and go to the College of Charleston. You could keep your band, live at home and…”
“Mom!” Julian interrupted, “enough! We’ve already been down this road. We love you all, but it’s really time to get out on our own. At least we’ll be together, so you won’t have to worry too much.”
Maggie Russell rolled her eyes as Cathy Christie smiled at Julian and added, “Ry being with you is probably not nearly as comforting to Maggie as you being with him is to me!” she laughed, knowing full well that her son was by far the more adventurous of the two and had always benefited from Julian’s reserved and less spontaneous nature. “Anyway, you guys have to leave home sometime, so I guess we should make the best of it. We’re going to walk down to the seawall and watch the fireworks…y’all care to join us?”
“Later, Mom,” Ryan interjected. “We’ve gotta get all this stuff packed up and out of here first. I wouldn’t want to lose my new guitar!” he beamed, looking down at the cherry-red 1964 Gibson SG Standard that his parents had given him for graduation.
“You got that right!” Martin agreed. “That guitar was about two weeks’ salary for me, so you’d better take good care of it!” he grinned. “Sounded great, too—that’s the first time I’ve seen you play it, in the band at least.”
“Well, you just need to get out and see us more often,” Ryan chided. “This is about the tenth time I’ve used it since y’all gave it to me. I really love it, though. Thanks, Dad and Mom!”
“You’re welcome, son,” Martin replied as Cathy was pulling him toward the water.
“We’re very proud of you and Julian. I hope you’ll get a lot of use out of that guitar out West.”
“That’s the plan,” Ryan concurred as he carefully placed the prized guitar in its case. “We’ll see you guys later, and thanks for coming. It was good to see you all out there!”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for anything!” Keith Russell chimed in. “The band sounded great—hard to believe it was our own sons up there,” he beamed. “Guess we’ll see you tomorrow, Ry?”
“Sure thing, Mr. Russell. Dad, I’ll catch up with you and Mom soon.”
“Thanks again, everybody!” Julian seconded, looking around for his bass case. “Where did I put that thing?” he muttered to himself, searching through a tangle of wires and amplifiers until he finally located it toward the back of the bandstand. “You gonna watch the fireworks?” he asked, looking over at the band’s drummer, Kyle Kennedy.
“Yeah, when I get all this stuff packed up and help Lenny (the keyboardist) with the PA, mikes, lights and things. You guys go ahead, we’ll catch up to you later. Really great show tonight, by the way. We’re gonna miss you both—sure won’t be much of a band without you two,” Kyle lamented, sadly shaking his head as he packed up his drums.
“Ditto that!” seconded Lenny. “I’ll probably be back playing elevator music for the tourists in hotel lounges pretty soon. I wish you the best, though. Maybe we can come out and play a gig with you two sometime.”
“Yeah, that would be fun,” Julian agreed. “Probably the Western punk version by then!” he laughed as the nearby sky suddenly exploded with color. “Hey, can you guys take our stuff with you? Ry and I really want to catch up with our parents if we can find them. Probably won’t have this chance again for a good while.”
“Sure man, go ahead. We’ll make sure your stuff gets home safe. Enjoy the fireworks,” Lenny grinned as the familiar sights and sounds of Independence Day filled the air over Charleston Harbor. “It’s almost like the Civil War all over again,” he laughed as the sky over Ft. Sumter was brilliantly illuminated with the sights and sounds of exploding fireworks.
“At least no cannons this time!” Julian grinned. “Ok, see you guys!” he yelled over his shoulder as he caught up with Ryan and headed across the street toward a better vantage point on the seawall.
“Hey, Jules!” Lenny yelled. “We may try to stop by your place in the morning to wish you goodbye, if that’s okay with you. What time are you all leaving?”
“Around ten,” came a scarcely audible reply from the darkness.
“Ok, tomorrow then, if we wake up in time!” Lenny grinned, searching for his keyboard cover. Looking toward the water, he marveled as the darkness yielded to a magnificent display of color and sound. “Independence is way better than Civil War, don’t ya think?” he asked, looking over at Kyle, who was scarcely visible behind a small mountain of drum cases.
“Right on, brother,” Kyle concurred. “Let’s get this stuff packed up and in the van. I wanna enjoy the fireworks too!”
“You got it!” Lenny agreed, as another cascade of brilliant colors filled the evening sky. “I just love the 4th of July,” he said, as he quickly went about his work and hoped they would finish before the show was over.
The Next Morning
It was almost 10:00 a.m. when Ryan pushed open the driveway gates at 40 Meeting Street and piloted his prize ’73 aqua-blue-and-white VW camper van slowly into the parking space in front of the piazza of the Russells’ landmark 1740s Charleston single house. Keith and Maggie were justifiably proud of their family treasure located on a prime parcel of real estate just blocks from the Battery Park, where the boys had serenaded Charleston with their final concert just the evening before.
Ryan felt a curious mixture of fatigue from yesterday’s performance and excitement about the cross-country trip about to unfold as he climbed the piazza steps and rang the doorbell. Inside, he heard the shuffling of feet and the familiar bark of the family English bulldog, Beau, as he heralded Ryan’s arrival. Beau, namesake of Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard, the famous confederate general whose Charleston Civil War headquarters had been just across the street, was a great pal of his, and reserved a special bark for Ryan’s arrival, which he uncannily sensed prior to even seeing him. As Mrs. Russell opened the door, Beau scampered out to greet his friend of many years, and then sauntered over to relieve his bladder on one of Maggie’s prize azaleas—a ritual he regularly performed for the Russells’ guests.
“Hey Beau!” shouted Ryan amid Maggie’s all-too-familiar scolding of the dog for his choice of restroom facilities.
“Beau, stop that now, you hear?” Maggie shrieked, knowing all too well that her efforts to discourage the dog were totally in vain. He had his ways, not unlike most Charlestonians, where tradition filtered down even to the pets. Upon completing his mission, however, he gave Ryan a hearty welcome, even as he dashed past him into the house in search of his favorite toy, which he knew Ryan would toss high in the air for him to retrieve. It was such fun, and Ryan always enjoyed the ritual as well. Today, however, he seemed a bit more focused than usual as he yelled up the stairs for Julian.
“Hey Jules, you ready? Come on man, we gotta go—I’d like to get to Asheville before dark!” Clearly, Ryan had an itinerary already in mind, which was par for the course in his case. Julian was used to it, however, and was most often content just to follow his friend’s adventuresome direction, mostly because it was so much easier than the inevitable challenge that would ensue if he didn’t.
“Comin’, Ry!” he yelled as he folded the last of his shirts and placed it neatly in his meticulously organized suitcase. Structure and order had always been important for Julian, most likely due to the influence of his accountant father and very traditional
