Looks Like Rain

• 2015-07-03

The drive to the funeral that morning consisted of blue skies and bolted lips. The Colorado sun rose hot and high above the towering Rockies corralled around the distant expanse of I-70. Neither Rain nor her dad wanted to mention Clarity, each being more concerned for the others’ welfare than their own. 

Rain stared out the window. Not a cloud in the sky, nor a tear on the verge, she had promised herself she would hold it together, because that’s what Clarity would have wanted.   

The silence broke with the sound of a zipper; Chief, her dad, was thumbing through a leather CD case. He found the Grateful Dead bootleg he was looking for and twisted the volume knob on the dash.

Jerry Garcia’s voice sang through the speakers. She had rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes, and I knew, without askin’, she was into the blues.

Rain lolled her head from the window and wrinkled her forehead as she turned to her dad. 

“This was the first song we danced to together.” He gripped the wheel stiff with both hands.

Rain shifted back to the window, still not saying a word. 

“Thanks to you.” He patted her once on the back of her shoulder. 

Rain sighed. “Can’t we just drive in silence?” She lowered her voice. “I’m not sure I can handle all that right now.” 

Jerry Garcia’s voice welled up inside her inner cochlea. She couldn’t help but think of Clarity every time she listened to the Dead. She thought about the words her dad said, “Thanks to you.” He was right. It was because of Rain that Chief and Clarity had met. She hadn’t thought back to that day in so long, but little tears beaded in the corners of her ducts as she remembered it like yesterday. 

*

• 1989 – 12 – 06

Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum,

Oakland, CA.

A twirling sea of tie-dyed deadheads sways loosely, spiraling, spinning, coalescing to the collective groove now strutting its trail from the loudspeakers on stage. The wah heavy guitar licks of “Shakedown Street” washes over the crowd. One by one the people lose themselves to the music, to the moment, to the magic they feel as they dance and shake their bones. The most devoted fans in all of rock history, they came from all over the U.S. just to be here and now. Some of them quit their day jobs, made their way selling t-shirts or grilled cheese just to make it show to show. Some made their way by miracles, through the love of strangers or their friends. Others just sort of showed up, themselves not even knowing where they came from or how they’d wound up here. But in this moment, they all get to experience what it feels like to be a part of something bigger than themselves.

The Grateful Dead. 

The crowd, packed so tight you can feel your neighbors’ sweat, sways as one. 

Jerry Garcia sings: Nothing shaking on shake down street.

The swaying mass of fans calls back. Used to be the heart of town.

Don’t tell me this town ain’t got no heart.

As the people swing and swivel, a six year-old Rain dances shyly as she shuffles her way through the tie dye sea. She’s wearing a bright yellow sundress over brown leggings and has little white lilies tucked into her blonde braids. “Daddy?”

Just gotta poke around, the crowd responds.  

“Daddy?” She pushes past dancing hippy after dancing hippy, barely above knee height but determined to find her way. She moves through the mass into a small opening. Looking around, she still doesn’t see her dad. As she stands there, pouty faced, cheeks puffed, the whole crowd waves its noodle arms in ecstatic motion. Just as she crosses her arms and sniffles, she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder. 

“Little girl are you lost?” A young woman in a high-cut-warm-colored-long-sleeve Fall Tour ‘89 tie dye dips down to the little girl’s height. The various beads around her neck and wrists and in her dreadlocks clink together as she squats. Rain doesn’t answer, but the shimmer in her eyes and the quiver in her lip tell all as she peers back at the concerned lady. 

“I’m Clarity.” The woman yells over the music, she holds out a thin hand with long red and blue nails. “What’s your name?”

 “Rain,” She takes Clarity’s hand and yells back, soft, yet just loud enough the woman can hear her over the roaring crowd. “I can’t find my dad.” She says “dad” trying to sound grown up.

Clarity’s eyes widen. “Did he lose you?”

Rain clings tightly to her rescuer’s arm. “He went to get a beer and I saw a doggie.” Silent tears wet Clarity’s shoulder where Rain’s face is pressed against it. “And I got lost.”

“Oh sweetie.” Clarity hugs her tightly into her chest. “How bout I help you find him?”

Rain nods and flashes a smile to Clarity in reassurance. 

“Hop on up.” Clarity grabs Rain by her hips and hoists her onto her shoulders. 

“Look out daddy, we’re gonna find ya, right Rain?” 

