Читать книгу The Reluctant Savior - Krystan - Страница 11

chapter 2

South of Broad, Heading West

Charleston, South Carolina

July 4, 2002

It had been a festive but hot Fourth of July in Charleston, South Carolina. Historic celebrations were always popular in Charleston, and today that had certainly been the case. As the parades, carriage rides, special plantation events, and boat tours started to wind down, everyone began to anticipate the traditional evening fireworks extravaganza launched over the water toward Fort Sumter. At the bandstand in Battery Park (a.k.a. White Point Gardens, named from the myriad of white oyster shells that used to wash up there), the local favorite band, South of Broad, was just finishing their last song as the sun began to set and its golden evening rays filtered through the leaves of the many towering live oaks that filled the park. The historic old streetlamps were flickering on as the last chorus of the band’s catchy reggae version of an old John Denver tune echoed through the park. A crowd of about three hundred locals and tourists had gathered there to hear the group and then view the fireworks display soon to illuminate the bay beyond.

Ryan Christie, the band’s founder and lead guitarist, was a tall sandy-haired slim young man with captivating green eyes and a mesmerizing personality that made him an ideal front man for the group. His rather avant-garde rendition of the 1969 Peter, Paul, and Mary hit was a fabulous remake of the old song, and tonight served as an apropos reminder of the upcoming departure of both Ryan and his lifelong friend Julian Russell—the band’s somewhat-reserved and definitely more traditional bass player. Julian had always been a sort of “straight man” behind Ryan—not quite as physically striking, with his five-foot, nine-inch slightly pudgy frame, and definitely not as loquacious. Nevertheless, he was quite witty himself, although in a more dry, less showy sort of way. Julian was a good sounding board for Ryan’s rather eccentric ideas, and frequently assumed the role of devil’s advocate, in order to shield his friend from his own impulsive behavior and highly unconventional thinking.

As Ryan finished a very funky guitar solo, he winked over at Julian, as if to say, This is it, buddy…our last gig with South of Broad, so let’s leave them a great memory! Julian instinctively knew what Ryan was thinking as the two harmonized masterfully their version of a goodbye to all their fans:

We’re leaving’ in an old van

Don’t know when we’ll be back again

Oh, yes…we hate to go…

Not quite the original lyrics, but aptly chosen as their swan song to Charleston, for tomorrow the boys would be heading west to Portland, Oregon, regrettably in Ryan’s old VW bus rather than a sleek jet plane, but nonetheless with the mission of settling into their new digs before college started in the fall. Lots of old friends and fans cheered and applauded as the tune faded and they realized that this was probably the last time South of Broad would be playing in their midst. The band looked sharp in their summer attire—off-white slacks with matching floral short-sleeved shirts—as they joined hands and bowed to their audience, acknowledging their gratitude for the popularity they had achieved there in the past year and a half…an amazing feat, actually, for four boys just now graduating from high school.

Not that they hadn’t earned the accolades, mind you. Ryan and Julian were the young Lennon and McCartney of Charleston, both incredibly talented in their own unique ways, with Julian being more the thinker, philosopher, and lyricist, while Ryan was something of a musical genius, effortlessly translating Julian’s ideas into music and playing at least three instruments with incredible finesse for an eighteen-year-old. It was Ryan’s stage presence, however, that was the big draw for the band, as he also possessed that remarkable charisma of a natural leader, and always maintained an incredible connection with audiences wherever they played.

Tonight, he wiped a tear from his eye as he looked out into the crowd and saw his family—parents, Martin and Cathy, plus sister Sara—and the Russells standing next to them, waving their arms and cheering for their sons. Julian’s parents were almost indistinguishable from his own in Ryan’s mind, having been friends with Julian and his family since kindergarten. Living literally a stone’s throw away—the Russell home on Meeting Street and the Christie residence backing up to it on Church Street—the boys always had ample opportunity for overt and secret rendezvous. There was a gate in a wall between the two properties that they scampered through many times a day as children and still used regularly to this day. The timeless elegance of old Charleston was in their blood, and the thought of leaving their singularly unique city was almost overwhelming.

As the two boys stood there with their bandmates, taking in the applause and appreciation from friends and families they had known all their lives, they couldn’t help but mourn their upcoming loss and wonder if they were making the right choice.

