The next day was his band’s show in Curtis (about 45 miles from North Platte). The band had invited us to go. I didn’t want to go at first because I was still angry with them for going along with Erick’s lies. The girls wanted to go really bad though so I relented. Erick and I were inseparable that day.

Shortly before their set, reality sank in that we were leaving to go back home after the show. I knew I had to try to distance myself from him. I walked to my car with the intention to clear my head and give myself a pep talk (about being able to handle leaving and that I would see him again soon, etc.) I had just opened the door and sat down and there he was.

The next morning, (Wednesday) we checked out of the motel and went to the campgrounds. (Yes, we were that broke. Luckily, I had been smart enough to pack my tent.) I had to write a hot check for 2 days lot rent.

He came over that evening. We talked and flirted for hours. I asked him if he wanted a tour of the tent (it was a 3 room tent), he bit and we ended up in my “bedroom” we laid on my palette and talked and gazed into each others eyes.

We had walked to the edge of the park when I stopped him and asked him, “Is your last name really Matthews?” He looked me in the eyes and said, “No. I’m sorry I lied to you, but I didn’t know you very well then and later I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to hate me for lying.”

I was overjoyed that he told me the truth. For some reason I was expecting him to deny everything. I hugged him tight and thanked him for being honest. Then, I told him that I knew his real last name and I pulled the phonebook page from my back pocket and showed him.

I thought back to some of his emails and they always said from Erick R. That made me decide to look in the R’s to see if I found his name. Sure enough, about halfway through the R’s I found Erick’s name and next to it said “& Amanda.” I swear my heart stopped beating and all my blood drained to my feet. It felt as if someone had just impaled me with a blazing sword. A few minutes had passed and I still sat there shocked, unable to blink, unable to move, unable to cry or scream, barely able to breathe. My world came crashing down upon me in millions of slivers and shards. Eventually, I lost consciousness.

Erick is one of the bass guitarists for Sinikil. I was thrilled to see them practice. I didn’t let that on because I was still upset with Erick. The practice kicked ass. Jess even liked it. They sounded a helluva lot better live.

After it was over, me, Jess, Tori, Erick, Bryan, Devin and John stood in between me and Erick’s cars goofing off and talking for over three hours. Bryan and John brought up cybersex. Erick and I exchanged an awkward glance. It made us squirm like a motherfucker.

Tori said, “Here he comes.” While Erick was walking toward us I parked my hoopty and the butterflies hit me like a ton of bricks. I kept my head down while I was frantically searching for my cigarettes. I was so nervous I’m surprised that I didn’t start hyper-ventilating. He came to my window. He was surprised we were so early. He told me that he had to finish his closing duties. He was even hotter in person. I wanted to kiss him, but we had broken up about a week before my trip. We waited in the car while he was finishing up.

I was finally starting to calm down when he came back to my car. We stood outside and talked and hugged. It was obvious we were both feeling awkward but that didn’t last too long. I got him to show me the two tattoos on his chest that I had seen so many times on cam. I really just wanted to scope his chest, but he didn’t need to know that.

Tori, Jess, and I embarked on a 600 mile journey to meet Erick on August 2nd. The ride was very long, but it was fun. Tori tied her bra to the antenna, so it was flapping around the whole time. People gave us odd looks, but we didn’t really care. We liked the attention and it wasn’t like we would ever see those people again. Kansas was pretty damned boring. We kept cracking Wizard of Oz jokes, which is a requirement when driving through that state.

On the long stretches of highway with nothing in sight but miles of wheat or cornfields we sang to the only tape that would play on my ghetto-fabulous car radio; Lee Greenwood’s greatest hits. It wouldn’t even pick up radio stations. We probably heard that tape 100 times to and from Nebraska. If a car happened to pass we would wave at them like madwomen. What was odd was everyone waved back. I guess it’s a country thing. If we did that in Tulsa we’d get the American sign for “fuck you” from most.