Rain forces another smile. She almost starts to feel a little better, too. As Clarity stands up Rain can see everything perfectly. She can almost make out the face of every person in the crowd. The spotlights move across the stage and through the crowd like beacons of hope finally falling on her search. Suddenly, way up here on Clarity’s shoulders, she doesn’t feel so scared anymore. The crowd doesn’t look as big from up here. Plus, the music is louder, and the air is cool and fresh. A sense of awe washes over Rain and she starts to feel like she’s on top of the world. Her fake smile stretches wide across her face and crowns true. She even bobs her head and shoulders as Clarity dances in step, making their way through the smoke-filled crowd. Rain smiles brightly, her smile grows bigger and bigger with every person she scans, hope slowly filling back up in her heart. 

Nothin’ shaking on shake down street, used to be the heart of town. The entire stadium hops left, right, upside down and inside out to the beat, bouncing off the melodic wahs rippling from Jerry’s guitar.

Clarity brings them out from the soul of the crowd, hoping to have better luck near the edge. She will make a round robin first and then double back to concession. She’s sure the little girl’s dad must be looking for her, too. Or else, he’ll really hear it from her when she finds him. “Where did you see him last?” She calls over the music.

Rain latches onto Clarity’s dreads and lowers to her ear. “Uhm we were in the back and—” Rain points across the pit. “The doggie was over there.”

“Hold on tight.” Clarity clamps Rain’s legs to her chest and spins around in a 540. Rain is riveted with laughter, bouncing along as Clarity zooms forward, ducking between drunk and stoned fans. 

When they make it to the other side of the pit Rain’s eyes widen. She almost can’t believe the sight. She lights up with a big, grand smile and points. “There.”

A shaggy young man in an old Summer ‘77 shirt and baggy cargos is standing in the corner talking to a cop with a German Shepard. He’s flailing his hands around like he’s panicking.

Clarity sneaks up behind him, taps him on the shoulder and he turns with a start. “I think I found something that belongs to you.” She lifts Rain off her shoulders and puts a quick “Seeya later kiddo” in Rain’s ear as she hands her to her dad.

“Daddy.” Rain stretches out her arms and clings to her dad’s chest as Clarity hands her over.

“Rain.” He laughs with relief. “Oh my god, I was so worried. Where were you?”

Rain clenches her upper lip, trying to hide her worried frown, but her downcast eyes give her away. She doesn’t want him to be mad at her. 

“Oh, never mind. I’m just glad you’re here now.” He kisses her on top of her head and roughs up her hair as he sits her down. He apologizes to the officer and turns to Clarity.

Rain of course runs right to the German Shepard. While at the same time, Clarity and Chief pause in an awkward exchange, looking each other over, almost pleasantly scrutinizing each other, playing an old school-aged game of who’s going to smile first? 

Rain looks nervously up at the cop; he nods this time, and she starts petting the dog. She scratches him behind his big ears. “Good doggie.” Rain giggles and pets the dog some more.

Finally, Chief breaks a huge, stupid smile across his face. “What’s your name?” He yells breathlessly over the music like he has to know.

She smiles almost as dumbly and yells her name back. “Clarity.” She loops a slender finger through her blonde dreads. “You’re welcome.” She stretches out the wel playfully.

“Clearly, I can’t thank you enough.” His face brightens, but then he wipes the stupid smile from his face, hoping she didn’t catch his bad pun and lights up again when, still smiling, she moves closer to hear him better. She’s shorter by just enough that if she tilts her head back slightly, she can see straight into his hazel-green eyes.

Chief quickly scoops his fumble and asks if she has anywhere to be, or if she wants to hang out for a while. She stays. “At least to make sure you don’t lose Rain again.” She jokes, but her eyes say a lot more.

Chief and Clarity carry on, chatting through to the set break, each magnifying the other’s animation. Something about yelling over the music and craning their necks to hear each other makes their smiles grow bigger, almost like each word matters more because they have to try to catch it. During the set break, Chief scoops Rain up into his arms. “Who’s hungry?” He locks eyes with Clarity and tilts his head to the side signaling her to tag along.

They return from concessions with a tall PBR each, and a big, salted pretzel for Rain. By the time they find some open seats in the stands to sit, the music has already started. “Scarlet Begonias” rings loud and neon-sun-bright across the packed stadium.

The crowd twiddles the fingers of its rubber rag doll arms to Brent’s sparkling keys, climbing, climbing, climbing the higher registers. 

Jerry sings: from the other direction she was calling my eye. It could be an illusion, but I might as well try, might as well try.

Chief sees Clarity bobbing her shoulders and lets the music say it for him as he grabs her hand and rises to his feet. 

Rain watches bright-eyed as they step to and fro, swaying, in and out, back and forth, then side to side, their hands together above them. Chief twirls Clarity, a dreidel angel dancing on a pin. 

She had rings on her fingers and bells on her shoes.

Rain drops her pretzel and jumps up in the same motion, grabbing both of their hands. They sway together, Rain almost lifting off her little feet, her arms far above her.  

