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exams as the cars rumble away from the light. The snow is starting to fall heavier and faster. It’s beautiful. All of it. Everything is happening.
     
    •   •   •
     
    We finished the record just before Christmas, and right after, we shot the cover.

6
     
    W e have a new drummer now, a masher from Milwaukee. He’s got more tattoos than the rest of us put together, is a militant, straight-edge vegan, and is always ready to fight because of that. He has a shock of red hair, and when he gets going behind the kit, he reminds us all of Animal, which is what we start calling him. Needless to say, our shows get a little more interesting.
     
    •   •   •
     
    Finally a major label has taken notice. We get a little bit of money from the deal, start to realize that, hey, maybe we really can make a living at this, so we decide to say good-bye to our ordinary lives once and for all. I drop out of Columbia one semester short of graduation. My parents are pissed. I’m not. I tell them someday they’ll give me an honorary doctorate from the place, or at least spot me the twelve credits I need for my diploma. Those kinds of details seem trivial when your life is opening up, when the road is unfurling before you, when the future is yours for the taking.
    There are, of course, roadblocks. When I tell Her that I’m leaving Columbia, she responds with silence. Then she asks, “But you’re coming back, right?” I tell Her probably not, that the band is starting to do well and I was never really into political science anyway, so this is the right thing to do. I can tell right away that she doesn’t believe me, and that, for the first time in our relationship, she has doubts . . . about me, about us, about the future. She didn’t sign on to be the wife of a rock star, she didn’t contemplate that she’d be left behind while I went off on my adventures. Most important, she thinks this is silly, some foolish children’s crusade. She doesn’t actually say any of this, but I can tell just by looking at Her that it’s what she’s thinking.
    “What’s wrong?” I ask Her, even though I already know the answer.
    “No, nothing. I’m happy for you,” she says, adding emphasis to take all joy out of the word. “It’s just . . . I don’t know, you know? Couldn’t you just wait until you’re finished at Columbia? I mean, it’s only a couple of months, and maybe we could get a place together in the meantime, so when you come back, we can—”
    “But I don’t want to come back,” I spit. “I don’t ever want to come back here again. This place has nothing for me anymore.”
    It was probably the wrong thing to say. I didn’t believe it anyway, but I didn’t care. Something in the way Her voice sounded, something in Her tone, something in Her throat . . . I’m not sure what it was, but it signified doubt and had flipped a switch inside me. It made me want tohurt Her. So I swung for the fences, I let the uppercuts fly. I blew this entire issue out of proportion. Such is the way with these things.
    “Oh, nothing, right, I forgot. I guess I’m nothing then, right?” Her voice wavered just a bit. “You think I want to just sit here and wait for you? You think I want to be your dutiful fucking girlfriend? You think I’m okay with doing that? That’s fucking unbelievable.”
    This is going to be a disaster. The goddamn plane has crashed into the goddamn mountain.
    “I thought you’d be happy for me,” I mumble. “I thought—”
    “That’s right, you thought about you, not me. Not us,” she fires back. “I’m really fucking happy for you. Is that what you want me to say? Okay then. I’m really fucking happy for you . Leave school, leave me here. I’m fine with it.”
    “You know, you can just come out and say you think this is a stupid idea,” I say, for reasons unclear to pretty much everyone . “You can say you don’t think I’m good enough to make it. Go ahead, I know it’s what