It's a Mystery

I wasn't supposed to be in Marfa this weekend. Two things made me postpone my trip back to Austin, and these past couple of days have definitely had an out-of-body feeling to them. As I began writing at 2:45 am on Saturday, thinking I should be resting up for the long drive the next day, the town was covered in a dense fog giving everything that dreamlike quality used in movies to let the viewer know what they are witnessing is not really happening. It was chilly out, and some patrons approached the bar in jackets and scarves making me all the more anxious about the lone flimsy cardigan sweater in my closet. We had a fire in the outdoor fireplace all evening, and it's wonderful smell triggered the sensation that the holidays were near even though it's only the middle of September. The cool temperatures won't last much longer though, and this fog was probably a result of the warmer air moving back in. 

Friday night Padre's once again hosted the Moondogs, Marfa's oldies cover band. As the band was just getting into the swing of their three hour set, the lady working the door approached me and asked, 'Is there another band tonight?'. It seems there was a miscommunication about a booking, and a very bewildered but gracious young woman insisted that she should be playing. Her band, Time & Temperature, was a duo consisting of herself and another young and cute person, this one male. They were from Ohio and had just pulled into town from Austin, tired, hungry, and bewildered at the scene on stage. Through some miracle of everyone wanting to make things work out, they did. They were traveling lightly, and actually had an extra day in their schedule; neither had been to Marfa, and I convinced them that sticking around to play the next evening was actually a blessing in disguise. We fed them burgers and found them a place to crash for the night. I knew that there would be a large group of Bandidos at the bar the next evening following the memorial service for Rich. I knew the mellow music the singer described to me might not go over well with them. I hoped for the best. 

As the Moondogs were winding down, some Bandidos began to congregate at the bar. They were extremely nice and made me wonder how anyone could have an issue with bikers (a term which a local let me know is derogatory, so I will not use it again). The president of the Alamogordo branch had hung out with Rich recently and said that he spoke highly of me - I wondered later if this could be true or if it was his way of making me feel like I was one with them. Even if it was just a way to win me over, it worked, and I looked forward to seeing them the next evening. 

There were several groups of visitors during Friday's lunch, and most of them came back for the music that night. There was the woman and two men who had been camping in Big Bend for several days, and were enjoying the remainder of their vacation in Marfa's version of civilization. As I worked in the office late Saturday afternoon I saw them approach Padres' entrance once again and overheard the woman exclaim, 'That's what was in the bottom of your beer glass!'. My mind raced, what could it be? The only thing I could come up with was the recycled broken glass on our landscaping, and hoped I wouldn't find myself apologizing to them in a few minutes. Later that evening, without my asking, the woman showed me a picture she had taken of the glass. It was a very clear smiley face which seemed to have formed from the remaining beer foam! She said there was a sticker on a car right outside which matched it, and they took it as a sign of Marfa's mysteriousness (the car was mine, and the sticker was from OK Mountain, a gallery in Austin.) Like a madonna appearing on everyday objects, this smiley face sighting made us feel blessed and special. 

It was beginning to look like the Bandidos had all gone home after the memorial, but around 9:30 pm things started to pick up at the bar, and I noticed more and more of the red and yellow patches on jackets of men and an equal number of women. Time and Temperature had spent the day walking around town promoting their show, and I also noticed people coming in who looked like they were there for the band. One Bandido named Reboot asked me what kind of music they would be playing. I knew that there had been a classic rock cover band at the memorial earlier that day, and couldn't think of anything more opposite than what they were about to experience. 'I'm not sure, kind of mellow I think,' was my vague answer. 
'Is it rock and roll? We like rock and roll!' 
'No...' 
I let him know that there was an outside patio that they might want to move out to. We continued talking and I told him that they were alright with me, that I took each person as an individual, and they had all been nice. His response was 'If you treat us good, we treat you better. If you treat us bad, we treat you worse.' We all behaved like little Fonzies, and the only person that was asked to leave was a local that was too drunk to realize that he was being obnoxious with a bunch of guys he would normally not be messing with. 

One of my favorite film quotes is from Shakespeare in Love. The high-strung owner of The Rose played by Geoffrey Rush remarked that all would turn out well despite the insanity of the moment. When asked 'How?' he responded with 'I don't know, it's a mystery.' 
It is a mystery. The room was full during the performance, and the crowd demanded an encore. The Bandidos did not leave. We quickly put on Black Sabbath via Pandora afterwards, and everyone stuck around until closing time. I noticed the singer and one of the Bandido leaders engrossed in conversation for the rest of the night behind her merch table. A trio of British girls hung around as we scooted everyone out the door, and when I took out the trash on my way home 45 minutes later I heard one of them squealing as she took off on the back of a motorcycle. 
I'm sure it all turned out well.