Words I Might Have Ate

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I pause, using the back of my hand to wipe the sweat off of my brow and let my eyes sweep over the crowded room, taking in the exhilarating sight of people hanging onto my every word. “This next song,” I begin, strumming absentmindedly as I prepare to start the second to last song on our list. “It’s a new one. We’ve only practiced it a few times in Tré’s living room—“

“So if it sucks, blame my dad!” Tré shouts faintly from somewhere behind me.

I can’t help the smile that appears on my face as I turn back to the audience. “So yeah, blame Tré’s dad if it sucks.” I take a step back away from the microphone just as Tré counts off, tapping his drumsticks together before launching into the song.

“I declare I don’t care no more. I’m burning up and out and growing bored in my smoked out boring room. My hair is shagging in my eyes, dragging my feet to hit the street tonight to drive along these shit town lights. I’m not growing up, I’m just burning out and I stepped in line to walk amongst the dead.”

Mike is to my left, jumping up and down and as we move onto the second verse, I can feel the crowd’s energy being thrown back at me tenfold. I live off of this, I’ll never get tired of feeling this adrenaline rush.

I scan the room once again and this time I land on a young girl leaning up against the back wall of the club, her arms crossed over her chest and an unreadable expression on her face. I’m drawn to her, though I know nothing about her. She doesn’t look like she’s having the best of times here.

I almost miss the ending to my own song because I was so concentrated on that pale face but I pulled it together quickly but not before attracting a few curious stares from Mike and Tré. I brush it off, jumping up and down in front of my microphone and shouting the last line of the song before we stop all at once and the crowd erupts into noisy shouts and cheers.

“Thank you,” I laugh, my breathing a bit labored. “So can I tell Tré’s dad that he has good taste in music now?” Another loud burst of cheering begins and I laugh again, waving at them to keep it down. “You guys have been awesome, as always. But now it’s time for us to leave the stage but don’t worry, we’ll be back tomorrow. Tonight we’re going to close with a favorite of mine.” I place my fingers up on the frets and begin the song, stepping down on my effects pedal once. “Staring out of my window, watching the clouds go rolling by. My friends are gone, I’ve got nothing to do. So I sit here patiently watching the clock tick so slowly. Gotta get away or my brains’ll explode. Give me something to do to kill some time. Take me to that place that I call home. Take away the strains of being lonely. Take me to the tracks at Christie Road!”

The rest of the song goes by without a hitch, thanks to my direct eye contact with the people in the front row. By the time the last chord fades away on the amplifiers and the crowd screams as the house lights go up, we’ve transformed into three normal guys with instruments once again.

It takes us only a few moments to expertly break down our stage and pack it away carefully. Mike walks with a bit of a hop in his step as we lug our things out to his car. Tré is trailing behind, a friend of his helping with the rest of his drum kit.

“So what’s with your messing up during Burnout?” Mike questions curiously as he unlocks the car.

I begin to stack the amplifiers in the backseat- a complex task that requires all of my Tetris skills- and shrug my shoulders once. “I got distracted.”

“By what?” He prods on, ignoring the way I try my best to evade his questions. He stands just outside the car, handing me the instruments as Tré slaves away at the trunk, attempting to get all of his drums to fit.

“A girl,” I reply vaguely as I finish by balancing Mike’s bass on top of my pyramid of amplifiers and microphone stands. My guitar case was already stowed in the passenger’s seat where it would ride home carefully between my legs. “She didn’t look like she was having fun and it took me by surprise.”

“Well not everyone has to have fun at our shows, Beej.” Mike stretches, his back cracking a few times. “Not everyone has good taste in music.”

“You got that right,” Tré joins in, slamming the trunk shut and patting the Volvo twice, as if his touch would keep the car together. “Hope nothing broke. I can’t afford another set of skins, I already spent this week’s paycheck.”

I blink incredulously at him. “On what? Tré, you just got paid yesterday. I thought we agreed we were going to start saving for a van to tour in.”

“Weed and booze,” He says matter-of-factly. “There’s going to be a hell of a party tonight and I intend to be fully prepared and none of this sharing shit. I’m tired of always bringing out my good shit and never getting any in return.”

Mike and I exchange skeptical looks before Mike checks to make sure the car doors are locked and we begin to troop back to the club where a pretty decent local band, Sweet Baby, has taken the stage. As soon as we enter Gilman’s, Tré disappears in to the crowd and Mike begins to guide me towards the bar, saying something about needing a seat.

“Nice show tonight, boys,” Gregory, the bartender on shift, calls over the music as he pulls out some cold cups of water. “Thirsty?”

“Parched,” Mike announces as he sits down on a stool and takes a long grateful drink.

My own drink is cold in my hand as I pick it up and thank him before I lean with my back against the bar and survey the room yet again while sipping on my water. The lead singer of the band on stage is hanging onto his microphone stand for dear life and crouching down on the floor as he screams into the mic. My attention is diverted by a sweaty pair of boys appearing in front of me rather suddenly, their cheeks flushed and their eyes wide.

“You’re the lead singer and bassist of Green Day, right—the band that was just up on stage?” One questions breathlessly, a huge grin on his face as I nod once.

The other lets out a small cry of excitement before nudging his friend in the ribs rather unceremoniously. The first boy clears his throat and I look back up at his face, sensing without looking that Mike was staring at him too with a matching incredulous look. “You guys played a kickass show tonight—we’re here every Friday and Saturday just to see you guys.”