And I knew without asking she was into the blues.

Rain never felt so good as in this moment. She doesn’t want Clarity to ever leave. She wishes and dances. Dances. Wishes. Dances and wishes. Wishes with her whole body and dances like she knows it will come true.

*

• 2015-07-03

Jerry Garcia sang through the car speakers: She wore scarlet begonias tucked into her curls, I knew right away she was not like other girls, other girls.

Chief sighed a heavy breath and shut off the radio. Except for the sound of the tires on the highway and the wind whipping the car, it was silent. But Rain could still hear the music. 

At the funeral, many of their friends and family came tie dye clad, their now greying dreadlocks tied back in respect. It was more of a sendoff than a funeral, really. The plan had been to make the drive to Soldier Field in Chicago for “Fare Thee Well,” the 50th anniversary celebration, and last ever showing of The Grateful Dead, booked as The Grateful Dead, with all remaining core members, and to the distaste of some fans, Tre Anastasio from Phish playing lead guitar, filling in for the role of the late Jerry Garcia. 

Clarity had been determined to go regardless how bad her cancer had gotten. She rallied everyone together. She called up her old tour friends, some whom she hadn’t seen since before Jerry died in ‘95. She got the whole thing set up, and the next day, she was gone. 

When Rain came to visit again, Clarity’s room was empty, sheets lightly tossed, a beautiful sunflower thriving on her old bedside table.

Everyone who planned to come were now here in Denver, ready to say their final goodbyes. On the table between the peace lilies, a small golden urn sat in front of a hand painted portrait of Clarity when she was younger. She has only just started her dreads in the picture, her dirty blonde hair hangs sleek and straight along her round face. Rain traced her finger across the inscription on the front of the urn. Wildflower seed on the sand and stone may the four winds blow you safely home. 

“”Franklin’s Tower” was always one of her favorite songs.” She spoke to no one and kept her glance down trying not to see the portrait for more than a flash. She sighed and felt a soft familiar hand on her shoulder. “This is how she wanted to be remembered, man.”

Rain turned around and pulled him into a quick tight hug. “Thanks for being here, Wasp.” Wasp had a bushy beard inseparable from the curly shags draped around his long face and wore a faded-brown-patch-strewn-vest over a shabby button down with old blue jeans he must have been wearing for the last twenty years. “fam gotta stick together.” He stuffed his knuckle-y hands into his vest pockets and shrugged. “She planned this, man. I know it.” 

Rain agreed sheepishly and excused herself. Wasp meant well, though he’d never been the brightest. They called him Wasp because on tour back in 92’ they had found themselves stranded in Tuscaloosa trying to get back to Denver from Atlanta. They had been spanging outside a gas station, and Wasp came running from the dumpster with a skunky case of Pabst in his arms and a cloud of hornets zipping behind him. They piled into the beater and luckily got away before anyone was stung. After that, the name just sort of stuck.

Rain remembered those days in the early 90’s when she was growing up. She and Clarity clung together like Velcro. At times, they were closer even than either were with Chief. The three of them, and sometimes Wasp and others toured together, followed the band from town to town. Rain only tagged along for full tours in the summer, of course. During the school year she’d stay with Chief’s parents in Aurora. Rain’s mother had died from a heroin overdose shortly after Rain was born so she never knew her. On tour Clarity and Chief fell in love. This was the closest thing Rain had ever known to a real family. Clarity’s bubbly fun personality balanced out Rain’s tempestuous and often quiet nature. She brought Rain out of her shell, and finally gave her someone she could talk to about all the things she couldn’t tell her dad. Clarity came back to live with them in Denver and became Rain’s stepmom long before Chief asked for her hand in 95’.

That’s when everything changed.

 On August 9th, 1995 Jerry Garcia died, at the far too young age of 53. 

Fans were distraught. A bitter rift shot through the heart of every single deadhead that day. No one could believe their ears. A lot of fans stopped going to shows. Others kept going because they had nowhere else to be. Bobby kept playing because the fans demanded, no, needed it. The music couldn’t stop. He had to get up on stage and fill a man-sized hole in everyone’s heart. But everyone knew it would never be the same. 

After that, Clarity and Chief settled down. That was it for them. Everything grew quiet. They mellowed out and accepted the best days of their youth were gone. Rain went back to school full time. It wasn’t until she was almost out of high school in 2005 that she started going to Ratdog shows, Bob Weir’s “leftovers” band that played mostly Dead tunes. Clarity hadn’t liked this. Rain was only sixteen. She wanted her to at least finish high school before going to that many shows on her own. But Rain went anyways. If she wouldn’t listen to Clarity, Chief knew there was nothing he could say.

