Burn the Old Blue Bird Down

“Hey, Jay, get in here and help me.” A young man with a slight British accent shouted from inside the bus through the open doors of the old Blue Bird. “The sooner we clear out our stuff from this ol’Bird and move into the new bus, the quicker we can hit the road.”

On the outside, Jay shot a glance at the gleaming machine to his right as he stood beside the faded yellow school bus with the blue logo above the door. “The new tour bus is a fine piece of machinery, I must admit. And I’m glad we are successful enough to ride in style, but…” He stopped mid-sentence and gazed lovingly at the bus they’d called home on the road for a few years now.

Found in 2021 on an online auction site, with a thousand dollar reserve, the pride of the fleet built by the Blue Bird Corporation, this vintage 2004 Vision model vehicle with 165,000 miles, begged the boys to bid.

“This is what we need. We’ve outgrown the van.” Jay commented in passing when he came across the ad. He and his bandmates had been bumping along, traveling from gig to gig in their old 1999 mini-van, dragging a rickity trailer with their equipment.

“That old thing? We’d be taking a step down,” Danny argued, looking over Jay’s shoulder at the computer screen.

“We could fix it up and live in it.” To Jay, it seemed so romantic. A natural thing for musical artists to do.

“We don’t even know what mechanical condition the bus is in.” Danny wanted to hold out for a replacement vehicle with a little more class.

“But it’s the Vision model.” Jay reasoned. “Perfect name for a vehicle to carry us to success.”

Against his better judgement, Danny said yes to placing a bid for a dollar over the reserve price and, as fate would have it, they won. According to Danny, it was no prize to have beaten out the other bidders who placed low-ball offers.

From the beginning, he wasn’t thrilled and keeping the bus running took herculean efforts that often infringed on his creative flow. To offset the frustration, Danny focused on how the bus and their travels seemed to inspire his partner. As soon as they began touring, Jay became a fountain of creativity, and their music spilled over.

Climbing up the bus’s stairwell to help his band mate clear the contents, Jay thrummed his fingers on the handgrip and ran his palm along the top rail of the privacy panel that defined the stairway behind what used to be a row of sturdy bench seats. “I’m sure gonna miss this bus.”

“Not me, man. As the one who had to maintain this old heap of metal, I can relax and enjoy the drive. Never again will I worry if we are gonna make it to the next gig.”

“Oh, come on, Danny. What about all the memories?” Jay insisted. “Remember that time Paul was rattling around in the interior of this old Blue Bird trying to find a place to rest?”

Jay recited the memory for Danny. It was back when the band had just started booking gigs in other towns. Back before they converted the school bus’s interior. They had hastily removed most of the seats, anticipating building bunks, but the funding for the project never came through, forcing the 5 bandmates to sleep on the floor. They eventually completed the interior living quarters, but calling it finished was an understatement.

“That was before we settled on the official band name.” Danny supplied, his eyes staring blankly towards the past. “We faced a choice between two different philosophies,” Danny said.

“That does some it up for us.” Jay nodded, remembering how he and his best friend Danny had been opposites most of the time. Friends since middle school, Jay was quiet and introspect while Danny was boisterous and in your face. It was a good balance that worked well for the pair. Equally talented musically, their differences shone through when they performed with perfect harmony. Jay studied spirituality while Danny was into quantum physics. Amalgamating their interests was their inspiration.

“But the name of the band was a simple decision,” Jay recalled. “Atomic Reverence.”

The two young men fell into silence as they continued to collect their things from inside the vehicle. Long shadows fell across the cracked pavement where the old yellow school bus was to retire, parked and put away. Its faded paint was a reminder of the countless miles she’d traveled. When they had gathered the last of their stuff, Jay leaned against the bus, a nostalgic battle still brewing inside, while Danny rummaged through boxes stacked haphazardly just outside. The flashy new tour bus stood waiting, gleaming in the waning light.

“This is it, Jay! A fresh start!” Danny exclaimed, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he tugged on a tangled cable. “Lets leave the stuff we won’t need here. No sense junkifying our new rig.”

It felt surreal. What seemed like only a few months ago, they were playing in dives and local gigs, and now they had a record deal that launched them into stardom.

Jay forced a smile, but his eyes remained fixed on the bus that had been home. The vehicle that carried them during their rise. Worn-out windows, some of which were off their tracks and remained crooked in the frames, were mostly closed. The stained wooden countertops smelled of the old food. Grease and grime caked the area around the two propane burners that served as a stove. And burnt coffee and laughter. Jay could still hear the soft strums of his guitar mingling with Danny’s sharp, confident notes on his electric instrument—a blend that had brought them this far.

As he stepped inside the bus one last time, the world beyond faded into the background. His fingers brushed across the dashboard, and his heart skipped a beat when he glimpsed something shiny peeking out from the molding of the instrument panel housing. It was a pick—his favorite one, the red heart-shaped pick with gold embossed letters, ‘Pick-it,’ the name of the studio, where he began taking lessons at the tender age of five. He’d lost the pick one day in the shuffle of activity traveling from town to town.

Holding the pick again between his thumb and index finger brought back a wave of memories: the time they played their first gig, the nerves that Danny calmed simply with his presence. The unexpected applause, and that magical feeling of being truly alive on stage. He turned and exited the bus.

He sighed, clutching the pick, feeling the smoothed edges beneath his fingers. “Danny,” Jay called, his voice almost lost in the hum of excitement as Danny continued loading selected items from the disorganized pile. “Do you remember when we made that promise? If we didn’t make it big by thirty, we’d burn this bus down to the frame and call it a day?”

Danny looked up, his brow furrowing before a smile broke across his face.

“Yeah! I remember how serious we both were! So driven. And look at us now—headlining in arenas!”

Jay smiled back, but the joy felt bittersweet. “Yeah. I just… I want to remember all of this,” he murmured, gesturing to the bus. The space where scribbles on a notepad turned into lyrics that brought their dreams to life.

Danny walked over, wiping a bit of perspiration from his brow. “This bus has served us well, but we’ve got bigger things waiting.” He clapped Jay on the shoulder. “You’re going to find continued inspiration. That’s what makes you special, man. We need that.”

“Of course,” Jay said, though unease gnawed at him. He looked back at the bus, feeling the pull of every memory. It wasn’t just a vehicle for passengers. It carried stories of laughter, heartbreak, and was the container that bound everything he cherished.

They loaded the last of their gear into the new bus. With each item they stowed, Jay felt the distance grow, not just in space but in the spirit of what they were leaving behind.

“Danny,” Jay asked, as they stored the remainder of the bus’s contents in the shed. “Do you think we’ll still keep the essence of what made us… us?”

Danny paused, meeting Jay’s gaze. “It’s still us making the music. Nothing can change that. It’s just another note in our song of life.”

With the interlock released, they pushed closed the doors to the old bus, sealing their memories inside. As the new tour bus revved to life, Jay realized that while they were setting off into the bright future, the echoes of the past would forever harmonize with the melodies they’d yet to create. The pick, nestled safely in his pocket, served as a reminder—no matter where they went, the heart of their music would always be beating.

“Cheer up, buddy.” Danny jostled his friend in a one-armed hug. “At least we don’t have to burn the old Blue Bird down.”