Julian was especially skeptical of their decision and reluctant to leave the only home he had ever known. As was often the case, he had let Ryan talk him into “flying the coop” and testing their wings in unknown territory, but right now, he felt like they might have made a big mistake. He loved Charleston—its timeless traditions, venerable history, genteel lifestyle, and overall predictability—all of which would be notably absent in the new surroundings. The band had been fun, too; he truly enjoyed writing songs and performing. Although pretty much always in Ryan’s shadow, he really didn’t mind that, for now at least. It took the pressure off of him and allowed him to be more of the quiet, pensive person that he was. Ryan, on the other hand, was always a bit over the edge, at least in Julian’s estimation, but that was what made it all such a hoot. He enjoyed Ryan’s charisma, spontaneity, and winsome way with the crowd. It actually brought more incidental recognition to him than he ever would have achieved on his own. The limelight sometimes did filter out in his direction, too, like this evening, and that was more than enough.

Sadly, when it came to personal vision and sense of direction, Julian, at least at this point in his life, was at a total loss. He lacked the clear-cut goals and unfaltering tenacity that Ryan always seemed to have. This current lack of purpose and sense of identity made their upcoming departure all the more upsetting to Julian. With no overriding vision to motivate him, apart from Ryan, he probably would have been content just to hang around Charleston and his family until he began to figure out the course of his future. “Too late now, though,” he mumbled reluctantly to himself. Alea iacta est! (the die is cast!)

Obviously, both sets of parents had expected their sons to continue on at the Citadel, or the College of Charleston, but it was pretty clear, at least to Ryan, that it was time to leave the nest—the security and tradition of old Charleston—and get out on their own. The West Coast, with its more liberal thinking and unconventional lifestyles, seemed particularly appealing to him, and far enough away to discourage frequent parental visits. He and Julian had made several trips “out West” since the beginning of their senior year, looking for just the right spot, and had finally decided on Portland as a nice mix of California and Washington. Their applications to Portland State University had been accepted, with Ryan pursuing a degree in biochemistry and Julian still struggling to find his niche, leaning more toward philosophy and psychology. They were both excited, in varying degrees, to be embarking shortly on their new lives apart from parents, but the emotion of leaving Charleston was still overpowering at the moment.

Julian looked over at Ryan and whispered, “I sure hope we’re doin’ the right thing here, Ry…you know, skippin’ out on our home and all. I’m pretty sad to be leaving the band AND all our friends and family, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ryan whispered back, still smiling out to the crowd as he wiped the last of the tears from his cheek. “There’s nothing like home and family,” he agreed, “but it’s time to move on, don’t you think? We can start another band, but we’ve lived in Charleston all our lives. We’ve gotta see something new, and try livin’ on our own for a while. It’s just time, Jules.”

“I guess,” Julian somewhat hesitantly concurred as the applause finally faded and they set their instruments down. “Uh-oh, here come the parents!”

“Hey, you guys!” shouted Martin Christie. “Great show! I loved that last song—hadn’t heard that since I was growing up! What a cool rendition too! Your band has really gotten a lot better since the last time I heard you…shame you’ll be leaving all that behind.”

“We agree,” seconded Mrs. Russell. “It’s never too late to reconsider and go to the College of Charleston. You could keep your band, live at home and…”

“Mom!” Julian interrupted, “enough! We’ve already been down this road. We love you all, but it’s really time to get out on our own. At least we’ll be together, so you won’t have to worry too much.”

Maggie Russell rolled her eyes as Cathy Christie smiled at Julian and added, “Ry being with you is probably not nearly as comforting to Maggie as you being with him is to me!” she laughed, knowing full well that her son was by far the more adventurous of the two and had always benefited from Julian’s reserved and less spontaneous nature. “Anyway, you guys have to leave home sometime, so I guess we should make the best of it. We’re going to walk down to the seawall and watch the fireworks…y’all care to join us?”

“Later, Mom,” Ryan interjected. “We’ve gotta get all this stuff packed up and out of here first. I wouldn’t want to lose my new guitar!” he beamed, looking down at the cherry-red 1964 Gibson SG Standard that his parents had given him for graduation.

“You got that right!” Martin agreed. “That guitar was about two weeks’ salary for me, so you’d better take good care of it!” he grinned. “Sounded great, too—that’s the first time I’ve seen you play it, in the band at least.”

“Well, you just need to get out and see us more often,” Ryan chided. “This is about the tenth time I’ve used it since y’all gave it to me. I really love it, though. Thanks, Dad and Mom!”