So, Rain fell in with Wasp and his wanderlust band of lost deadheads that had mostly become a jumble of burnt-out-irrelevant-hippies and opportunist-hipster-junkies with enough gab to savvy the flowery tongue of whatever culture, counter or other, that currently satisfied their motto-of-mooch. 

As Rain fell deeper into the scene, She and Clarity drifted apart. Rain couldn’t understand why Clarity and her dad wouldn’t come with her to see Ratdog, Phil Lesh and friends, or even Further when they started touring. The scene had changed, they kept saying. It’s still alive, Rain tried telling them. But they had their movie. The reel kept spinning as a bright flash over blank film. There was nothing left to see. Rain had been too young when Jerry died. She felt it. But not the way Clarity and Chief did. For them, this long strange trip was over. Rain was trying to relive what they had already left behind. The rift opened slowly, the road rose to meet her and quickly became home.

Ten years later, life had forced Rain to dig her roots back in Colorado where she returned home to take care of her sick stepmom. It had started with lung cancer, but rapidly spread to her bones and lymph nodes. Clarity fought hard. She never once let Rain see her suffer. She always kept a bright smile, like Rain’s presence was better than any medicine.

Rain’s conversation with Wasp reminded her of the last thing Clarity said to her as she was leaving hospice care two days before. “I’m so glad you’ve been out there doing your thing kiddo.” Her smile had looked funny through her oxygen tubes in a morbid kind of way. “But don’t think I’m missing Soldier Field for the world.”

There’s nothing Rain would have wanted more.

Rain and Chief made their peace with all the other mourners before starting the Ceremony. Once everyone was seated, someone dimmed the lights. One of the funeral home attendants lit the candles in front of Clarity’s alter. 

“Brokedown Palace” by the Grateful Dead played softly in the background. Fare you well my honey, fare you well my only true one.

Ahem. Chief cleared his throat. “I thank you all for coming here today…” He clasped his hands together, stood at an angle looking everyone over for a moment before he continued. He couldn’t believe he was the only one wearing a damn tie. He reminded himself that this is what Clarity wanted. “We are gathered here today in remembrance of the life of Clarity, Jane, Donovan, my wife, best friend, and the best stepmother I ever could have asked for Rain.” 

Rain could almost see the tear in his eye. He hid that well. But everyone heard the rebel sob, that dry choke, the reality of the lump he tried to suck back on “stepmother.”

“She loved you all. Every one of ya.” He turned away and rested his eyes on Clarity’s portrait with a deep sigh. “I was against the idea, but Clarity wanted to be cremated so she could go to the last Grateful Dead shows with all of you. With all of us. So, she could be with us, physically, and in spirit too. Because… I know she’s not really gone.” He paused to catch his breath. His voice cracked into choppy huffs over would be sobs had he not been trying to so hard to keep it together. 

Jerry Garcia’s voice came light and sweet through the radio: It’s a far-gone lullaby Sung many years ago Mama, mama, many worlds I’ve come Since I first left home.

“She lives on through us and the connections we share. Grateful Dead brought us together, so I guess there’s no better way to say—” He paused, and at the same time Rain piped up, “Seeya later kiddo. Clarity never said goodbye.” 

Going home, going home by the waterside I will lay my bones, listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul.

Chief turned to Clarity; this time he looked at the urn instead of the portrait. “Seeya later kiddo.” He said it just loud enough that only the two of them could hear it. “It’s been one hell of a trip Clair.” He turned back to face their friends. “I couldn’t have asked any more of her, and I know she never could have asked any more of all of you… If there’s anything Clarity taught me…I think we need to remember to be grateful for what we have. Had. And keep each-other close and loved. Today we mourn and we grieve, but soon we will celebrate her life and be thankful we were in it.” Chief gulped a deep breath. “We’ll remember her so well, that we get shown her light in the strangest of places if we look at it right.” 

Fare you well, fare you well, I love you more than words can tell, listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.

The room erupted with sniffles, muffled encouragement, and modest claps. A few of the closer family friends embraced Chief. 

When the lights came back on, Rain had already slipped out the back door for a cigarette. Rain sat next to the potted purple and white hydrangeas on the porch of the funeral home; little escaping streaks of blonde hair trailed off her braids into the breeze. When the ash had all fallen, loose to the earth, carried on by the wind, Rain just sat there wishing she could go with it. She wasn’t sure where. She waited until her dad came and found her. 

“It’s time to go.” Chief hung on the door with one arm, Clarity’s urn under the other.

Wasp and most everyone else had just left on the party bus. It was time to go to Chicago. Time for Fare Thee Well. Rain wasn’t ready, but she twisted her butt into the flowerpot by the door, tilling the ash with the soil.

