3/11

3/11

Four years ago, exactly, I was in Memphis, Tennessee, with my friends Emily, her husband, what's his name, last name Flora, believe it or not, and my good friend Bennett, a violinist with an appetite for other places. All of us crammed into a long truck. After that, all of us crammed into a long drive. Then a crammed hotel room outside the grid of Memphis, far from the river, and further from where out show was. I forget the venue, but it was next to this oddly broken down amusement park, beside this large parking lot, southeast of town. I remember because that night we stared at it an hour before the show started. We were waiting in line for the 311 reggae show and the line went on forever. Cops were busting people for the slightest of hand. Simple swig from the can they got an hour ago down the street at the market. Another twenty people were smoking joints, us included, and 3 of them were questioned. Two were busted. We saw it all night long. The contact high from the crowd. The passing of pipes. The three hour, eleven minute set. Instant buzz from the get go. Enough to last all night. Not a bad night at all.
No beer necessary. And all you have to do is get in the car and show up.
I remember seeing lovers dance all night long all around our little group. Bennett was high on life, a couple of beers, and a few tokes off our own stash. Nothing wrong here.
It was leaving that turned interesting.
But we enjoyed our evening and ducked some trouble when some intolerant losers decided to break some glass, but we wound up free and clear.
It was pretty rad.
We took a cab back to the hotel and crashed, but we made it down to Beale St, home of the blues, for a few hours first. We figured we could go back to the car later. Plenty of people wound up doing so anyway, come to find out. We all were good at blending in. Made us friends.

I forget the name of the places we went, but we went to several. Not a black out amongst the 4 of us, but we went to at least 5 places total. People were, thank God, dancing in the streets, tumbing for money, and playing the blues, no permit required, until late into the night. Bars shut down round 2. Not the place to be if your hammered. Drunk to the gills is not a good place to be in Memphis. Not in 2010. Its learned from its reputation, but only slightly.
I could be wrong, but you should be out by 1. Thats the time to fly.
Poor Bennett.

He was no where to be found.
Bennett vanished. Gone. No trace.
We looked. I stumbled down this way. Em stumbled down that way.
Her man went that way. Almost had to bail him out of something if I remember correctly.
But, poor Bennett.

I've never seen someone on a pool table before, layed out like their back had been broken.
Ambulance was on the way. Dude was streched out on the pool table. Couldn't believe it.
Luckily I was the only one there. No one else had a clue about this one.
He truly had decked this dude and took him to the table.
Over a bet. Over a lousy bet. Over a little name calling, but mostly over money.
Never seen this bad ass side of Bennett before.
He was a violinist. Simply didn't register until I saw it. The bouncer had them pushed back. And the cops were questioning the staff and Bennett and another guy.
Bennett lucked out. The bouncer at the rear exit called the fight start on the other dude.
I simply showed up in time to give Bennett a ride out the door. I said I knew him and saw the same thing. Ducked us out. Apparently skipped Bennett's tab, and made a b-line for a nother spot. Fortunately for us both, Bennett had intended to pay cash at the bar.
He was always like that. Smooth with the girl bartenders. Not a bad trait. True gentleman.
Even hammered, in Memphis, and wanted for questioning by some fuzz.
We caught a ride to the hotel. That is Em, her man, and I did. Took us far away from the river.
Bennett showed up hours later.
Poor dude.
He barely caught us leaving.
We all had slept until noon.

I wonder what he was up to in Memphis that night.
March 11th. 2006.

Ah, Memphis....