The Unattainable

Ami’s POV

I’m sitting behind the counter at my workplace, feel propped up on a shelf behind the till. I have a job at a small music store, that went by the name of ‘Soulsound Music’. it is predominantly a shop that sells instruments, equipment, accessories and sheet music, but we sell a few CD’s of local and popular rock bands too.
I’m reading a back issue of Metal Hammer, which has Slipknot on the front. It’d been lying around behind the counter, and business today was quiet and fairly slow. It seems that not many people are really in need of anything musical today. Besides, I like Slipknot, and after a quiet hour, I just couldn’t resist. So sue me. I know almost all there is to know about Slipknot, seeing as they are from sleepy little Iowa, where I’ve grown up, spent my whole life, and still live.
Everything, that is, except what they look like. When they’d unmasked themselves, I never looked, and switch over if I know they are going to be on TV without their masks. I don’t even know their real names, and I don’t intend to, just in case they are in other bands. I just don’t want to ruin their image.
But about the band itself, I know everything.
Hell, I’m wearing a customised Slipknot t-shirt as my work outfit! Along with Tripps and New Rocks, of course. I’m not just wearing the shirt. I’m pretty glad my boss lets me wear anything I want.
I let out a small sigh as a guy comes up to the counter, knowing I have to stop reading and serve him, but at the same time glad. Finally I get to do my job.
“Hi, er… Ami?” the guy says quietly, peering at my name tag, and waiting for my response.
I place the magazine on the counter carefully, and smile at him “How may I help you?”

Joey’s POV

Damn, I need some new drumsticks, I think as I walk past some random little shop with guitars in the window. I’d broke my last pair two days ago. You’d think that, being a drummer I’d have loads, but when they break, half the time I can’t be bothered to replace them, or I forget, leaving me with none.
As I walk into the shop, I take a look around, glancing along the walls, trying to find some sticks.
I can’t really be bothered to look harder than a quick scan, and I see none, so decide to approach the counter. It’s not particularly busy, (in fact, other than me, it’s empty of customers) so I guess it’s fine.
There’s a girl sitting there in a customised shirt (I know it’s customised, ‘cause it’s my fucking merch) with the ‘Knot logo and all our masks on it, reading Metal Hammer.
She’svery quite pretty, with long black and red hair, bright blue eyes and pale skin. I reckon she must be about 20, maybe older, and lets out a sigh as I approach her.
I peer at the name tag which is pinned to her shirt. Her name is Ami.
“Hi, er…Ami?” I say quietly, waiting for her to respond. She places her magazine on the counter and gives me a bright smile.
“How may I help you?”