“Well thanks,” Mike says from my left, sounding sincere despite the loud wailing pouring out of the speakers. “We appreciate that.”

“No problem,” He rushes on. “Are you guys signed to a label? Because if you’re not, you totally should be. My uncle works for a record label and he’d sign you guys in a heartbeat.”

I tune out the rest of his words, my eyes scanning the back wall for the mysterious girl. She couldn’t have left, I would have seen her walking away from the club as Mike’s car was parked just yards away from the entrance. My eyes sweep over the moshing crowd haphazardly, straining to catch sight of her blonde hair despite the dimmed lights. But I come up empty each time and for some reason, this bothers me.

“Guys,” Tré appears breathlessly and a lot more sweaty than when he left us, collapsing into a seat next to Mike and waving his hand feebly to catch Gregory’s attention. “That crowd is intense tonight.”

“There’re suits here,” Gregory comments, pushing a glass towards Tré who slurps at the drink noisily after murmuring his thanks.

My ears pick up at his words and my first thought is that David is back. But then my more rational side comes in and I realize that he wouldn’t step foot in Gilman’s unless it was absolutely necessary. I turn around so I can see Gregory once again and lean forward so he can hear me over the music. “What do you mean?”

“Record execs,” He replies, sliding a bottled water down the bar and taking someone’s money before stowing it in his apron. “They’ve been here all evening listening to the bands. Word is that they’re looking for the next up and coming band from the Bay Area.”

“Where?” I ask, already scanning the room for an official looking group of men. But despite my best effort, I can’t see everyone in the dim room and so I turn back to the bar with a bit of a dejected look on my face.

There’s a man to my right that I hadn’t noticed before who laughs lightly at my disgruntled look before taking a deep drink of his bottled water. “They’re here, believe me. And they saw you perform.”

“How do you know?” I ask suspiciously, peering over at him as both Mike and Tré lean around me to get a glimpse at the stranger.

“Because I watched you work that stage like you’ve done it since you were knee-high,” He answers smoothly, swiveling in his seat so he’s facing the three of us and holding out his hand. “Christopher Blanton, I’m with Capitol Records. I’m very impressed with your work tonight, boys. Do you maybe want to get out of here and go somewhere a bit more quiet so we can talk? Perhaps I could buy you a drink?”

All of the other noise in the room dies away as I stare at the man sitting next to me with wide eyes. Capitol Records was a major record label. Ironically enough what with being the lyricist of the band and all, I can’t seem to find my voice so Mike takes charge and speaks up for me.

“Yeah, sure, let’s talk.”

We begin to gather our things together, draining the last of our cups and shoving away from the bar hurriedly. But as we begin to migrate towards the exit with Christopher in the lead, discussing driving arrangements, I remember the girl from our set.

As Mike offers to meet him at a bar six blocks over, I pause in the doorway and take one last look into Gilman’s pulsating audience. This was probably the last I’d see of her ever. People like her filter in and out of Gilman’s every week and don’t ever come back for whatever reason. There’s a definite bit of regret in me as I turn to follow the other three out to the cars.

“Excuse me.”

I spin around uselessly on my heel and come face to face with my mysterious girl who’s managed to stay off my radar for the past thirty minutes of my life. Words have eluded me at this point and I can do nothing but gape attractively at her smirking face.

“I need to catch my ride and well, you’re in the way.” One eyebrow goes up on her flawless face as she studies me intently. “Cat got your tongue?” She queries snappishly, tilting her head to one side. “You seemed so much more talkative up on stage. Who knew you were so quiet away from the limelight?”

Her words bring me out of my reverie and I can feel my trademark smirk slip onto my face as I go into charming mode. “What I lack in words, I make up for in sexual pleasure.” Apparently I’m channeling my inner-Tré tonight.

Her eyes explode in a mixture of amusement and intrigue as she gives me a once over, her gaze starting at my worn-out Converse and making their way up to the top of my spiky blue hair. “Well then, you’ll just have to show me sometime, won’t you?”

“How can I if you’re leaving?” I ask flirtatiously.

She flips her hair back away from her face and looks up at me from under her eyelashes—a blatant flirting stance if I’ve ever seen one. “I’ll be back tomorrow. And if you impress me then, the next week, as well. I just moved here from Arizona.”

“Well then I’ll be sure to bring my A-game tomorrow night,” I breath just as a car horn sounds suddenly from outside. I can hear Tré and Mike yelling for me to get in the backseat distantly but I have eyes only for the smooth, seductive girl in front of me.

“Your chariot awaits, Romeo.” She notes with an amused grin. “Wouldn’t want to keep your adoring fans waiting now, would you?”

“Of course not,” I play along, drinking in her icy blue eyes and the graceful dark arch of her eyebrow hungrily. “I’m Billie.”

She glances back once at Mike’s running car and then again at my face before biting down on her lower lip and grinning again. “Of course you are, sweetie.” She sidesteps me easily, something she could have easily done at the beginning of our conversation, and continues on her way towards the street and a running car that was parked on the other side of the road.

“Wait,” I call out helplessly as I watch her hips sway. All my attempts at being cool and suave disappear as the idea of losing my chance at her becomes more evident. “I-I didn’t catch your name.”

She throws her head back and laughs, her voice getting carried away in the wind. “Abigail. I’m Abigail.”