Nuclear Jellyfish

JACKSONVILLE

“A two-tone Javelin sat in front of a long line of traffic on the John T. Alsop Jr. Bridge-named after the city’s Depression-era mayor-but natives all call it the Main Street Bridge.”

“You’re doing it again,” said Coleman.

Serge looked up from his clipboard. “What?”

“Talking to yourself.”

“No I wasn’t.”

Coleman pulled something out from under the seat. “Serge?”

“Yes, Tonto?”

He waved a wooden object in front of Serge’s nose. “Why do motels always have clothes hangers that don’t work anywhere else.”

“So people won’t steal them.”

“Who would do that?”

Serge checked the idling Javelin’s temperature gauge. “How many beers have you had?”

“I don’t know. Eleven-teen? … What am I supposed to do with the hanger?”

Serge took pictures.

“Hey, check this!” said Coleman. “I’ll bet I can wing it clear off the bridge!”

“Wait! Don’t!-“

He whipped the hanger hard out the passenger window. Crash.

“Ow! Jesus!” Coleman grabbed his forehead, then checked his hands for blood. “What the fuck just happened? … And why is the hanger back in my lap?”

“Okay, first, you just tried to litter. Second, the window was closed.”

Coleman stuck an arm through the top of his door. “No, it’s not.”

“It was closed. Now it’s broken.”

“That’s the noise I heard?”

“You might have learned something if you paid closer attention to our in-room movie last night.”

Coleman swept broken glass off his pants. “Leaving Las Vegas?”

“Excellent road-trip movie if it wasn’t so incredibly tragic.”

“What do you mean ‘tragic’?”

“Coleman, that was one of the saddest films I’ve seen in my entire life. What did you think it was?”

“An option.” Coleman stuck his head out the window and looked down at the St. Johns River. He came back inside and pointed toward the windshield with a joint. “I’ve never seen a drawbridge like that.”

“Will you keep the drugs below window level?”

“Sorry. It’s just a cool bridge.”

“The coolest. And I know a lot of bridges personally. Instead of how the regular ones open with two segments parting and arcing back, the center span on this baby stays level and goes straight up on those two humongous lifts. I can never get enough of that.”

“Is that why we just drove back and forth over it ten times?”

“Synchronizing our pass so we’d be at the front of the line for the show. I was actually hoping to sneak our car onto the center span and ride it to the top, but the bridge tender was paying attention and not drunk like the one in Miami who sent those people into the water.”

“I thought we were just lost.”

“I never, ever get lost in Florida. Except when I deliberately get lost to appreciate not being lost.”

“So we’re still going to that bar like you promised?”

“I gave my word.”

The top of a sailboat mast passed in front of the motionless traffic. Gears and cables shuddered to life; the center span began coming back down. Serge grabbed his digital camera and let loose a sequential burst. Cars moved again; the Javelin reached the north bank of the river, winding through downtown skyscrapers. Serge parked on Duval near the main Jacksonville Library. They entered the granite building, and Serge made a beeline for special collections.

Coleman followed him down a narrow aisle. “You promised we were going to that bar.”

“We are. This is the way.” Serge threaded between rows of shelves, running an index finger along large, musty volumes at eye level. The books had descending years on their spines: 1980, 1979, 1978 …

“How are we supposed to get to the bar from inside a library?”

“Time travel.”

“But time travel’s impossible.”

“Usually.” Serge pulled a book off the shelf. “Unless you’re at a library. I’m already in the time pod.”

Coleman looked around. “I don’t see anything.”

“Children have it all over adults, possessing magical powers of imagination. Then they grow into cynical tall people. That’s the whole problem with the human race: reverse metamorphosis. We turn from butterflies into caterpillars. The key to keeping your wings is regular exercise of your kindergarten muscles of make-believe.” Serge grabbed another book off the shelf and flipped pages. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Serge stood perfectly still.

“But I thought I was coming with you,” said Coleman.

“It’s just a one-man pod.”

“If the time pod’s make-believe, can’t you add an extra seat?”

“Pretty dangerous,” said Serge. “Could put too much stress on the dilythium flux capacitor.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

“Okay.” Serge closed his eyes. He opened them. “Time pod, Mark II, with more leg room, extra seating and a killer sound system.”

“Shotgun!”

“Don’t forget your seatbelt.”

Coleman made a phantom motion across his chest. “Stop farting around in the time pod. The strap’s on the other side.”

“Sorry. Got it now. Click … Where are we headed?”

“Early seventies. Look here …” Serge tapped a page in the W section of a thirty-eight-year-old greater Jacksonville phone book. “For the Local Attractions section of my first hotel report, I need to locate the most excellent Skynyrd pilgrimage site. And here it is!”

Coleman squinted at the page. ” ‘West Tavern’?”

“Know the song ‘Gimme Three Steps’?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Guy’s dancing with Linda Lu,” said Serge. “Then her boyfriend threatens him with a gun, and he begs for a three-step head start out of the bar before the dude starts shooting.”

“Great tune. Crank it up in the time pod.”

Serge reached out and turned an invisible dial.

“Louder,” said Coleman.

“It’s all the way up to eleven.” Serge produced his digital camera. “Last month I read an interview with founding guitarist Gary Ross-ington, who said ‘Three Steps’ was a true story. They wrote the song while speeding away from this down-and-dirty roadhouse called the West Tavern, right after Ronnie Van Zant had a pistol waved in his face.” Serge snapped macro photos of an address on the page: 5301 LENOX AVENUE. “Hoping against hope, I tried looking it up in a current phone book, but no luck. Like most historic places I seek, it’s obviously been demolished. That’s why we had to come to the library and find a period phone book. And now I have the address.”

“But I wanted to party. What are we going to do at a demolished bar?”

“What children do.” Serge replaced the book on a shelf. “Stand in an empty lot and make-believe.”

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