Being Casey was probably a tough gig in and of itself, based on what I saw while he was a "Fua." There were always rumors floating around that the reason Casey didn't drive in '98 was because his insurance rates were extremely high from all his accidents. And I never doubted the rumors: when Casey walked into a room, it was imminent that any and all lamps, pictures, instruments, etc, would either be in for a good wobble, or end up broken on the floor. That was, and is, "just Casey."
So it was never a surprise to me the day Casey started moving things out of his apartment that somehow something of mine would be effected. Negatively. I mean, broken. I just went into it with that knowledge. The mystery, of course, was in guessing what thing would be sacrificed. Which of my posessions would I never see again thanks to Casey?
One night before our rehearsal in Bloomington, Casey and I loaded up my little red Honda Civic Wagon with various things that he decided belonged at the studio. Things were going well. Perhaps today wouldn't be the day. Perhaps my things would remain in tact and unfettered.
There was one last thing to load into the remaining space in the back: a subwoofer. This was a home-made subwoofer and was very heavy, very sturdy. Jesus, the thing must have been made of 12" thick oak. And it never worked. Nonetheless, it was going to the studio.
After we loaded it in the back, we looked at it and the back gate, wondering if the back gate would shut or not. It seemed like the woofer just didn't quite fit. Just a little too big. So I did the usual door test: I slowly shut the door on it to measure. The door would not shut, but it was a close call. I decided if I went around to the side of the car, I could shift a few things up, move the woofer up, and we would be on our way.
As I was walking around the car, Casey too did the check, slowly closing the door on the woofer. Again, it just stuck out a little too far. But to Casey, that meant ALL CLEAR.
I watched as the door quickly shut. But something was wrong. The door shut, but the woofer was still in the same position. It never moved. The door shut, but the woofer stuck out the back window. In my mind I knew that wasn't possible. A woofer and a window can't occupy the same space at once. It's been scientifically proven.
I watched as the tiny cracks spread from the point of the collision to the entire window. Then the window fell in, and I knew. I knew at that moment what sacrifice I had been asked, no, destined to make. My back window. My beautiful, beautiful back window.
