NMF: 2025

     Mark it: 11:06. The precise moment it all fell apart. I caught a glimpse of myself in my phone screen and was absolutely horrified. These green/gray eyes don’t look good with the bags of sleeplessness hanging beneath them.

     Runners pour down Shartel through a multi-colored inflatable gate labeled “MESTA PARK.” Creeping hangover, but I’m keeping ahead of it, barely. Children in Mario and Luigi costumes hand runners candy as adults wave signs of encouragement. I descend and get a picture with a group of women in Indian saris. I pretend to jog next to a bearded bald man covered in sweat. Cowbells, bullhorns, shouts: too much noise.

     Turn back the clock. What was this scene 24 hours ago?

     I sat in my car and held a Lucky to the cracked window. Rain drummed the rooftop and water poured into the gutters of this same street. I was in a dour mood, but why? Was it the endless rain? The wasted hours of a Saturday morning stacking up? Or was it the uneasy calm that comes before inevitable and certain chaos? I swung the car into the alley and parked behind Guyutes. An Oklahoma City Thunder flag had come loose and swept across the windshield. Round One of the Playoffs, Game Four. If Oklahoma City wins, we sweep Memphis and rest until the next team challenges us. If we lose: we play one more game at home and embarrass the lesser team. My food arrived at tipoff. Memphis takes the ball but misses their shot. Jaylen Williams drives it to the OKC goal and misses. Memphis takes it and makes the first goal. Then the second. Then Hartenstein dunks it, scoring two points for the The Thunder. The two teams trade leads for the entirety of the first half. I was watching intently until the breaker tripped and the TV I was watching suddenly went dark. Management was scrambling to get it back on, but it was almost halftime and I was ready for my check. I tried to catch my girlfriend’s attention, but she didn’t hear me and instead handed some customers an exclusive Thunder Playoffs water bottle.

     “Hey! Where in God’s name did you get that? I want one!”

     She handed me a bottle from a cardboard box beneath the bar along with my tab. I sped down to Norman and watched the third quarter with my parents. There was three minutes left in the fourth when I checked the time: Shit. It’s past five. I need to get over to Tanner’s house NOW if I intend to make the show: Six o’clock, Alley Stage. A fourteen minute walk from Chautauqua and Symmes. I don’t remember what band, but I have a certain notion that I have to see them.

     I tune into the broadcast and roll down Alameda. It’s incredibly close. Two point differential with seven seconds left. Thunder’s up. I pull into Tanner’s driveway and see my friends slumming around Johnny’s car. I roll the window down and press in the cigarette lighter. Memphis misses their free throws. The Thunder wins. I slap the dash and kill the engine.

     “They won. We swept them on their own damned court. Memphis is out. Thunder moves on to the next round. Good God, what a game!”

     Sam, Jacob, and Johnny just stared at me. Sam spat as Jacob took another swig of some mysterious purple liquid in an unlabeled bottle.

     “We thought you were in there crying after you heard the shit we were talking about you.”

     “Crying? Tears of joy, maybe. What’s in the bottle?”

     Sam yanked it from Jacob and thrust it forth.

     “Gin and juice. Take a swig?”

     I took a few big gulps and lit a Spirit.

     “Damn, man. What a game. They’d beat the shit out of Caruso, three or more times. But we still pulled through. We whipped their ass.”

     We talked idly about baseball, basketball, and that one European mongrel that was bought by LA from Dallas.

     “Yeah, to hell with him. Stupid kid was the best basketball player from whatever ex-soviet shithole he’s from and came to the States with the same confidence. You can be the best baller in Jackassistan or wherever, but you ain’t the best baller in the world. But look, I gotta get to the fest. My band is at six.”

     Jacob and I headed down. We harassed Tanner at the tracks and waited for Sam and Johnny to catch up. I quietly excused myself and walked down to the Alley Stage. I passed a country band and a strange mix of rednecks and ravers. Cowboy hats clashed with short skirts and dyed hair. I posted up by a telephone pole right as the band took the stage.

     The music was absolute trash. I’d fucked the schedule up. Why the hell was I due HERE at six? What am I DOING? I lit a Lucky and looked on my phone. At the same instance a security guard grabbed me and said “sir, Imma need you to come with me.”

     I started to reach for the switch in my pocket and immediately recognized the guy: it was the person I’d worked with the day before. We exchanged greetings and I’d excused myself. I wandered up the alley to Gray Stage and listened to the country band. They weren’t half bad. I quashed the cigarette against the sole of my boot and moved on. I wasn’t in uniform, but I figured I could get into the Norman Music Fest Headquarters on confidence alone. As soon as I opened the door, Matt pointed at me from the back of the room. I strolled right past the desk and took a seat at the table relegated to security.

