she was, and if he could have seen her face at that moment, she was smiling into his chest. He gently pushed her away by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Get some sleep!” He ordered and she giggled at his stern tone.

He quickly turned on his heel, heading in the direction of his dorm, leaving her standing there, as confused as he was, by the tremendous onslaught of feelings.

On Saturday, the gang decided to take their studying someplace conducive to opening up their minds to understanding how American culture is reflected in music, and that meant being anywhere, other than stuck on campus. Schooner borrowed a teammate’s car and pulled up in front of the dorm to pick up the gang.

“Nice wheels.” Henry commented, easing his thin, lithe frame into the front passenger seat of the silver Camaro. The girls piled in the back, giddy with the prospect of getting off campus.

The weeklong rain had finally ended and the low clouds lifted revealing the raw beauty of the San Bernardino National Forest. The mountains appeared majestic against a pristine clear blue sky (that ironically matched Schooner’s eyes) with their snow-capped peaks.

Down vests and hiking boots and gloves were broken out for the trip as well as cassette players, lots of cassette music, extra batteries and notebooks to work. In the backseat, Mia pulled a black knit cap out of her backpack and leaned forward and pulled it down over Schooner’s head, “My gift to you from New York.”

Schooner pulled down the visor to look in the mirror. “I like it,” he smiled, “can I keep it?”

“Sure, consider it a gift.”

Schooner thought she has no idea how much I will treasure this.

They headed up Hwy. 38 into the town of Mentone. “Hey, pull in here.” Henry said to Schooner and jumped out of the car. He ducked into a donut shop and the girls squealed in the back. The winter sun glinted off Henry’s copper-tinged waves as he rushed back to the car. “Get ‘em while they’re hot,” he announced and flung open the heavenly smelling box of apple fritters.

Hands grabbed and sounds of “mmm” and “oh my god” filled the car.

“How’d you guys find this place?” Schooner asked.

“You forget we’re stoners.” Rosie offered, stuffing the last bite of an apple fritter into her mouth and slowly licking off her sticky fingers. Rosie had full-curvy deep pink lips that always looked like she was wearing lipstick and later in life, people would wonder if she’d had “work done” on them. “We are not beyond traveling for munchies.”

Once through Mentone, the highway started taking on sharp curves and a steep incline, as it became known as the Rim of the World Highway, sporting views of snowcapped sawbacks and pine dotted ridges. The clear skies made the view seem as if it went on forever, creating the feeling that anything was possible.

Schooner looked back and laughingly said to Mia, “Hey, I remember the last time I was in the mountains with you.”

She slapped him on the shoulder. “Oh crap, don’t remind me!”

“Remind you of what?” Rosie asked and Henry turned to Mia to hear the story.

Mia and Schooner filled Rosie and Henry in on the event that took place during the freshman retreat and Mia’s encounter of getting sniffed by Tim Vandergrift.

“He sniffed you?” Rosie appeared grossed out.

Before Mia could respond, a laughing Schooner chimed in, “Sniffed her is an understatement. He was nose raping her. The only thing that would’ve made him happier would’ve been if she’d handed him her panties to sniff.”

“Eww! Stop that!” Mia started slapping Schooner on the shoulder, while the others hooted.

“Seriously, he sniffed you?” Henry asked through his laughing tears.

“He did!” Mia laughed. “I thought he was narc’ing me out for stinking of weed. He was seriously hanging on my chair and sniffing me. It was freaky. I thought for sure I was going to get kicked out of school in my first two weeks and that my parents would kill me and give me the “We knew you were too young to go away and be on your own” bullshit.”

They were still laughing as Schooner pulled the car into a National Forest recreation area parking lot.

“But this guy saved the day,” Mia patted Schooner’s shoulder, “he caused a diversion and I escaped the evil sniffer.”

“You know who that Tim guy reminds me of, that character Greg Marmalard from the movie
Animal House
. You know the straight-laced preppie guy who led the brigade against Otter, Boon, Bluto and the gang.” Henry said.

“Exactly.” Schooner chimed in. “Total dick. You should’ve seen the look on Mia’s face,” he laughed, “it was like get me the hell out of here. Now!”

They parked the car and grabbed their gear and began down the Big Falls Trailhead. About a half mile in, a clearing opened to a heart stopping, unobstructed view of Forest Falls. They all stood there silently enjoying the view of the unspoiled falls and listening to the rush of water as it flowed over ancient rock.

They crossed a creek bed, cautiously stepping from boulder to slippery boulder until they reached the other side and followed the trail alongside of the creek bed where they came upon a huge sign,
These Fall Have Claimed Many Lives
. They then turned off on a trail through the woods, packing down snow as they hiked for about another twenty minutes until they came to a large snow filled meadow that had yet to be disturbed by anything other than deer tracks. As they walked onto the meadow, they were greeted by a different clear vista of the falls. They laid their backpacks on some large boulders and walked toward the ridge to view the sublime waterfall. They all stood there for a few minutes silently taking in the overwhelming perfection of nature.

