ravenna_c_tan

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

John took me straight back to the hotel and put me in bed. He took my temperature again (normal), gave me some aspirin, and ordered room service. He looked at my throat, said it was a good thing I didn’t have to sing, and ordered me to stay in bed.

“I’ll be okay,” I said.

“Don’t push it, Daron. I’ve seen this before. You’ve got to last a couple more days. I hate to make cancellations.”

Seen what before? I wondered. Scarlet fever? Rock Star Syndrome? He stayed until the food came, made sure I ate something, and then left. As soon as he was out the door, I lay back and fell asleep.

The next few days went on like that, with the road crew and everyone holding me together with home remedies and naps and it began to seem to me like I was always going to be sick and the tour was never going to end. Someone was always having to prop me up or figure out where I had gone to sleep. I developed a cough. Ziggy didn’t break the quarantine but did check up on me a couple of times a day. The shows were more noise and delirium and were the only time I felt awake. Video evidence would later prove that all the cough medicine was not a detriment to my playing. If anything, they were some of our best shows yet, which made me sorry I didn’t remember them better.

The next thing I knew, Bart was propping me up in an airport waiting room. In a few hours we’d be home.

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