Goo Goo Pavement (Part 2)

I was driving. We were on a dark, tree covered state road in North Carolina. It was very late or very early. We had left the show in Asheville after 1am. We were driving overnight to Atlanta. We had a show there the next night. We had friends there and a place to sleep, someone to make us breakfast whenever it was that we were going to wake up. I was driving and Britt was in the passenger seat, feet on the dashboard, singing along to Big Black Delta. The others were in the back, George was asleep, and Jason was looking over some tour footage he’d been filming. I turned on the high beams just in time to see a deer dart into the road, but not enough time to avoid hitting it. The deer was mid-prance, leaping into the air, when the van crashed into its body. Miraculously, the deer was thrown upwards and over the right side of the van, not into the windshield. It landed along the edge of the highway. I slammed on the brakes, we skid a little as I fought to control the wheel. We came to a stop with one headlight smashed out. I was yelling, “Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck!” Britt was frozen, starting to cry. Before I knew it, Jason had jumped out the side door and was inspecting the van. Somehow, George was still asleep. “She told me that she loved me and she gave me my money back.”  

There was so much pain. Blood in my mouth. Legs broken. Can’t scramble. Can’t run. Can’t move at all. A burning, a stabbing, an aching, an everything in my side. Vision dimming. Head on the ground. I see grass, sideways. Then nothing. Then the pain is gone and I’m standing. Night has become day and I’m looking down at a bloody, dead, male deer. I’ve seen this before. Gathering or traveling. Crossing the human concrete stream. The speeding metal beasts attack. They kill, but they don’t eat. Sometimes the humans come and take the body away, sometimes not. I feel sorrowful. A little frightened, but mostly sad looking at the dead body. Then I remember the night before. I remember rushing home to my wife and fawns. I remember crossing in a hurry and the light suddenly brighter, too close. The metal beast attacked.

“Well, if you didn’t write it, who are you going to pin it on?” I was being interrogated. “We’ve searched your home and your computer. We’ve found notes. Bits a pieces of the manuscript everywhere.” “The ‘supposed manuscript’, you mean.” My lawyer corrected. I sat silent, staring at the table between us. Trying to figure out how this all worked. Where was I and why? “You may have found notes, diaries, and journal entries my client has made over the past 20 years, but you certainly didn’t…couldn’t have found a single copy of Goo Goo Pavement.” “What makes you so sure?” The prosecutor demanded. “Because it doesn’t exist.” I said under my breath. “What did you say?” The prosecutor turned to me. “I told you not say anything,” my lawyer said. “You don’t have to refute these absurd accusations.” But, I decided to speak up, “Goo Goo Pavement doesn’t exist. I never wrote it.” “Yeah?” The prosecutor smiled, turning to his associate. The associate pulled a book out of his brief case. “Then, what the fuck is this?” The book slid across the table, stopping just in front of me. It was bright yellow with an uneven pink strip across the front. It looked like the cover of “Never Mind The Bollocks” but instead of The Sex Pistols, inside that pink strip, it said Goo Goo Pavement.