“You’re welcome, son,” Martin replied as Cathy was pulling him toward the water.

“We’re very proud of you and Julian. I hope you’ll get a lot of use out of that guitar out West.”

“That’s the plan,” Ryan concurred as he carefully placed the prized guitar in its case. “We’ll see you guys later, and thanks for coming. It was good to see you all out there!”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything!” Keith Russell chimed in. “The band sounded great—hard to believe it was our own sons up there,” he beamed. “Guess we’ll see you tomorrow, Ry?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Russell. Dad, I’ll catch up with you and Mom soon.”

“Thanks again, everybody!” Julian seconded, looking around for his bass case. “Where did I put that thing?” he muttered to himself, searching through a tangle of wires and amplifiers until he finally located it toward the back of the bandstand. “You gonna watch the fireworks?” he asked, looking over at the band’s drummer, Kyle Kennedy.

“Yeah, when I get all this stuff packed up and help Lenny (the keyboardist) with the PA, mikes, lights and things. You guys go ahead, we’ll catch up to you later. Really great show tonight, by the way. We’re gonna miss you both—sure won’t be much of a band without you two,” Kyle lamented, sadly shaking his head as he packed up his drums.

“Ditto that!” seconded Lenny. “I’ll probably be back playing elevator music for the tourists in hotel lounges pretty soon. I wish you the best, though. Maybe we can come out and play a gig with you two sometime.”

“Yeah, that would be fun,” Julian agreed. “Probably the Western punk version by then!” he laughed as the nearby sky suddenly exploded with color. “Hey, can you guys take our stuff with you? Ry and I really want to catch up with our parents if we can find them. Probably won’t have this chance again for a good while.”

“Sure man, go ahead. We’ll make sure your stuff gets home safe. Enjoy the fireworks,” Lenny grinned as the familiar sights and sounds of Independence Day filled the air over Charleston Harbor. “It’s almost like the Civil War all over again,” he laughed as the sky over Ft. Sumter was brilliantly illuminated with the sights and sounds of exploding fireworks.

“At least no cannons this time!” Julian grinned. “Ok, see you guys!” he yelled over his shoulder as he caught up with Ryan and headed across the street toward a better vantage point on the seawall.

“Hey, Jules!” Lenny yelled. “We may try to stop by your place in the morning to wish you goodbye, if that’s okay with you. What time are you all leaving?”

“Around ten,” came a scarcely audible reply from the darkness.

“Ok, tomorrow then, if we wake up in time!” Lenny grinned, searching for his keyboard cover. Looking toward the water, he marveled as the darkness yielded to a magnificent display of color and sound. “Independence is way better than Civil War, don’t ya think?” he asked, looking over at Kyle, who was scarcely visible behind a small mountain of drum cases.

“Right on, brother,” Kyle concurred. “Let’s get this stuff packed up and in the van. I wanna enjoy the fireworks too!”

“You got it!” Lenny agreed, as another cascade of brilliant colors filled the evening sky. “I just love the 4th of July,” he said, as he quickly went about his work and hoped they would finish before the show was over.

The Next Morning

It was almost 10:00 a.m. when Ryan pushed open the driveway gates at 40 Meeting Street and piloted his prize ’73 aqua-blue-and-white VW camper van slowly into the parking space in front of the piazza of the Russells’ landmark 1740s Charleston single house. Keith and Maggie were justifiably proud of their family treasure located on a prime parcel of real estate just blocks from the Battery Park, where the boys had serenaded Charleston with their final concert just the evening before.

Ryan felt a curious mixture of fatigue from yesterday’s performance and excitement about the cross-country trip about to unfold as he climbed the piazza steps and rang the doorbell. Inside, he heard the shuffling of feet and the familiar bark of the family English bulldog, Beau, as he heralded Ryan’s arrival. Beau, namesake of Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard, the famous confederate general whose Charleston Civil War headquarters had been just across the street, was a great pal of his, and reserved a special bark for Ryan’s arrival, which he uncannily sensed prior to even seeing him. As Mrs. Russell opened the door, Beau scampered out to greet his friend of many years, and then sauntered over to relieve his bladder on one of Maggie’s prize azaleas—a ritual he regularly performed for the Russells’ guests.

“Hey Beau!” shouted Ryan amid Maggie’s all-too-familiar scolding of the dog for his choice of restroom facilities.