Ami’s POV

I stare at the guy as I question him. He’s about 30, and honestly, he’s damn good looking!
He has long black hair, and beautiful blue eyes. He’s also short like myself, and wearing New Rocks to hide the fact. A slight smile appears on my face at this - a man after my own heart!
I’m so lost in thought, that I barely hear his next question.
“Could you help me find some drumsticks?” he says helplessly, breaking me out of my trance.
“Yeah, sure” I nod and smile, leading him over to the area just after the counter - we keep accessories & sheet music back there, but no one ever seems to notice it. Maybe we should reposition it? “You play?” I ask, trying to be friendly, and also giving myself a chance to look at his face again - he seems familiar somehow.
“Yeah,” he grins, and I smile “I play professionally, but I, uh, broke my last set of sticks and figured I might need new ones to practice with!” he let out a laugh and I nod, pointing to the array of drumsticks placed on a display.
“Take your pick. We also have others if you don’t like these, let me know and I‘ll get them from the back,” I mumble, still audible in the silent shop, glancing at my watch. It’s almost 1.00, meaning my lunch hour - and Reagan’s, too!
I let out a laugh. We meet up every day at lunch, and I must admit, it’s totally the highlight of my day.
I wander back to the counter, and begin packing my shit into my Murderdolls messenger bag, a present from Rea for looking after her.
Murderdolls… that guy does look awfully familiar, I think again. He looks like Joey, the guitarist. But then again, he said he’s a drummer. I shake my head - some guys just look like others - maybe he’s a big fan or something. I decide not to ask, anyway. If he is Joey, he’d probably want his privacy, and not some ‘fan girl’ asking for an autograph.
He walks up to the counter, and places his sticks on the counter.
“Do you play?” he asks me, and I nod and decide to elaborate a bit more, just to continue the conversation, I haven’t spoken to anyone for hours,
“I also play a few instruments, like, piano, bass, guitar, violin, and I sing. I also can know how to use turntables pretty well, but I’m still learning …” I trail off as he gives me a small smile.
He looks so… nice when he smiles, I think and I guess I’d quite like to get to know him, he seems like a cool guy, and I love talking to musicians, but my thoughts are disrupted by the crash of the door opening, and a shriek of ‘Ami!’ while a figure dressed in head to toe black hurls itself at me, and I run around the counter.
I envelop the figure in a huge hug, and we spin around laughing.
I pull away, belatedly realising that there’s still a customer. “Hang on a sec, sweetie,” I say, and scan and price the item, he begins to pull out the money from his wallet, after taking no notice of my little ‘encounter’ with Reagan, but someone hugs him from behind, and he lets out a yelp of surprise.
I stifle a giggle as I notice it’s Reagan, and he looks down.
“Reagan?” he asks, “what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” I shake my head confused as to how he knows her.
“I’m visiting Ami, and it’s my lunch hour,” she says in a rush, and he nods, carefully, considering.
“This is Ami?” he asks, “your best friend Ami?” he continues. She nods, and he looks at you confused.
“How old are you?” he asks unobtrusively, just curious, as you look at Reagan, hoping for some sort of explanation, before answering
“I’m 20, 21 in about 8 months,” I smile at Reagan, before she mouths ‘It’s my dad’
I look at her in shock. He’s her fucking dad?
Then it’s definitely Joey Jordison. See, even though I’ve known Reagan for nearly 5 years, I’ve never met her dad. Why? Because he was always away or on tour when she asked me to stay at her house, because she didn’t want people using her to get to her dad.
I notice that ‘Mr Jordison’ is staring at me now, “What?” I say self-consciously - it’s a very… fatherly stare.
“Right, so if you’re 20, how the fuck do you know my 14, nearly 15 year old daughter?” he asks calmly.
I explain that back when I was almost 16, Reagan moved to my high school. As I was walking through the corridors that morning, I saw Reagan, who was getting picked on, because of the way she looked, and how she was dressed, by some older students, around my age, possibly older. It pissed me of a lot since I hate people getting picked on for any reason, it’s horrible and cowardly, but that particular reason especially. I had gone up to them, punched one in the face, but not all that hard, just enough to scare them off, and shouted at them until they’d left, and knew they wouldn’t start again. Since then, I’d become her constant companion. I’d shown her around the school, and always made sure she got to her lessons okay, even if it meant I was late for mine. I had even introduced her to her current school friends, so I knew that when I had to leave school, she’d still be alright. And now, she came to visit me every lunch hour and after school, so we’d still hang out, in every free moment we had.
When I’d finished my little speech, I turn to Reagan “Hey, sweetie, you still up for going out, or do you want to spend time with your dad?” she laughs at me and shoves her dad in the side
“Seriously, why would I hang out with him, when I could be with you?” Joey mock-glares at her, and holds out the money for the drumsticks. I shake my head at him “Nah, you can have them, I can take stuff I need - perks of the job - I’ll just say I took them,” I smile at them both “and besides, it’s nice to finally meet the dude that’s brought up Reagan.”
He smiles at me, but puts the money on the counter anyway “Listen, I want to pay for them, no buts,” he says, pushing the money towards me
“No, seriously, I want to give them to you, take them!” I say in a slightly louder and more determined voice, and Reagan butts in
“Listen, Dad, she’s more stubborn that you, so just take the fuckin’ drumsticks, alright, so I can get going!” she shrieks, in typical teenage style, grabbing the drumsticks and the money, and putting both in her dad’s coat pockets.
I smile at her and grab my bag, walking out of the shop with a yell to my boss that I’m going.
I take Reagan’s wrist, and pull her out, too, not noticing as Joey stands watching us both walk out.