Mia pulled out her Nikon SLR and started to take pictures of the falls. She used a low broken branch of a pine to set her camera on and act as a tripod. She pulled several lenses out of her bag. Schooner realized that he had seen her around campus shooting.

“That’s a nice camera,” he commented.

“Thanks. It was my birthday present to myself,” she offered proudly.

“What do you most like to shoot?” Schooner was enjoying learning what made her tick.

“This,” she gestured to the scenery around them. “I love landscape photography. If anything comes out good from today, I’ll make you a print.”

“You make your own prints?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a great dark room on campus. So, I roll my own — umm, film that is,” she chuckled, “ and then develop it and print it. Right now, I’m shooting black and white.”

“Are you going to teach me how to shoot one of these days?” Henry nudged her.

“Any time you want,” she responded, clearly too focused on the falls to continue the conversation.

“Just make sure she’s behind the lens,” Henry clued Schooner in, “she hates having her picture taken.”

How odd, she’s comfortable behind the lens and I’ve spent my life in front of it, Schooner thought. He wondered how she would see him through her lens, what she would see. Would she see him or just his brilliant disguise?

After a few minutes more of shooting scenery, Mia turned the camera to her compadres playing in the snow, rolling in the snow, making lewd snowmen with giant erections and pretending to throw one another off the mountain ridge.

Mia turned and walked away from the group to go put her camera back in her backpack, where it would be safe. A moment later, Schooner heard her call his name and turned as a snowball whooshed past his head, missing him by mere inches.

“Oh, so that’s how you want to play!” He gathered up snow in his hands and packed a snowball quickly and winged it at her.

“Ouch,” she screamed, getting nabbed in the arm, “son of a bitch!”

“You started it,” he laughed.

Henry and Rosie joined in the fun with Henry chasing Rosie down and stuffing snow down the back of her jacket. “I hate you!” She screamed at him and smushed snow in his copper hair.

Schooner flung snowballs like he was serving tennis balls and Mia was being bombarded. When he decided she’d been pelted enough, he walked over to her and smushed a handful of snow in her face.

“Oh man, you play dirty! I give up.” She held her hands up in defeat and he beamed at his victory.

He put his arms around her and pulled her into his chest. “Body heat,” he whispered in her ear. She looked up at him and he pulled her cap down over her face playfully. This was the first time either Henry or Rosie had seen him be physical with Mia. He wanted to kiss her in this light, perfect, fun-filled moment on a mountain alongside a waterfall. But they weren’t alone and he didn’t want to cause anyone any embarrassment. And he wanted that moment to be just theirs alone, shared with no one, when the time was right.

They went back to the rocks where their backpacks were and sat down. Pulling out their cassette players and notebooks, they started listening to music and discussing how tracks would either fit in or not fit in with their group project. After about thirty minutes, their butts and fingers and toes were so cold and so wet from their snowball fight, that they decided to bail on studying in the mountains and finish studying in a nice warm dorm room.

The dorm room didn’t feel much warmer than the mountaintop and the gang all changed into dry, warm oversized sweats and thick socks and lounged on throw pillows on the floor of Mia’s dorm room.

“Ok, clearly we need to address Bob Dylan’s work, Crosby Stills Nash, the Buffalo Springfield stuff.” Henry said, as he made notes.

Schooner flipped through some books, “I don’t want to ignore Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger and we need to bring in the ties to Steinbeck’s work. Honestly though, I feel like Phil Ochs gets totally overlooked and I really want to focus on him, but at the same time, I think we really have to be careful of it becoming too derivative.

“Yeah, that’s my concern, too.” Rosie chimed in, making a face. “Whoever thought we’d hear a jock use the term derivative.” Schooner tossed a pillow at her, which she arranged under her head, smiling at him.

“I think they all help build a linear foundation for groups like the Pretenders, for Leonard Cohen, for REM and for Springsteen.” Mia said, without looking up from her notes.

“Oh no, here comes the New Yorker with Springsteen.” Henry teased and Mia threw a pillow at him, still not looking up from her notes.

“Hey, if anyone’s music focuses on the promise, the betrayal, coming to terms with everything on both a cultural level and a personal level — it’s Bruce’s. I’ve kind of been cataloguing it to look at what is more cultural than personal — if you can even separate it — and I think we can clearly make strong cases with: Thunder Road — the ultimate redemption song, The Promised Land — totally about coming to terms with the betrayal, Badlands — taking the power back, feeling the birthright, Born to Run,” Mia began to quote, “someday girl, I don’t know when, we’re going to get to that place where we really want to go and we’ll walk in the sun”.
⁴
Basically a good portion of The River album can be tied back into Marcus’ premise. Even some of the cover’s Bruce has chosen, Jimmy Cliff’s ‘Trapped’.” She looked around for her notes, “Oh, and trying to pull it down to the individual level — that of personal betrayal and questioning of the promise. Check this out, listen to this song.” She grabbed her cassette player and played with the forward and reverse for a few minutes to get the tape to the right point. The quiet guitar strains began to a bare, haunting tune.