(Continued from Geneva – 1)
Farm Aid had been his wife’s idea. The all-day show took place out in Bumfuck at a venue he hated. It was a nightmare to get in and out of, impossible parking in rolling fields, idiot Hoofties running the show-no thanks! His only experience with the place had been 20 years ago taking his daughter and a bunch of her friends to an NSYNC or some such show. Never again, he swore that night sitting in two hours of traffic and he’d been good to his word.
He’d seen all the bands on the bill before, why subject themselves to it? But she was adamant. Bought the tickets months ago; bought merch ahead of time so she’d have the right T-shirt and hat. And even at her age, she could rock a T-Shirt and hat.
She had the date circled on the calendar and the tickets stuck to the refrigerator with a personal injury attorney’s magnet. But she had to have known when the show finally got here, she would be gone. She had to have. Or at least suspected. A clean break and disappearance to the other side of the country took some planning, right? And she was a planner.
Was the trip to Farm Aid part of her cover-proving to anyone who cared that she had made a quick, impetuous decision and not one born of months of careful consideration? Or was this something to do this weekend if her plans didn’t pan out or were delayed?
“Well, screw it”, he said aloud when the morning of the concert rolled around. He snatched the tickets off the fridge, grabbed a quilt from the bed in the spare room and headed for Bumfuck.