In 1997, Van Sant was doing a reading at a bookstore from his novel Pink. (Dedicated to River, the book starred a thinly disguised version of him.) An audience member asked him who had hoisted River Phoenix’s body into the car
“I was hoping that viewers would project themselves into the film and decide for themselves who it was,” he told her. “Okay, then,” she replied. “Who picked him up in your version?” Van Sant paused. “In my version… in my version, I pick him up”
Filling the prompt “GOING TO A MUSIC FESTIVAL WITH VAN AND BEING IN THE CROWD AND ALL THAT JAZZ. IM HAVING MAJOR SWEATY AND HOT VAN VIBES AND DYING.”
Note: Shoutout to @placidus for helping me with ideas.
The road trip was short, and you were grateful for that. Van slept almost the entire time, his head in your lap in the back seat. “Not going to get a band dude to fall in love with you with that muppet following you around,” Larry whispered to you, looking back over the front seat he was in.
“He won’t follow me around,” you whispered back. Both Larry and Benji made faces that demonstrated their amusement at your denial of the obvious truth. “They’ll be hundreds of pretty girls in cool dresses and they’ll have flowers in their hair and be all glittery and beautiful and he’ll fall in love with them,”
“You don’t know him very well if you think that’s gonna happen, Y/N,” Benji said laughing. His voice, above the noise level of a whisper, woke Van. He sat up.
“We there yet?”
“Almost,” Benji replied. You looked over at Van and had a moment where you thought maybe you should have gone with the girls to the festival instead of agreeing to spend the weekend with Van, Larry and Benji. They were your musical soulmates though. You wanted to experience the bands with them; even if it meant sharing tents with lovesick Van.