*

• 2015-07-04

The drive to Chicago had been about fifteen and a half hours after stops. They drove straight through in shifts, gliding into the Windy City through a cloudy sunrise. 

“Happy 4th of July.” Chief shook his sleeping daughter. They were rolling over the Chicago skyline. “Check out that view, huh?” 

“Smokestacks?”

He was clearly pointing to the little shafts of light shining through the pockets in the clouds, piercing the remaining patches of nighttime. “It’s like the world is only halfway on or something.” 

Rain peered through the window and out over the distance. “You always have to take the scenic route, don’t you?” But Rain agreed. She was starting to get a feeling. But she couldn’t quite touch it. She didn’t know why this sunrise made her think of Clarity, and she wasn’t sure if it was beautiful or painful, or maybe both.

When they finished checking into the hotel, Rain and Chief walked over to Shakedown Street; the parking lot, often referred to as “lot,” where the touring deadheads sell their merch: T-shirts, Jewelry, grilled cheese, burritos, beer, any drug you’re looking for before you know you’re looking for it—a real barter and trade community that thrives off fan made art; a home away from home, and the biggest party in town, all in one, guaranteed. They met up with Wasp by a big red truck with a veggie burrito sign. 

“0ne for three, two for five.” The bald husky man who must own the truck was waving silver tinfoil burritos, glinting the hot sun off his hands as he waved at passers-by. 

Wasp locked eyes with Rain and threw his arms wide, little chunks of cucumber and black bean spilled over his shoulder. “Raindrop.” He squeezed her into a big hug. He was already sweating and smelled like a mix of B.O., patchouli and weed. She crinkled her nose as they let go.

“And pops.” The two men embraced in a bearish hug. Wasp placed his hands on Chief’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “I’m so glad you could make it.” He patted Chief with a strong palm. “All of you.” He nodded at Clarity’s urn tucked into Chief’s arms.

The husky man brandished a silver burrito at Rain. She shook her head and grabbed Wasp’s shoulder. “Where are you guys set up?”

“Oh my god, where are my manners?” Wasp spun around on his toes with his fingers pointed in mock weathervane style. “This way.” He pointed off in some direction behind him but kept spinning. “Killer ‘rito brotha.” He slapped his hand out for the husky man but didn’t quite reach. He finished his spin and grabbed Rain and Chief by their shoulders and ducked into the crowd, bouncing between the divergent streams of fans and custies, coming and going, heads old and new.

Wasp kept his hands on their shoulders so as not to lose them in the undulating sea of tie dye. “We got beer, and smoke, and jams and wine—and this cool old hippie guy set up blowing glass right next to us.” He dragged them through the forested crowd. There were still plenty young folks, but shakedown street was looking older and fatter than ever. He escorted them past multicolored tents and E-Z UPS where the road dogs had their wares shining and their grills fired, and the hungry, hot, and diehard fans lined up, wallets already in hand.

Wasp walked them past booths of tapestries touting tribal and kaleidoscopic patterns, steal your faces, skull and roses, marching mandalas of terrapins and dancing bears, swirls of tie dye shirts and skirts, pashminas and blankets with lotus flowers and sacred geometry, splatter paint canvases, large cork boards full of hat pins, lapels, stickers, and tables rowed with crystal upon crystal, cases of smokey quartz and ametrine, glass pipes and pendants with little dichro-swirls and evil eyes and little mushrooms, labradorite and moonstone and rose quartz and amethyst and silver rings. Wire wrap pendants, yoga mats, old books on spirituality and nature, grilled cheese and dollar beer, vendors waving deals, selling anything they could hustle.

There was a bake table with local raw honey and cupcakes and a tent bumping mellow EDM where two sisters had their art on display, intergalactic zen-tangles, abstract and intricate swirls, cosmic rabbit holes of any and every color that could suck you right in. Rain knew Clarity would have spent hours in there just talking with them. Rain couldn’t believe how many people came out for these shows. She hadn’t seen this many people on lot since 91’.

Folks sat around with guitars and bongos, djembes and didgeridoos, service dogs all unleashed in a pile, dirty kids drifting with their fingers up hoping for a miracle, the occasional Hare Krishnas handing out the Bhagavad Gita, and a young guy with bushy brown hair wearing the brightest smile Rain had ever seen passed by and handed her a “you are beautiful” sticker. Shakedown had changed, but Rain could still feel the love.

They ducked under a tattered tapestry and entered Wasp’s E-Z UP to the roar and blazing glow of a torch like a cannon, a golden-white-hot-flame howling from its tip. A skinny old hippy, grey hair tied back in a ponytail, was spinning a glowing orange rod beneath the flaming blast. The safety goggles with his tie dye made him look like a washed-out mad chemist on LSD.