     “Well, how is it?”

     He proceeded to tell me about bulletproof helmets, body armor, offense/defense, uniforms. Still mildly sober, I’d agreed with every word he said. His number two man walked in and said his wife was catching the Helen Kelter Skelter show.

     “Shit! That’s what I came here for. Where at?”

     Opolis. I stuck to the sidewalks and strolled down. I ran into an old friend and her dad. He clarified that I was about her age. For what? Was I about to be married off to some girl I barely knew? Or was he just curious? She picked up on my bristling vibrations and politely sent me off. I walked into Opolis and there she is: the queen of lapdances from all those years back.

     “Ray, how are you?”

     “I’m gooood! You got your fest bar on?”

     “Uh, yeah. I guess.”

     Fest GARB. My patch jacket. I didn’t realize until I was in line at the bar. I could go back, but what would I say?

     “Double whisky, please.”

     “Just a double whisky? Or do you want it with ice?”

     “Yeah, fuck it, ice.” Probably for the best. The man returned me the change for my twenty and I dropped two-fifty into the tip jar. I jammed in my ear plugs and took off my hat. Familiar songs, but they were winding down. I heard an old favorite and no more. It was a good set, but no moshing. Damn.

     After the show I slipped out back and claimed a table. I stuck a Spirit into my filter and lit up. I slowly sipped my whisky as the crowd flowed out into the alley. The band and their entourage took up space and I couldn’t help but feel I was in a place I shouldn’t be. Everyone here has a “BAND” pass, meanwhile I’m just wasting time sipping whisky.

     I knew it was time to leave, so I did. I found Jacob and we eventually found Sam, Tanner, and Johnny. We slummed in an alleyway and watched the crowd.

     Norman Music Fest is the Event of the Year. EVERYONE who is ANYONE dresses up in some curated costume to SHOW UP to an event where inevitably your look will be lost among all the other looks. But I was no better.

     We retreated to the train tracks and waited on my girlfriend. Once she arrived, the guys disappeared and I bought a craft beer for four dollars.

     Now what? The sun is setting behind the Blue Bonnet. I’m with a big group of people, but who do I talk to? The guys disappear and my girlfriend talks to Sage. Cedar and her boyfriend pass us. My friends have differing opinions on him. Sage left and I went up to catch “The Mystery Lights.” They didn’t play my favorite song, but I nodded along and waited for the next act: Levitation room.

     My girlfriend took off for OKC and I ducked into the porta-potties. I met my friends just as the next act came on. After the first song my younger brother found me and I gave him an enthusiastic hug. I was glad to see Levitation Room, but I kept checking the time, conscious of the fact that Limp Wizurds would be playing at midnight and the Opolis would only let so many people in.

     11:45: time to go. I tried to leave the set early, but they played “She’s Got the Warmth of the Sun.” I lost my shit and went right back to the rail, singing along and nodding my head. But after that song was done, I was serious about getting into the Opolis. I showed my wristband and waited as my friends gained entry. I clapped Tanner on the back. Then Jacob. Then my younger brother. Then we were In. I went right to the bar and ordered a beer, a shot, and a bag of chips. The shot went down quick and I shared the chips with Sam, who had come in at a later time. I was nursing the beer as the band was tuning up. I took a chug, then handed it to Sam, who handed it to Johnny. It came back around to me, then all was quiet. The band was ready. The lead singer stood at the edge of the stage inviting divers. I don’t remember what compelled me, but suddenly I was on the stage. Sean Reedy held me by the shoulder and I held up my hat and curled my lips at the crowd. As soon as the song started I jumped off the stage and closed my eyes. Would I faceplant? Or would they catch me? It’s too late to worry. Whatever comes next is destiny.

     A dozen hands turned me on my back and I held my hat in the air. The hatband slipped down my arm and I remember being concerned, as I’d sacrificed something to the pit the previous years, but there was too much going on to focus on that. The crowd lowered me down and once I had my feet I rushed into the pit, being pushed and shoved by strangers until I was alone in the middle. I held my fists up and challenged anyone who would take me. Some punk kid with a mohawk rushed forth and I met him with equal force. The crowd descended on us and the pit resumed. After the song, Reedy picked a member of the audience:

     “Pick a number between one and ten… Nine. Nine okay! I want nine people to stage dive during this song!”

