The Smashing Siam Darlings
“There are rats in the trees,” she said.
It was so dark that night I couldn’t tell if my eyes were even open. She was lying on the dead grass staring at the branches and black above. I tried to make out the shape of her; if it weren’t for the amber glow of her cigarette, I’m not sure I would have been able to see her at all.
Our tour van was only twenty feet away, and even though I couldn’t see it, I could still smell the sickly sweet stench of antifreeze hanging in the warm, sticky air.
It broke down or overheated — I didn’t know. Steam or smoke, maybe both exploded from everywhere it could. I hit the brakes, and we stopped hard, probably too hard.
She wasn’t wearing her seatbelt, but she said she’s okay.
We played a show six hours before, with a band called The Frozen Pees.
“It’s over,” she said. Her voice was dreamy and soft.
“What’s over? Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Us. We’re done — I can’t anymore.”
My eyebrows furrowed, and I rolled my eyes, glad that she couldn’t see me.
“Are you leaving me?” She turned to look at me after a long drag of the cigarette.
She exhaled, “No. The Smashing Siam Darlings.”
“We have shows lined up.”
“I don’t care.” She went back to staring at the branches and blackness above.
I laid down next to her, “You’re right; there are rats in the trees.”
We laid there in the dead grass surrounded by giant rat-infested trees that we could barely see for another hour — in silence.
“I thought tonight was a good show,” I said. My voice was hoarse.
“It was.”
“Why do you want to quit?”
“We’re both old. I’m tired.”
“But they still come to see us.”
“I know, but there are fewer of them.”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s stop before there are none.”
“What will we do if we don’t do this?”
“I don’t know, but I want to find out.”
“Okay.”
Seven years later, we divorced.
She teaches yoga in Malibu, and I’m the frozen food manager at a chain grocery store in Glendale.
We played a thousand shows together. We had the craziest nights. We laughed so hard, but I only think about that night, and only when I’m re-stocking the frozen peas.
— Jason Hallows is a writer, filmmaker, and post-production master. He writes fiction regularly. His work has also appeared on Sesame Street, The National Geographic Channel, and thousands of television commercials.
