Come Back, Mr. Mojo Risin' Come Back, Mr. Mojo Risin’ By Noel Dolan The neon glow that emanated from The Roadhouse Café’s sign lit up the evening sky, casting shadows of yellow and red on the ground surrounding it. An aroma of cooking burgers and fried onions filtered out of the tiny wood building and onto Highway 27. Periodically a car would drive past the eatery, but one rarely stopped. The building’s peeling coats of paint and unwashed windows gave off feelings of neglect and isolation, which frightened away anyone who’d wanted to go inside. Behind the rusty metal door was a lonely bar covered with wood paneling and tin signs with the Budweiser draft horses painted upon them. A cloud of stale cigarette smoke blanketed the room while the smells of cheap whiskey penetrated the nostrils of its patrons. In the corner a tinny jukebox plucked out the tunes of great musicians from the past. Hanging above it was a small bulletin board filled with tattered business cards and advertisements. Below a cream colored card promoting Olivia’s Soul Kitchen, an eatery with the “very best in Southern cooking,” was a small newspaper clipping; it was yellowing from age, but if one looked closely enough, the fine black print was still readable. It simply said: The Doors, Grass County Civic Center, 521 West 71st Boulevard, Grass County, Alabama, December 8, 1967, Tickets $25. It was almost six months old. There were two girls sitting behind the bar; they were young, only seventeen. The one on the left had long, silky blonde hair that was tied into two single braids. She had baby blue eyes and the smile of an innocent child. Her pale pink halter-top was faded from the sun and the knees of her Levi’s had given way to excessive use. She sipped her Coca-Cola slowly as she gazed at the room around her. Next to her sandal-clad feet was a navy colored backpack that had a luggage tag attached with the name Kennedy James written in a bubbly, childish scrawl. Seated beside Kennedy was another girl with long brown hair, which was held in place by a beaded headband. She had sparkling green eyes and freckles covered her face. She wore denim cut-offs and a yellow tee shirt with the words “Blake River Softball League” printed upon it in solid green letters. Slung over her shoulder was a hand-woven bag that was over flowing with dirty clothes and newspapers. Her feet were covered with dirty white canvas tennis shoes; the name Julia Raymond was written in black marker on the side of her left shoe. The bartender, a heavy man with fierce black eyes and greasy brown hair, gave the cracked Formica counter a final swipe and silently placed a bill by Kennedy’s Coca-Cola. She acknowledged the man with a nod and began digging through her backpack until she revealed a beaded coin purse. Painstakingly, she placed her last remaining pennies on the counter and returned the now empty purse to the backpack. He put the money in the cash register and said, “We’re closin’ up now, it’s best you ladies be on your way.” With that, he unplugged the old jukebox and drew the torn brown leather curtains to a close. He waited a few moments while Kennedy and Julia gathered their belongings and upon their leaving, he locked the door and turned out the lights. It was almost midnight and the highway was deserted. The neon sign belonging to the Roadhouse had been turned off and the stars above were the only lights. Alabama’s thick humid air set over them like a blinding fog. It smelled musty like an old basement and dewdrops were already beginning to form on the grass surrounding the building. Kennedy took out an old green blanket from her backpack and laid it on the gravel parking lot. She pulled out a sweater, which when rolled into a ball served as a pillow. Julia followed the same ritual. An uncomfortable silence separated them as they each lay in their own isolated worlds. Kennedy could hear Julia unwrapping a candy bar and her mouth began to water. The peanut butter sandwich she’d eaten the previous day for lunch seemed like a distant memory as her stomach began to growl. Wanting to escape her hunger, Kennedy closed her eyes and let her thoughts drift away with the evening breeze…. *** 1966 It was a beautiful spring day in March when his draft notice arrived. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the flowers were in full bloom. Kennedy was in the backyard listening to David strum out dark, sorrowful songs on his guitar when Mr. Jenkins, the mailman, arrived. His usual cheery self, he smiled and politely chatted with them before leaving for the rest of his rounds. David began sifting through the mail and as he read a thin, yellow piece of paper, Kennedy watched the life in his face drain into an expression of absolute terror. He began screaming uncontrollably and tears were gushing from his eyes. The letter asked him to report for active duty in the United States Army the following day. After the first painful cries a hollow silence followed until the moment his train pulled away. They waved goodbye and shouted promises of long, daily letters and that was the last time she ever saw David. They were separated by nearly a year, but David was her missing half. He was not so much her brother, but rather, her best friend; the person to whom she ran to in times of trouble and who lied for her when she came home past curfew. They shared everything together; tales of their first kiss, a failing grade, troubles with relationships. They never fought even when they were children. David Douglas James was considered to be the boy-next-door by the majority of Blake River. He was extremely intelligent and enjoyed reading philosophers like Neitzsche and Huxley. He was a varsity swimmer at Blake River High School but also enjoyed art and music. David and his friends would get together and write songs for a rock band they planned to start. Aside from his academic and athletic achievements, he was a very friendly, generous, caring person. He was always there to help out and he never expected anything in return. Kennedy always felt a pain in her stomach when the telephone rang or the mail arrived. It was only a matter of time before the letter came announcing that David had been killed. She’d seen it happen to so many of her friends and their brothers that she concluded the odds were not in her favor. She hoped and prayed from the bottom of her heart that he was safe in that place so far away from home, but the nightly news broadcasts quickly dimmed her hopes. *** It was on a horribly hot day in June that Kennedy’s fears became a reality. She was at the Blake River Public Pool attempting to cool off from the scorching sun. Unfortunately, most of the town had the same idea, which left very little space for her. As usual, Julia Raymond accompanied her and they lay on their towels giggling at the gorgeous lifeguard who was sitting across from them. “He is dreamy, isn’t he?” Julia asked lathering sunscreen on her already burned legs. “I suppose so. Seems a little young, don’t you think?” Kennedy said squinting her eyes disapprovingly. “A little young? He looks like he’s twenty.” “Compared to Mr. Taylor, he’s a little young for me.” She replied laughing. Julia rolled her eyes. Mr. Taylor was their thirty-year-old chemistry teacher with whom Kennedy was madly in love with. “Yes, well he’s leaving Blake River and is going back to school, so I think you need to find someone who’s a little more your age.” She said matter-of-factly. “Yes, Mother…I’m seventeen, thirty is not too old for me.” Kennedy said attempting to defend herself. “That’s right, I forgot that you’re still drooling over Richard Burton even though he’s a hundred years old.” “He’s forty-two, not a hundred.” “You win…. Say are you going to Steve Rothchild’s party tonight?” Julia asked adjusting her towel. Kennedy shrugged. “I don’t know…. I’d rather not start my summer off with a hangover.” “Oh come on, what’s the big deal? It’s not like we have school or anything.” “I know….” “Please! It’s going to be a ton of fun….” “The last time I went to a party with you, someone puked on me and I had to help you avoid puking.” Kennedy said gulping her cold lemonade. “You did not…. Besides Andrew Fredericks is going to be there….” Julia said grinning. Andrew Fredericks was Kennedy’s current boy du jour and the object of every Blake River female’s affection. Kennedy smiled shyly. “Okay, fine. When is it?” “Dennis said it started at 8:00.” “Are we supposed to dress up?” Kennedy asked slapping a hungry mosquito from her arm. “No. I’m wearing my white hip-huggers, a lime green tube top, and my strappy sandals. What about you?” “I don’t know. I guess my jeans and my peasant shirt with the new suede fringe vest I bought the other day.” “I haven’t seen that yet.” “I know, I just bought it a day ago. Listen I’m going to head home to get ready, want me to come by your house around 7:30?” Kennedy asked gathering her belongings. Julia nodded. “Sounds good.” Kennedy slid into her flip-flops and started the long walk home. Blake River Road was on the edge of the tiny town and it was normally deserted. The dusty air seemed to sting against her dry skin. Upon her arrival home, the air was suddenly thicker with a dense, uncomfortable silence. Kennedy opened the white screen door and made her way into the living room where she heard muffled cries. She found her parents sitting on the sofa holding a crumpled piece of paper; both had tears streaming down their face and it appeared that they’d aged ten years since Kennedy had seen them at breakfast that