     Immediately I elbowed my way to the front and took the stage. I jumped off and the hands of strangers carried me to the back. When they put me down my outstretched arm caught a girl’s shirt. I felt the familiar feeling of nipple between my fingers and knew immediately to right the situation. I looked at some chick with tattoos and short tinted hair and said

     “Hey! Adjust your shirt! I think I accidentally pulled it down. I didn’t meant to, I’m sorry” and rushed back into the pit. I slammed against her, the punk kid, Sam, Tanner, Johnny, and Jacob. And whenever I saw someone I knew I’d say “sorry” or “hey!” before throwing myself at them. I gave my hat to a stranger and went back into the chaos. Whenever someone went down I’d pick them up and recruit all my strength to keep the rest of the crowd off of them. I don’t know how long it went on for. By the end of it I found my brother, who had my hat and jacket.

     “You’re crazy.”

     “Those twenty or so minutes are the reason I came out. I wouldn’t have been here if not for that.”

     There was three familiar girls who’d approached me after the set. My shirt was tucked into my belt on my left hip, and my jacket on the right. I was sweating and panting. As soon as I’d engaged in the typical niceties of “how are you? It’s been so long. What’s new?” I lit up a Lucky, admiring the way it was crushed in the pit.

    One entertained my questions until I’d committed an unknowing faux-pas. I’d asked her about her husband, but the two were no longer married.

     “Uh, well. Shit. I don’t know if I should say “sorry” or “good for you.””

     There was no clear answer. We talked about the education system and all of its flaws in the modern era. She talked and I tried to listen, but I was too busy with the cigarette. I used the lit end to chase away a bug on my arm and took a drag. She recoiled and wafted the smoke away.

     “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to blow that into your face.”

     “It’s not that, I’m just impressed that you put that cigarette out on yourself.”

     “I didn’t put it out. I thought I felt a bite. Look, I need another drink, I’ll be right back out.”

     I slurped a shot of whisky and ordered a Coors, but when I got out the girls were gone. The remaining members of our party traded glances until Sam said “well, we probably oughta get home.”

     I nursed the Coors and clapped Johnny and Tanner on the back.

     “Your first pit! YOUR FIRST PIT! Hell, how did it feel bouncing around a group of half naked strangers? Did you get to crowd surf?”

    Both of them confirmed that they did and I exploded with excitement for my friends. I howled into the night and they howled with me. We stumbled back to Tanner’s and I smoked one more cigarette, then entertained everyone with some random inconsequential story. Sam, Jacob, and Johnny left, then Tanner talked me into sleep. I said my prayers and shut my eyes. Then suddenly, it was morning.

     My throat was shot and my cheek and chest were sore. The cheek was explainable: a rogue elbow in the pit. Though the chest had worried me. Was I just beat? Or was a lung threatening collapse? Where is my hatband? I paid no mind and went out for a Lucky. The calm of the morning soothed me and I felt like if I was supposed to be any place it would be here. Tanner and I talked until his kids were dropped off by their mother, then I sat through some cartoon with his youngest in my lap.

     The theme was the importance of cleaning up. Maybe I should clean up. Head back to OKC and manage the impending hangover. I bid Tanner and his sons farewell, but as I was heading at the door, his eldest said “remember the fun you had here!”

     And I said “I will! I’ll never forget!”

     I nosed the Lincoln onto Flood and headed north. Over by the airport my nerves had crept up and were right on top of me. Panic was sitting in the passenger seat, but I kept my eyes on the road. I stopped into the gas station to buy something hydrating and a six-pack of PBR. A big swig of Gatorade fixed me right up. There’s two ways the rest of the day can go: either indulge the doom and anxiety, or ride the high until you outlast it. With renewed energy I carried on to Moore: my last stop. The tires squealed as I swung around the corner and shrieked as I stopped in the garage.

     “Here. Don’t ask me how I got it. And don’t ask me how many people I had to kill for it. But really, you should thank my girlfriend. She’s the one who arranged this.”

     My old coworker thanked me for the water bottle she’d desperately sought at the last home game. We wouldn’t see each other until the next one, some time in May. I peeled out and sped down the on-ramp. Traffic was thick. I cut off a Kia Soul and weaved into the left lane. They honked at me so I sped up. I swerved around several cars all the way to the Shields exit. The engine roared as I mashed the gas and checked the rear-view mirror: they were well behind me now. I eased over to the far-right lane and set the cruise control. What was my rush? Was I going to go home? Shartel is shut down for the marathon. It’s too early to duck into a bar, and it would feel wrong to kill time in a strip club on a Sunday morning. Maybe I’ll just keep driving. I’ll end up in Memphis or some horrible place and start a new life there.

     My thoughts were interrupted by frantic honking: An old Volvo crept up to the left of me and some girl with smeared lipstick and sleep-matted hair cranked the window down.

     “Where the hell are you going?” she yelled. Or was it “what the hell are you doing?”

     “Wherever the road takes me!” I said. I put the pedal to the floor and took off.