Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Seven.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death
Chapter Four: Future Pilot
Chapter Five: Soldiers Making Out
Chapter Six: Steve Almost Pees Himself. Literally.
Chapter Seven: Schwayze's playing Tonight but Uncle Bob's trying to hang a squirrel.

Arv was one of the many fun people we met during our travels. We met in Cleveland trying to get to Detroit.

Arv is from India but lives in Detroit. He has long, black hair tied back in a messy pony tail. Strands of hair frame his bearded face and fall in front of his thick, black glasses. His bright eyes pop out of his head. He is easily excited.

Arv is quiet for the most part. He's a better listener than speaker. A camouflage coat hangs from his over-the-shoulder messenger bag. He is wearing black, low-top Converse and looks like a musician or film student.

We talk a lot about Boston. He used to live there and is familiar with Commonwealth Ave. His friend teaches Musicology at BU. Arv tells me to check out the class and asks if I've ever been to Super 88. Pssh. Duh.

His laugh is contagious. He chuckles at every joke Steve and I make. He enjoys our banter as we make fun of people walking by us.

In the van to Detroit, he offers to give us a ride home. He's making his mom pick him up, he says. Dad calls to ask me yes-or-no questions to determine if Arv is a serial killer trying to lure us into his basement. We determine it's okay to take the ride.

Detroit airport is chaotic. Arv's mom is held up so I go to the bathroom and to the bagel place. I haven't eaten all day. While standing in line, I get a text from Steve prompting me to guess Arv's age. Late twenties, I reply.

Try ten years more, he answers. Arv is nearing 40. We are perplexed.

Arv's mom arrives 45 minutes later. She is a small Indian woman who has an equally contagious laugh. On the car ride home, Arv offers information about the Schwayze concert tonight. He might check it out. We should look into it, he says.

My phone vibrates. It's a text from my dad.

"I'll be waiting. Uncle Bob is at the hardware store buying wire to hang a squirrel in our back yard. See you soon."

Here we go.