morning. Without having to say a single word, she started to cry, slow at first but it soon developed into agonizing screams of pain and grief. Her brother, her touchstone, David was dead. The United States Army was deeply saddened with this news and they were even sorrier to report that his body could not be located for shipping home. At the memorial service, mourners observed that Kennedy had died right along with David. The light that gleamed in her eyes had burned out leaving behind a hollow shell. She no longer smiled, instead she carried herself with a cold and lifeless face made of stone. Kennedy was lost without her other half and many believed that she would never find her way again. One Year Later 1967 Kennedy finished pouring the butter on the popcorn and went into the living room where she found Julia waiting among a pile of pillows, blankets, and magazines. Julia grinned and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Yummy,” she said smearing the butter from her face. “Thanks…So who’s on Ed Sullivan tonight?” Kennedy asked spreading out a blanket. “TV Guide said some new group called The Doors…. Never heard of them, have you?” “No, but then again it seems that Blake River is the last to hear about everyone. Remember when The Beatles came? We didn’t hear about it until three weeks after it happened.” Kennedy said sighing. “That’s true…I wish we lived in New York, then we could go and watch The Ed Sullivan Show live.” “Me too. Blake River is much too small.” Kennedy reached over and turned the television on to The Ed Sullivan Show. America’s favorite host walked onto the dark stage and opened his famous show with a warm “good evening.” He politely chatted with the audience and then introduced his first guests. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight from Los Angeles, California, I present Jim Morrison and The Doors.” He said walking off stage. The stage remained dark for several moments until a circus-like organ ditty began to play. Suddenly light flooded the room to reveal a man dressed in black who gripped the microphone like it was his only link to life. He had long, thick, curly brown hair and piercing brown eyes. His haunting lyrics seemed to serenade the already-mesmerized audience. “He’s so beautiful,” Julia said sighing as she stared into his eyes. Kennedy, who was enthralled with her magazine, remained silent. “Look at him, Ken! Those eyes could take me anywhere!” She said. Kennedy looked up at the screen, and not believing her eyes, quickly looked again. The room around her began to spin as she focused on the figure before her. Early childhood memories flashed through her head as she watched the image of her brother run across the stage. Was that him? It couldn’t be. Or could it? They never found his body. It could be possible. Kennedy stared at the black and white screen in an almost hypnotic state. Everything about the man on television screamed David, his eyes, his hair, his movements, his voice. “David?” She asked softly, fingering the screen. “Kennedy?” Asked Julia, glancing at her friend. Kennedy didn’t seem to hear her. It was as if the world stopped and everything around her was gone, except for David. He began to run across the stage, his long slender fingers grasped the microphone strongly as he once again placed it to his mouth. The soothing voice penetrated the audience as he brought his song to an end. The stage then became dark and the shadowy figure of David James disappeared behind a curtain. “Oh my God,” Kennedy said in a shaky voice. “Julia…Did you see…. That was….I swear…It was David….” *** The moment kept replaying itself in Kennedy’s mind like a broken record. Although it had been almost a year, she sometimes swore that it was only yesterday that she saw David singing for the world. She remembered clearly the night she asked Julia to help her find him. It was only a few days after the Ed Sullivan appearance when Kennedy decided to begin her quest to find David. Julia was rather reluctant to go out on the road with almost no money and a backpack full of clothes, but the determination in Kennedy’s eyes convinced her that it was the right decision. Originally it was an adventure filled with intrigue and excitement, but after months of searching which was met with an endless string of dead-ends, it was no longer fun. Rather, it was a bitter journey filled with resentment and hungry nights. Two friends who’d been closer than sisters had drifted apart and become utter strangers to each other. Exhausted, broke, and hungry, Julia decided it was time she put an end to their weeks of silence and sleeping in fields. Letting out a long sigh, she rolled up her blanket and stuffed it inside her knitted shoulder bag. “Kennedy, I think we have to go