Wasp introduced them, but Chief already knew him. “Doug?”

The man did a double take, glanced over his shoulders “Christ, no way.” He cut off the flame and doused the rod in the bucket next to him. A loud sizzle hissed the air. “Now that’s a name I haven’t heard, from a voice I haven’t heard in just as long a time.” Both men laughed. “They’ve been calling me Sunny now.” 

“Probably cuz they want you to go bald already you old bastard.” 

The two men laughed some more and caught up for a few moments, Wasp and Rain shared a cigarette and he showed her some of his new dyes and the new pendants and wire wraps in his cases. Wasp was one of the few heads that never stopped touring for long. He found home on the road, and even when there was no Dead lot to stomp his crew would be wrecking it up at different festivals. Even Phish shows sometimes if they needed the money. For heads like him, Fare Thee Well was just the beginning of a new era.

After a few minutes of camaraderie, the jovial mood was broken when Sunny asked, “where’s Clarity?” He hadn’t heard.

Chief gave him the news. Showed him the urn. He hung his head a moment, like reality finally set in and he could no longer pretend. He was here, of all places, here on Dead lot, for the first time in nearly twenty years, and Clarity was gone. 

“You know they probably won’t let you in with that. Security’s a lot tighter these days.” Sunny’s voice was thick and Montanan. 

“I’ll figure something out.” Chief’s eyes darted from the floor to the underside of the E-Z UP canopy. They registered a defeat he hadn’t accounted for. He considered turning right around and giving his ticket to the first dirty kid with a raised finger he could find.

“Maybe I can help. You can’t bring the urn, but you could still bring her.”

Rain and Wasp returned from the display. Wasp hung on the side of the E-Z UP waiting for potential customers, scoping out the pretty hippy chicks. 

Rain placed a soft hand on her dad’s shoulder blade. 

“What do you mean?” Chief removed his bucket hat and traced his palm along his slick balding head.

“Well, I could whip you up some pendants, we move Clarity inside, y’all go in with her around your necks instead of that big thing.” 

Rain could feel her dad tense up at Sunny’s words. The idea of moving her ashes was just too much for him. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to come but Rain had pressed him because it was what Clarity wanted. He was about to reject the offer out right when Rain piped up. “That’s perfect. That’s exactly what Clarity would have wanted us to do.” She lowered her voice and leaned into Chief’s ear. “She’ll be closer to our hearts.”

Chief sighed and put Clarity’s urn on the table. “Sometimes I forget you knew her better than I did.” 

Sunny whipped up enough pendants for all four of them. They came out as bulbous honey-pot drips with cork caps. Rain’s was yellow and blue with a little white lily just below the cork. After all the pendants had cooled and been strung then carefully tied with hemp, (Rain did it because men are useless) Chief carefully moved the ash into the pendants. Even though he was still against the idea, he wouldn’t let anyone else do it.

 But even as careful as he was, little bits of ash still picked up with the breeze, little parts of Clarity, crumbled memories that just couldn’t be held back, found their chance and said “Seeya later kiddo” for the last time before running off to roam the lot. Every speck of ash Chief watched trail off into the day grabbed a piece of hos soul and said, “never let go” and then was gone.

But a piece of him went with it. 

The show started as soon as they got to their seats, pendants around their necks. They had just sat down when the lights began to dance around the crowd, on the field and in the stands, mid field, left field, right. The lights descended on the stage, red and green, morphing purple, and orange and yellow and blue, raced back out to the crowd. The air was crisp with anticipation. There was a vibration of awe filled silence somewhere over the chatter of the crowd. The pinkish orange sunset fell slowly away behind the Chicago cityscape as the band came on stage to play.

The crowd jeered and whooped and yelled as Bobby and Phil and Tre tuned their guitars, picked at their frets, ascended the scales. Billy and Micky kicked the ghosts out of their drums and jeff Chimenti sparkled his keys. The band teased different openers, sounding like they were all about to play different songs.

Rain sat on the edge of her seat wondering what they might open with. Thinking of Clarity, she fiddled her pendant. Chief and Wasp shared a joint, Sunny went to concessions to grab a round for the crew. 

After about five minutes of the band tuning, and already drunk fans yelling their hopeful openers, Billy drummed in the count, and Phil twanged his bass, a loud Bum, Bum, Bum, Badum BumBumBum came driving under the power of the opening D minor chord.

Chills ran down the back of Rain’s neck. Of course, they would open with “Shakedown Street.” She fingered the artsy jar of ashes at her neck, then slowly traced her fingers down to her heart. She wanted to get up, to dance, to surrender to the groove and lose herself to the music, but she thought too much of Clarity. It was like a piercing pain jutted into her side. The more she wanted to get up and dance the more she wanted to cry, which she promised herself she would not do. Yet the more she sat still the more it hurt. Everyone had always told her she was too feely, but it was all she could do to bury her feelings, for the sake of everyone else’s. 

