The Bird and the Worm

“What was that all about?” Brian asked me as he took my hand. I glanced over at Jimmy, and he flashed the same smile he’d used on me outside.

“Ah, nothing. He just felt bad about making such a…oh how did you put it, Jimmy?” He looked pleased that I’d come up with an explanation.

Snickering, Jimmy said, “I felt like shit for making such a stupid motherfuckin’ first impression.”

“Well you could have said all that in front of us, genius.”

“Yeah well you know I’m not so good with words when under pressure, asshole,” Jimmy responded, a snide smirk on his lips. I could tell why he and Brian considered themselves brothers. They bickered back and forth, but there was a bond between them that looked like it would be difficult to break. “’Sides. Heather looked like she needed a break from your vice grip on her hand, you effing sap-face.”

I laughed softly, smiling over at Brian. “I don’t mind,” I said softly, letting him kiss my cheek and then my hair. “I think it feels nice.”

“Come on you guys, wait till we get back to the bus for that. In a public restaurant, really, Brian? Thought you had more class than that.”

Brian winked. “Aw you know me, man. Just another bird chasing a worm.” He kissed my hair again, and I blushed. His wording was so playful, and my vocabulary was bland, full of big words that I used to intimidate my friends. While M. considered that, the hostess set our menus before us and flashed a sweet smile at Brian, winking at him. Brian simply smiled back, taking his menu, and tugged me closer to him. The hostess walked away with a short huff and a toss of her platinum hair. Brian only squeezed my hand affectionately. I went along with it- after only knowing me for a few hours, he was already used to treating me like his girlfriend, even though I hadn’t asked him at all to do so.

“So. Heather. You gonna get the pancakes with the ‘weed’ inside ‘em?”

“Jimmy, lay off, there is no weed in those pancakes.”

“Keep on crushing my motherfrickin’ dreams, asshole, just keep pushin'.”

“Which ones are they, Jimmy?” I questioned, earning an exasperated glare and a sigh from M., who had repeatedly asked me to call him Matt. “There are a few choices here, after all.”

“See the ones below the frickin’ gargantuan picture of the bacon?” I let my eyes skim down until I found what he was talking about. “Yeah. Those are it. They’ll put you on a trip, man, I swear. It’s like they’re laced with- well Matt says they’re not, but there has to be something in those damn things.” There was a pause, and then Jimmy winced. “Ow fuck, you motherfucker, that hurt.” He whimpered. “Right in my damn knee.”

“That’s what you get for acting like a damn stoner all the time, damn you.”

Since I already knew what I wanted (there was an enormous power of suggestion to the picture of the pancakes Jimmy wanted me to get), I let my gaze wander around the pancake house. Other customers were glancing shiftily over at our table, most likely disturbed by Jimmy’s fondness of the word ‘motherfucker’, and the hostess was eyeing the guys like they were something to eat. Nothing really out of the ordinary. These were just normal people in a normal town in Florida enjoying a meal. The Sociology degree (the one that I was still three years away from attaining) in me itched to study other people, but Brian’s presence beside me kept my mind from branching out to actually studying the other people.
My gaze, however, was free to wander to a corner, where there was a group of four guys laughing over plates of pancakes, bacon, and eggs, being just as ‘loud’ as we were in the small restaurant. Matt saw them, too, and he snickered.

“Well what the fuck, Brent?” he said across the room, and the man with bright red hair turned around and smiled, nudging the buddy that sat beside him in the arm. Matt nudged my foot under the table, and I looked over at him. “You’re about to meet Shinedown, girl.
Today’s your lucky day.”

“If it isn’t fuckin’ Matt Sanders-“

“Aw what the hell, dude? Can you never call me Shads? Just once?”

“Brent Smith never changes,” said the other vocalist, flashing a grin.

“Yet Brent Smith always talks about himself in fuckin’ third person,” Jimmy interjected scornfully, glancing from me to Brent and then back again.

Brent sighed. “Yeah, well, some things can’t be helped, can they, Jimbo?” he replied with a laugh, earning a faint smile from Jimmy. Then he turned his head over his shoulder and said, “Hey assholes, the guys are here, with fresh meat.” I assumed that ‘fresh meat’ was his way of saying ‘Brian’s new girl’, even though that wasn’t really what I was, was I? He turned back and looked at me, flashing a smile. “What’s your name, girlie?”

“Heather.”

“Nice name. She yours, Bri?”

A smile spread slowly across Brian’s lips as he looked over at his friend. “I don’t know about mine, but she’s with me for a little while.”

Brent nodded. “Ah yeah, that’s right. The, uh, contest, right?” He winked at me, and then smiled at Brian. I kind of felt for the man beside me- everyone but him was in on the real reason for me being here with him. “Good choice, good choice. So she’s coming to the next show, then, yeah?”

“I dunno. Ask her.”

“Well, are ya, girlie?”

“I guess so. I mean, it’s either that or sit on a bus that smells like peppermint.”

“Eck. You guys actually used that shit to make the bus not reek of sweat?”

I flushed a slight shade of red. “It doesn’t smell so bad on him…”

Brent’s small smile grew into a grin, and his band mates walked over as what I’d just said sunk in. Brian simply whispered in my ear, “We’ll talk about my smelling like peppermint later,” making me blush a bit more.

“Good job asshole, way to introduce us to the new girl,” grunted one of Brent’s band mates, and Brent chuckled. “Because that’s totally amazing hospitality. In our home state, too, damn.”

“Lay off, jerk face, they’re having a moment.”

We were done.

“Yeah…these asses behind me are my band…you know them, yeah? Nick, Eric, and Barry?” I nodded shortly, still embarrassed about the whole peppermint thing. “Nick’s the only one that hasn’t entered the last legal form of slavery yet. Eric and Barry are fuckin saps…they got married years ago.”

“That isn’t very nice, Mister Smith. The wife won’t appreciate that at all,” Barry said with a disapproving tone. “Looks like there’s no fuckin salmon dinner for you, asshole.”

“Say hi to the girl already, damn you. She doesn’t need to hear about our dear vocalist’s dislike for marriage.” Nick extended his hand to me, and I took it with my free one. He could have shaken it and let go, but instead, he brought it to his lips and kissed it before releasing it. “Heather, right?” I nodded. “Sweet. That’ll be easy to remember.”

Barry was next. “It’s good to meet you,” he said with a smile as he did the same thing Nick had.

“Dude. Pet his fuckin’ dreads. They’re awesome.” Barry punched him in the arm. “What? They are. Besides, she’s gonna be around for like…two more days.” Barry relented. “Seriously. Offer’s still hot.” Barry bowed his head down so that he was at my level, and he let me touch his dreads. They felt awkward. A third rough hand was offered to me. “Eric Bass, by the way. I’m glad you came along when you did. It’s good to see Brian smile again.” He kissed my hand. “Maybe we all can hang out after tonight’s show.” He turned to his buddies, nudging Brent in the back with his foot. “Come on, assholes, let’s let them have their breakfast.” He flashed a smile. “See ya later, Heather.”

“Bye, guys.”

“They’re great guys,” Johnny laughed as the other band settled themselves into their seats once more. “They bitch a lot, but they’re actually really great.”

“I bet.” I thought back on the show I’d seen last night- their theatrics were amazing, and for an hour, they’d all moved in synchronization on the stage. Brent had started out their portion of the show with an American flag pulled tightly around his body, the guitar to ‘Devour’ drowning out the sound of the screaming fans. They were all so…well, in sync with each other.

All of the bands I’d seen had been.

I was impressed.