home….” She said delicately. It was the first complete sentence either of them had spoken in weeks. “What?” “I think it’s time we go home.” “What are you talking about? We can’t go home!” Kennedy shouted. “I can’t believe you’d even suggest such a thing!” “Why not? Don’t you think we’ve had enough?” “Enough?! He’s my brother! What are you saying this for?!” Julia was suddenly enraged. “Kennedy, snap out of it! We’ve been wandering all over the country looking for a rock star who may or may not be your brother! Every time we see an ad for a concert, we move again! I’m tired! I haven’t slept in a bed for God knows how long! I’m just so sick and tired of this! I haven’t seen my parents in a year! We’re out of money! We are BROKE and begging isn’t going to work anymore! You’ve got to stop this! We’re NEVER going to find him!” Julia screamed. She glanced at Kennedy and saw a stream of tears flowing down her face. “We’re not giving up…. He’s out there and waiting for me.” She said helplessly. “No he’s not! Jim Morrison or David or whoever he is, is a drunken, stoned singer. He’s not waiting for you or anybody else! He’s so high on acid that he wouldn’t know you even if you did find him!” “He is not a drunken drug addict! How dare you say that about him!” She shouted. “Because it’s true! Take a look at reality, Ken! Every newspaper headline we see about Morrison is about his drunken antics! Remember what happened in New Haven? David would never do that! He’s not your brother anymore than I am!” “You’ve forgotten my brother, but I haven’t! He loves me and I’m going to find him! Now you get the Hell out of here! I never want to see you again!” Kennedy cried. She picked up her backpack and began running down the deserted highway as fast as she could. She only turned back once hoping that Julia was perhaps running after her, but she wasn’t. Kennedy could see the shadowy figure of her friend wandering down the highway, walking slowly away in the opposite direction she was in. She ran until her legs would no longer carry her; night was falling and for the first time since she’d begun her trip Kennedy was truly afraid. The night sounds of crickets chirping and dogs howling frightened her as she made her bed on the side of the road. As she pulled out her blanket a wrinkled piece of paper fell to the ground. Picking up the paper, Kennedy realized it was a photograph of her family; it had been taken at Christmas and was David’s last photograph. Their parents, Douglas and Anne, were sitting on the couch laughing at David and Kennedy who had gotten into a fight with the tinsel. Both of them were so covered with the silver strands that they began to resemble giant wads of tinfoil. Fresh tears began to trickle down Kennedy’s face as she tightly gripped the photograph. They’d all been so happy and so alive at that moment, and now their world was as shattered as the shards of glass that surrounded the ground near Kennedy. Sighing, she put the photograph back into her backpack and started to lie down. The noise of paper crinkling startled her as she reached underneath her blanket to pull out a yellowing newspaper. The issue was only a few weeks old and though most of it was unreadable a large advertisement caught her eye. There was a photograph of Jim Morrison in the center and below it, it read: The Doors Live at the Hollywood Bowl! Tickets on sale now—July 5, 1968. It had to be a sign, Kennedy thought to herself. For months she’d been searching but had always arrived too late. Now, finally, there was a chance to see him, a real chance. She could bring him home and they would be a family again. *** It had been nearly two weeks since Kennedy had found the advertisement and she had barely made it out of Alabama. Long nights spent on the roadside and the scorching Southern sun was discouraging her more and more each day. Kennedy dreamed of eating her mother’s fried chicken with mashed potatoes drowning in gravy. She longed to sleep in her own bed, surrounded by big fluffy pillows and warm blankets. Although her pride told her not to do it, Kennedy decided to call home. She’d remembered seeing a pay phone at a gas station a few miles back. Picking up her bag, she began trekking to the Sinclair station. When she arrived at the gas station, Kennedy realized that she didn’t have even a dime to call home. Before giving up all hope, she noticed a blue VW bus parked at one of the pumps. Two young men were standing along side it waiting for the gas to finish pumping. They looked like they were in their early twenties. The taller one had long, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He reeked of marijuana but had the smile of a Boy Scout. His friend had curly brown hair almost like Jim Morrison and chocolate-brown eyes. He seemed to