Nothing shaking on shake down street, used to be the heat of town.

As Rain listened to the words, though Bobby sang them this time and not Jerry, she couldn’t help but think back to that day at the Oakland show in ‘89, how she was lost, and Clarity found her. 

Don’t tell me this town ain’t got No heart,        

Somehow, Clarity had done it again today.

Just gotta poke around.

Rain tugged at Wasp’s shirt and reached for the joint. He passed it and sat down next to her. “How you holdin’ up Rainbow?” He put a friendly hand on her upper back.

Rain sat with her knees hugged up to her chest, looked at him sideways and blew the smoke in his face. “I’m trying,” she said, bobbing her head. She rolled the joint over between her fingers and pressed it soft to her lips. Dark grey clumps of ash stuck to the rezzy paper before blowing away in the breeze. 

Wasp fished a little baggie out of his pocket and started pulling something out of the folds of paper inside it. “Open your hand.” 

Rain held her hand out and he dropped two little white paper tabs into her palm. He dropped three on his tongue and stuck it out at her with googly eyes. “If ya feewin it joiyn mwe”

Rain laughed and hid her face in her other hand as soon as she realized she was smiling. “Go find Sunny and my beer.” She pointed to the aisle, still laughing and Wasp humbly accepted his mission.

Rain looked down at the acid in her palm. She considered it for a moment but then tucked them into the cellophane of her American spirits, just in case. 

“That joint still rolling?” Chief sat down next to Rain after Wasp went to look for Sunny.

Rain had almost worked it up to dance, but it seemed her sitting was contagious. She passed the joint. It had gone out and was nearly kicked, but Chief always killed his roaches. He sparked it. “It’s so hard to enjoy this,” Rain said. 

Silence. Chief put his hand on her back, puffed the joint. No words. The serenade between songs, then, soft and sweet: Tre’s guitar glinted golden on the mega screen as he strummed with delicate fingers, sang: Standing on the moon, I got no cobwebs in my shoe. His voice came floaty and tender. Standing on the moon, I’m feeling so alone and blue.

“Oh, the memories.” Chief looked at the stubby joint between his fingers. “Man, I wish this thing was longer.” 

Rain heard the pique in his voice. She knew why this song was so tough for him. 

He didn’t know she knew, because they thought she was asleep in their laps, but thinking back to the Oakland show again, it was the most beautiful moment her six-year-old eyes had ever stolen beneath slit lids.

*

• 1989-12-06 

Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum

Oakland, CA.

The show is almost over. Clarity and Chief sit together leaning onto each-other’s shoulders, a sleeping Rain curled up in their lap. 

Jerry Garcia sings: Standing on the moon, where talk is cheap and vision true. Standing on the moon but I would rather be with you.

Chief nudges Clarity’s head lightly with his. Their foreheads roll together as their heads rise. Their faces pair parallel and their eyes meet.

Somewhere in San Francisco, on a back porch in July, just looking up at heaven at this crescent in the sky. 

They drink in each-other for a moment, each reflected in the other’s iris. His, hazel-green and hers, slate blue.

Rain’s eyes flutter open just wide enough to tell her stomach to flutter too.

Chief and Clarity gaze intently and Chief tilts his head like he wants to say something.

Standing on the moon with nothing left to do…

He leans in and they say it together. 

A lovely view of heaven but I would rather be with you. Be with you.

*

• 2015-07-04

Rain’s life changed for good that day. Everyone fell in love in that moment. Everyone felt something true, and it’s still just as true. 

Rain and her dad sat together listening to Tre sing Jerry’s part to “Standing on the Moon.” Something was missing. But there was something else there, too. 

“I can feel her with us.” Rain said.

“Yeah, that was our song.” Chief stared at the big screen as he spoke. “I guess now it’s just mine.”

Rain didn’t know what to say. She looked around her. No Jerry. No Clarity. A stadium full of people no longer trying to fill a hole, but finally seeing the empty space as something beautiful and worth embracing. Maybe she could try to do the same. They were both here, she thought, Clarity and Jerry. She could feel them both, in the air, in the music, in the outpour from the fans. She laughed to herself at the idea of Jerry and Clarity hanging out above the stands, or standing on the moon looking down at them, smoking a metaphysical doobie of peace and love or whatever it is that souls get high on. Rain smiled to herself, without rejecting it this time. She rose to her feet and swayed lightly with her eyes closed. 