“Beau, stop that now, you hear?” Maggie shrieked, knowing all too well that her efforts to discourage the dog were totally in vain. He had his ways, not unlike most Charlestonians, where tradition filtered down even to the pets. Upon completing his mission, however, he gave Ryan a hearty welcome, even as he dashed past him into the house in search of his favorite toy, which he knew Ryan would toss high in the air for him to retrieve. It was such fun, and Ryan always enjoyed the ritual as well. Today, however, he seemed a bit more focused than usual as he yelled up the stairs for Julian.

“Hey Jules, you ready? Come on man, we gotta go—I’d like to get to Asheville before dark!” Clearly, Ryan had an itinerary already in mind, which was par for the course in his case. Julian was used to it, however, and was most often content just to follow his friend’s adventuresome direction, mostly because it was so much easier than the inevitable challenge that would ensue if he didn’t.

“Comin’, Ry!” he yelled as he folded the last of his shirts and placed it neatly in his meticulously organized suitcase. Structure and order had always been important for Julian, most likely due to the influence of his accountant father and very traditional Southern mother, who always liked things neat, tidy, and in their proper place.

As Julian struggled to descend the stairs with his large overstuffed suitcase, he saw that Ryan was already engaged in one of his favorite pastimes—tormenting Beau. Finally reaching the foot of the stairs, he could see Ryan’s lanky frame facedown on the living room floor, growling ferociously at Beau from just about his level. Beau found this maneuver highly entertaining and reciprocated with several intimidating growls of his own before pouncing on Ryan and tugging at his shirt. This little ritual had been going on for years, and always culminated in Ryan feigning surrender and begging Beau for mercy. “Easy, Beau!” he shrieked as the dog growled and tugged at his shirt. “I give…you da dog, Beau, you da big dog!”

Capitulation and praise were a combo that always worked with Beau, and he released his death grip on Ryan’s shirt, yet not without a triumphant “Don’t mess with Beau!” look as he climbed off of his victim. Maggie’s familiar warning, “Beau, you get off of Ryan right now, you hear?” drifted in from the dining room, where she had been packing up some snacks for the boys’ trip.

“I declare, Ryan,” she admonished, “one day that dog is going to tear the shirt right off your back!”

“Nah, Mrs. Russell, Beau and I are pals. I’m really his therapist, you know. I encourage him to release all his pent-up aggression—keeps him more mellow around you guys!” he laughed.

“Well, I guess we’re in trouble now that you’re leaving,” Maggie sighed. “Sure you wouldn’t like to reconsider? You could come stay with us if you just need to get out of the house—I’m told boys your age just have to do that!”

“Not quite far enough, Mrs. Russell,” Ryan grinned. “Besides, what about Jules here? He’s gotta at least go north of Broad for a few years, don’t you think?”

“Ha ha! Trekking twenty-five hundred miles to the West Coast is hardly what I would call snobing,” Maggie responded, rolling her eyes while using the common Charlestonian colloquialism for venturing “slightly North of Broad.”

“You’re right about that,” Ryan agreed. Then with a twinkle in his eye and a bit of his usual wit, he added, “I guess we’re actually ‘swobing’…going significantly west of Broad!”

“We’re not going anywhere if you two don’t cut it out!” Julian interrupted from the entry hall at the foot of the stairs. “I thought you wanted to catch that group at the Orange Peel in Asheville tonight.”

“Yeah, I know. Just had to say goodbye to Beau here,” he smiled, patting Beau on the head, “AND give your mom one last tease!”

Tears began to well up in Maggie’s eyes as the truth of that statement swept over her. “I know you have to go,” she began, fighting them back and putting an arm around each boy, “really, I do. Ryan, you’ve been hanging around here since you were a baby, and Julian, you’re our only child. What else can I say? I knew this day had to come, but it still hurts horribly. I love you both so much, and I’m really gonna miss you!”

A flood of emotion now flowed from all directions as the three embraced and savored for a moment that indescribable human bond that love miraculously weaves between one spirit and another. It was as if all eighteen years were suddenly condensed into a single second and the intensity of feeling was overwhelming. As Ryan wiped his eyes, he looked down at Beau, who was providing a welcome moment of comic relief. “Hey you guys, look at Beau!” he laughed, as all eyes turned to the dog, who was lying on the floor, covering his ears with his paws.

