Album: Tomb Raider.

Release date: June 15, 2001

Track: 5.

Mood: Bombs over Baghdad part Deux.

Teresa was a cool friend. Her drink of choice was Gin & Tonic. She wore a bucket hat. We met at a CathSoc retreat in Alton Castle, 2002, and kept conversations firmly on music. She spent a good chunk of her childhood in the US, doing what every latchkey kid would in the 80s: cartoons, cereal, and scrapes from bike riding. She had a big scar on one of her shoulder blades, from a fall when climbing a tree. She had no qualms about it, never hiding it, pretty happy to rock tank tops with that topographical feature on her skin.

We spent most of our time geeking about music and it was a brisk september afternoon in 2003 when she got in touch via MSN messenger. It was urgent, she said. She was on the W.A.S.T.E. mailing list and managed to get tickets for Radiohead’s gig. The catch? Aberdeen. December. We bought two extra tickets for Rowina and Carla, two cousins we met and hung with at The Pit & Pendulum near Nottingham’s Market Square. The plan was simple: get a flight from East Midlands airport to Glasgow, rent a car, and take a quick tour around. Glasgow met us with chilly winds, a TARDIS near our hotel, and No Doubt’s cover of Talk Talk’s it’s my life. Teresa was conflicted: she loved the original and she loved No doubt, but she wasn’t sold on the cover. She never actually expressed her disdain, but you could tell when something was off.

We drove to Edinburgh the next day, stopping at a few sightseeing/tourist trap joints. We had a ball in Edinburgh, getting wasted at the German market, eating sugary crap and scouring record stores for cheap CDs. On our way to Aberdeen, we stopped at St. Andrews. They asked me to get out of the car first and check how cold was the place. It was ok for me, but they didn’t appreciate my judgment. A lanky fella said a polite “hi” to me, and I waved back and said “good afternoon, friend.” He smiled and kept walking. I looked at Carla, Rowina, and Teresa, mouths agape. I asked “what’s up?” Rowina yelled “IT’S PRINCE WILLIAM!” and I saw him running away. We spent a few hours in St. Andrews, taking in the sights. I bought a bottle of Dalmore whisky for my dad. We took pictures at the the graveyard. I got spooked by eerie voices in the tunnels of St. Andrew’s castle. I had delicious carrot and fennel soup. Time seemed to stop there and even if Aberdeen was far, it felt we had all the time in the world to get there.

We left for Aberdeen at dusk, which is 3 pm in Scotland’s winter. Driving at an easy pace, listening to the assorted albums I had on my trusty CD wallet. Carla and Rowina snored all the way while Teresa and I talked about Pearl Jam. We listened to Riot Act and she hated all of it. I defended it, but she wasn’t sold. “It’s not the same energy”, she argued. My counterargument was that Hail to the thief was quite different to Kid A and Amnesiac, and those were different to The Bends, an album we both loved. Then mentioned how vitalogy, binaural, and yield were all different beasts .”I prefer Radiohead’s path, Sam”, she curtly replied. I agreed and I don’t think I’ve heard to Riot Act in its totality since then.

“Keep talking, keep me awake” Teresa was the only one driving and although the first leg was well planned, this day was a recipe for disaster: no hotel booked, just drive from Edinburgh to Aberdeen, see Radiohead, then drive back to Glasgow airport. Brutal stuff. I offered to drive, but she didn’t want to. Instead, I talked about the books I was writing, the stories I had planned on notebooks, my childhood dreams. She talked from time to time, but mostly listened.

The concert was amazing. Asian Dub Foundation opened and I took a few photos of Thom Yorke and he tutted at me. Worth it. We even managed to get a few shots with Asian Dub Foundation, who approached fans after the gig for chit chat and a few photos. We played Hail to the thief as we left Aberdeen, stopping at a 24 hour Tesco for supplies for the long drive. We were out on the sticks when Rowina asked for A Perfect Circle’s 13th step and the eerie moods of The Package and The noose were perfect for the pitch black darkness we pierced through. The occasional house in the distance, an odd car driving, strange lights at the hills over yonder. That slight bluish hue we saw on the pitch black sky. Magic!

Somewhere near some druid circles -according to the map- Teresa admitted she was feeling too tired and needed upbeat music. I grabbed my copy of the Tomb Raider’s OST. Not keen on the flick, but I loved the soundtrack. I’d knew she would love Nine Inch Nail’s Deep, bobbing her head to Reznor’s madness. I don’t remember Teresa’s views on rap, but once Outkast’s speedballin’ started, she was keen on it. Play it again, she asked. We ended up on an Outkast loop for half an hour, talking about the future. She was due to move to France in 2004, catch up with her boyfriend, and marry and settle there. She asked about my relationship status and told her that I was as unlucky as always. Some things never change.

We stopped about 30 miles from Glasgow. She was extremely tired and wanted to get a nap. Carla and Rowina were snoring as loud as possible on the back, Teresa soon joined them. I couldn’t sleep, as we stopped in the middle of nowhere, by the road, at night. I felt vulnerable and so lonely, even if I was with friends. I turned up the music, playing whatever ambient stuff I had with me that day. I think it was Café del mar, volume 8 or 7. Maybe both.

Teresa woke up around 6 am. It was pitch black, as the sun rose around 9 am in Scotland. We drove, still listening to music, stopping at a Spar  for Frijj, juices, and a couple of greasy sausage rolls. We arrived at the airport, took our plane back to East Midlands, and waved goodbye at the bus rank.

I didn’t realise back then it would be the last time I’d see Teresa. We never saw each other online either. It’s odd, I hadn’t realised that until I started typing this. I haven’t seen Teresa in 23 years and the weight of losing a friend, because let’s face it, we are lost to each other, just sank in. It’s a crushing feeling and I feel as vulnerable as I felt back then, that night, in a car near frosty grass in a dark Scottish highway.

If you ever read this, Teresa, I think you were one of my coolest friends. Hope you’re doing great and that you’ve forgiven Pearl Jam.

—Sam J. Valdés López

PS: I’m using the front cover from Stankonia because Speedballin’ is in the 2025 anniversary edition.