rarely speak. “Hey, man.” The blonde said as Kennedy approached them. “Do you have a dime?” She asked. “No, man, I’m sorry I don’t.” He replied. Her face fell and she turned to leave. “Hey, looks like you need a lift. Where ya headed?” “Blake River, Nebraska,” Kennedy said. “Sorry man, we’re going to California to see The Doors. Good luck, kid!” “The Doors? In Hollywood?” Kennedy asked. “Yeah, it’s the concert of the year, don’t you know that?” “Can I come?” “I thought you were going to Nebraska?” “I…. I changed my mind…Please I have to go!” She pleaded. “Yeah sure you can have a ride. Hop in!” Kennedy threw her bag into the backseat and climbed into the bus. The blonde had gone inside to pay leaving her with his silent friend. “So, uh, I’m Kennedy.” She said attempting to make conversation. “I’m Kale…. So why do you have to see The Doors?” “Well, I mean, well it’s complicated—“ “Yeah,” Kale interrupted. Assuming it was her cue to be quiet, Kennedy sat silently in the back. Kale put on the radio and began smoking a joint. The blonde quickly returned to the car with a bag of sandwiches and a case of beer. “Hungry, kid?” He asked. Kennedy nodded and greedily gobbled down the ham sandwich. It was the first real food she’d consumed in weeks. “Thank you.” She said quietly. “No problem…. My name is Quade.” He said smiling. “Nice to meet you.” Quade nodded in acknowledgement and began driving down the highway. Kennedy soon learned that Quade Roberts was from Miami, Florida. He was a political science major at the University of Miami, but he spent the majority of his time surfing and writing songs. A Doors fan from the beginning, it was Quade’s life long dream to attend a concert. When Kale won a pair of tickets to the Hollywood Bowl concert over a radio station, the two decided to set out on a journey of a lifetime. Kale Johnson was also a student at the university, but unlike his free-spirited friend, he went to class regularly and was studying pre-med. They arrived in Hollywood several hours before the concert was due to begin. Quade found a spot near the beach where they could camp out. Kennedy was so excited she could hardly sit still; she imagined David grinning at her with that crooked smile that he was always known for. Once their eyes locked, he would run off the stage arms wide open for a hug. He would laugh and start telling her about everything he’d been doing. She could almost picture them walking up the front steps of their house, surprising their parents. It was a dream Kennedy played over and over again ever since her journey began and now it would come true. *** The air was thick with marijuana smoke; it was heavy and suffocating and seemed to choke Kennedy as she walked into the room. The hot summer heat was trapped inside the auditorium leaving an audience of cranky, sweaty fans. The noise was deafening and the band hadn’t even arrived yet. Policemen lined the stage attempting to bring order to the chaos surrounding them. Since the tickets were won, the seats were spectacular: front row in the center. Quade managed to sneak Kenendy in when no one was looking. Her stomach full of butterflies, Kennedy nervously took her seat. As time past, the enormous crowd grew more and more impatient and began chanting “Morrison, Morrison” repeatedly. Suddenly a deafening roar of applause overcame the chanting as a shadowy figure stepped out onto the stage. Smoke was rising from the sides and psychedelic images danced across the back wall. Slowly the lights came on, revealing the Lizard King dressed in an open white shirt, his famous black leather pants, and cowboy boots. He grabbed the microphone and let out a blood-curdling scream; there was a momentary pause followed by familiar words to The Doors’ hit When the Music’s Over. As his cracked, scratchy voice belted out the first bars of the song, the audience was overcome with absolute silence. Kennedy watched in awe as David fell to the stage floor contorting and screaming. His arms and legs were flailing wildly as he continued to sing. Moments later, he took a flying leap into the open arms of the crowd. Unharmed from the fall, David continued to sing as the fans carried his heaving body around the auditorium. Gradually he was able to lead the procession and began marching around the entire floor. Paralyzed with fear, Kennedy made her way through the raging crowd until she was only inches away from him. “DAVID!” She screamed. The world seemed to stop as she waited for his response. Still singing, he slowly turned towards her. Their eyes locked for a moment as he put his hand to her face; his soft delicate fingers gently brushed against her cheek. He smiled shyly and then in an instant the hungry crowd swept him away and he was gone.
Copyright © 1999 Noel Dolan |