Chief was speechless at his daughter’s newfound resilience. She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up. They rocked slowly from side to side, as one by one, lights flickered on above the crowd. They held their lighters in the air.

The stands rippled as Tre sang: Standing on the moon, a lovely view of heaven but I would rather be with you. Be with you…

Later, when Wasp finally got back with Sunny, they didn’t even have any beer. Apparently Sunny had gotten the beer, but Wasp kept getting sidetracked running into old fam and new faces, they got swept off to section after section. They drank the beer and forgot all about getting more by the time they had looped the stadium again. 

Wasp rolled another joint and they all got pleasantly lifted. They swayed together loosely, except for Wasp who was deep into his trip by now, dancing in big wide steps and flailing his arms like a balloon man or some bizarre type of caveman-jellyfish hybrid. 

Rain was doing her best for Clarity, but more now for her dad. She hadn’t even begun to imagine how difficult this was for him. He tried to always keep a positive face, but he was never the best at hiding what’s underneath. Clarity was always the positive one. So, Rain felt like it was now her job to help him enjoy the show tonight. They danced for the rest of the evening, swaying side to side, trying their best to enjoy the concert without feeling guilty. They slowly turned back on throughout the night, but a few songs before the end, Chief excused himself for a beer and never came back. He didn’t answer when Rain called his cellphone, but she had a feeling she knew where he was. She told Wasp she would try to meet him and Sunny at his booth later and left early to beat the rush.

Rain arrived at the hotel just before the fireworks began. She found her dad alone on the balcony, staring out over the Chicago cityscape, an unopened Yuengling resting in his lap.

She paused for a moment with her hand on the cool sliding glass door. She watched him quietly then opened it.

“Lot get busted?” He asked without turning around or taking his eyes off the distant skyline.

“Just wasn’t feeling it.” Rain pulled up a chair by his side and sat with her knees knocked inward in his direction.

“Dead shows just ain’t what they used to be huh?” He absentmindedly opened his beer, still holding it in his lap without taking a sip. His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, then quickly back to the skyline where red and green fireworks popped bright then fizzled, the smell of sulfur dense on the air.

“You haven’t drunk your beer.” Rain knew he only did this when he was depressed. He had done the same thing the first night they left Clarity alone at the hospital. He bought a whole six pack and sat on the back porch all night. He never popped a single cap.

“Want one?” he asked.

“Sure.” Rain took the bottle by the neck and held it between her knees, her other hand resting daintily on the cap.

“Tre was pretty good tonight though huh?” Cheif said, as he leaned over to turn on the speaker.

“Yeah…” Rain agreed, knowing he was just trying to make small talk. “Still won’t catch me dead at a Phish show.”

“Of course not. If it was a Phish show then you wouldn’t be Dead.” They both chuckled halfheartedly for a moment, but the mood was quickly stiff again. They sat there together on the balcony without speaking. Each one alone with their thoughts, drinking in the momentary tease of relief slowly drifting out of the little Bluetooth speaker on the table between them.

Bob Weir’s deep baritone flooded out of the speaker. You were gone, oh gone, my heart was filled with dread; you might not be sleeping here again…

“Looks like Rain,” Rain said, almost with an air of excitement.

“It was her favorite song.” Chief dropped his hand to his side and rested it in his jacket pocket, turning something over with his hand. “Ever since that show you two first met.” He looked his daughter in her eyes as he withdrew his hand. “Man, she really loved you.” He put the cigarette to his mouth, rolling it around in his lips as he spoke. “Sometimes I think that’s why she stayed with me so long.” He flicked the lighter, little red sparks faded to the breeze as the flame tried to jump to life.

But that’s alright cause I love you, and that’s not going to change.

Rain’s lips quivered into a forced smile that disappeared before it flashed. “I thought you quit?”

“Yeah, well—”

“If Clarity were here, she wouldn’t want—”

“If Clarity were here, she’d smoke it with me.” He growled at her, raising his voice slightly more than he meant to.

Run me round, make me hurt again, and again.

“I’m sorry.” Chief said quickly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

But I’ll still sing you love songs, written in the letter of your name.

He lit the cigarette and drew a long slow puff, sighed a smoky sigh into the sleepless Chicago night.

“I miss her too.” A ghost of a tear began to linger in Rain’s duct. Silently, she reached her hand across the table and outstretched her fingers.

And brave the storm to come…

“I know.” He passed her the cigarette. “I know.”

Oh, for it surely looks like rain.

The red-hot glow of the cherry dimmed with ash. The ash fell to the knee of Rain’s faded jeans and blew off in the breeze. The cherry sparked to a swelling glow as the smoke filled her lungs. She wiped her wet cheek with a sniffle and almost smiled as she passed her dad the cigarette.