“Oh Beau, you precious little fella!” Maggie whispered. “Well, at least one of my boys will still be around!” she sighed in an effort to console herself. Reaching down to give Beau a reassuring pat on the head, Maggie took a deep breath, and regained some measure of her Southern composure as she looked out the window and saw Ryan’s parents coming through the gate. “Time to get going, boys—here come Martin and Cathy. Julian, let me find your father so he can help send you off.”

Egos snapped back into place as that special moment of clarity and connection gave way to the demands of the task at hand. “Hey Ry,” exhorted Julian, “can you help me with this bag? It weighs more than I do!”

I doubt that, Ryan thought to himself, glancing over at his shorter and slightly pudgy friend. I’m gonna get that kid in shape if it kills me, he resolved as he reached down to help Julian with what was apparently the majority of his earthly possessions, carefully compressed into one overloaded receptacle. “Come on Jules, I got it,” he grinned as he effortlessly thrust the bag through the open doorway and toward the waiting van.

“I sure hope that thing is up to the trip!” Julian remarked, looking tentatively over at Ryan’s “hippie mobile,” as he called it.

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” echoed the voice of Martin Christie, as he and Cathy made their way through the garden to the piazza. “Ry and I went over that baby with a fine-tooth comb! She was purrin’ like a kitten by the time we finished,” he grinned. “No sirree, you boys are good to go. That thing would take you to China and back if you needed it to!”

Famous last words! Julian thought to himself, already having experienced quite a few breakdowns in the van since the Christies got it for Ryan on his sixteenth birthday.

Sensing his friend’s hesitancy, Ryan quickly concurred with his father, “Don’t worry, Jules…old Vinnie here is rarin’ to go!” On the day of its arrival, Ryan had christened his van Vinnie VanGo, a moniker still retained amid other original Christie works of art displayed ubiquitously on virtually every metallic surface of Vinnie’s exterior, in homage to one of Ryan’s foremost heroes. “Oh yeah,” he reassured himself, patting Vinnie affectionately as he hoisted Julian’s bag into an interior already packed with what appeared to be every imaginable item that Ryan could envision the two boys needing over the next four years—guitars, amps, microphones, speakers, books, computers, and even a few less essential items such as pots, pans, kitchen utensils, clothing, and last, but not the least, a US road atlas.

“Vinnie VanGone, I wish,” Julian thought to himself, as he stared at the van’s rather dubious epithet, boldly painted on the side facing the piazza, and recounted the numerous missions that had to be aborted due to Vinnie’s proclivity for mechanical failure. Surely, this wouldn’t be yet another of those, he hoped as the bulging bag containing nearly all his earthly possessions disappeared within the bowels of the beast.

“Don’t worry, Jules, everything will be just fine!” came Ryan’s voice from inside the sliding bombardier door. “Vinnie won’t let us down this time, you’ll see!”

“Sure, Ry,” came a slightly less-than-enthusiastic response. “Are we all loaded?”

“Just about. How about Beau? Think he’d like to tag along?”

“Don’t even think about it, Ryan Christie!” came a threatening female voice from the piazza. “One son lost for today is plenty, thank you!”

“Just kiddin’, Mrs. R.” Ryan laughed as he walked over to give his mom and dad a hug. “I’ll miss you guys,” he nodded, not quite able to muster the same level of emotion that had unexpectedly escaped him with Maggie and Julian a few moments earlier. The getting-out-from-under-the-parental-wings desire served as a counterbalance to whatever sadness he normally would have felt, for even though Ryan loved his parents dearly, he had definitely been a challenge for them, and more than a few unpleasant memories still lingered on both sides. He imagined his parents were feeling as much relief as he was, in spite of the love they all had for one another.

“Do your best out there, Ryan, and always know that you can count on us if ever you need anything,” Cathy promised as she gave her son a big goodbye hug.

“That goes for both of us, Ry,” his dad added, giving him an affectionate slap on the back and a firm, manly handshake. “Don’t be a stranger,” he added quickly. “You know you always have a place here whenever you want to come home.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll do my best to grow up and make you both proud. Hey, tell sis I’m sorry she couldn’t make it and that I hope she’ll get out to Portland to visit sometime soon.”

Just then, Mr. Russell burst through the front door, cell phone in hand, apologizing for being late. “Sorry, you guys, I had a client on the phone with a big tax problem that just couldn’t wait. You boys have a safe trip now, and if you run out of money, call the Christies! Just kidding,” he laughed, as Maggie gave him a threatening look. “Julian, you watch out for Ryan now, and Ryan…try to keep the insanity to a manageable level, you hear?”

“Amen to that!” seconded Martin, looking directly at Ryan, who managed a weak assent. “Keep up with the Gibson, too, Ry. I want to get my money’s worth out of that thing,” he grinned.

“I’ll do my best,” replied Ryan, sliding into Vinnie’s well-worn driver’s seat. “Well, Jules, I guess we’re a bit early for Lenny and Kyle. Sure gonna miss them…Oh well, all aboard, bro, this train is heading west!” he exclaimed as the old bus sputtered to a start.

“Don’t drive too fast, honey!” called Cathy amid a flutter of goodbye hand-waving.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Julian mumbled as Ryan backed the van out of the gate and onto Meeting Street. This thing wouldn’t go over sixty if Van Gogh himself were waiting for us in Portland! he laughed to himself as they chugged off toward Broad, leaving behind four loving parents and the only world they had ever known.

“Still think this is a good idea?” Julian asked tentatively as Vinnie rumbled up to the stoplight at Meeting and Broad—the well-known Four Corners of Law, and the line of demarcation between the highly genteel, ultratraditional, remarkably unchanging historic district to the south and the more modern Charleston business district to the north.

“Oh yeah,” Ryan replied with no hesitation whatsoever. “You know, we’ve both grown up here and I love it as much as you do, but it’s definitely time to see more of the world, don’t you agree? I mean, there’s a lot of new thinking, new ways of living, and new ideas out there, Jules. Don’t you remember how cool it was when we flew out West? Portland is my kind of town, dude—purple hair, funky clothes, nose rings, tattoos…those people look and act however they want to and nobody cares. That would never happen in Charleston, especially south of Broad!”

“That does indeed sound like progress,” Julian jibed back in his usual manner. “No doubt you’ll be wanting to do all those things just as soon as we arrive,” he continued, rolling his eyes upward as the van crept past Calhoun Street and Marion Square on the left.

“You just don’t get it, Jules,” Ryan countered. “I’m not saying that I personally want to do all those things. I just think it’s cool to experience a culture that’s way different from what we’ve known here all our lives, that’s all. Maybe even you will loosen up a bit!” he laughed as he reached for his sunglasses and flipped on the radio to his favorite oldies station. “Oh my god, Jules!” he shrieked as the chorus of an old Eric Burton and the Animals tune blared out between them. “This is unbelievable—what an omen, dude!” he insisted, turning the volume up even louder as Eric crooned the final chorus:

We’ve gotta get outa this place

If it’s the last thing we ever do

To Julian’s horror, both of Ryan’s hands had left the wheel and were in midair now, mimicking the lead guitar riff at the end. “Dah da, dah da,” his voice synchronized with his fingers before being interrupted by Julian screaming, “Ryan, watch out!”

Ryan instinctively grabbed the wheel and slammed on the brakes as a vehicle pulled out right in front of them from a small side street to their right. “Damn tourists!” he yelled as a Lexus with Georgia plates sped across their lane toward the Visitors Center, narrowly avoiding a collision with the lumbering van. “Good thing Vinnie’s a little on the slow side,” Ryan muttered, shaking his head and trying to regain his composure.

“Almost dead, and we haven’t even gotten to the interstate,” Julian moaned as the entrance to I-26 loomed ahead. “If you really want to get outa this place, I strongly suggest that you keep your hands on the wheel and your brain focused on driving!” Julian warned as the van accelerated and shook noticeably as they approached the freeway speed of 60 mph.

“Say goodbye to tradition, Jules!” Ryan grinned, looking back over his shoulder one last time at the towering spires of St. Michael’s and St. Phillip’s churches, well-known landmarks of the historic old city.

“Mother of God!” Julian grumbled, hoping desperately that “Lady Madonna” wouldn’t be next on the oldies playlist. At least we’ve made it to North Charleston! he consoled himself as the van rumbled up I-26 heading for Asheville.

“Orange Peel, here we come!” shouted Ryan, motioning northward out the window with his index finger while Julian shook his head in total disbelief, fully convinced that his demise was imminent, most likely prior to even reaching the neighboring town of Summerville, a mere twelve miles up the road.