Words I Might Have Ate

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Gilman’s was a small club deep in the heart of Berkeley. It was a long, low, red brick building that extended quite far back from the street with only a modest 926 tacked on above the entry in peeling gold numbers. The only hint that it was a place for bands to play were the multicolored band flyers that were taped to the windows haphazardly. The rest of the face of the building was bare.

On a normal afternoon, if one were to walk by Gilman’s, the building would look vacant and abandoned. Only the heavily graffitied trashcans that sat on the painted red curb bore testimony to the life that was inside. But tonight all of the lights were on and the sound of a thumping bass could be heard a block away. There were a few people sitting and standing outside the doors, smoking and talking quietly.

I scan the faces quickly and return to my cigarette with a quiet sigh. He’s late; he promised he’d be here. It was later in the evening and as one of the more popular bands to perform here, we had the privilege of being one of the last acts to perform—something I took full advantage of. I would arrive an hour or two before our stage time and scope out the other bands. Mike tells me I’m paranoid and obsessed because we’re the ones with the record deal with Lookout! Records and not the other bands. But I can’t stop observing; it’s addictive. I feel like if I can watch enough performers, I can learn from them and push myself to become better, to perfect our stage presence.

I take another drag from my cigarette and drop the butt to the ground, grinding the glowing ember with the heel of my shoe. I exhale slowly, the smoke snaking out of my mouth lazily. Inside the club, a wailing guitar solo can be heard and I cringe as someone screams into the microphone. Finally I turn on my heel and walk back into the building, intent on finding Mike and Tré before our act.

As I join the outskirts of the crowd, the band up on stage finishes with a final yell and the lights go back up. Almost immediately I spot Hollie’s familiar reddish-brown hair up at the bar, wrapped around a bar stool and chatting quietly with her best friend.

I push through the crowd until I come out next to her, my lips already pulling upwards into a happy smile. “Hollie.”

“Hey you,” Hollie grins, dropping her straw back into her drink and hugging me with one arm. “How was your interview this morning with Nathan?”

“I got the job,” I reply, my eyes sparkling happily. “I start on Monday. It’s only temporary though. I’m replacing a guy because he broke his arm in a motorcycle accident—completely snapped the bones in his arm in half. And obviously he can’t work the job with a broken arm so he’s out for twelve weeks.”

“Twelve weeks for a broken arm?” Hollie frowns, her eyebrows furrowing together slightly. “That seems a bit lengthy.”

“It was a bad break apparently so he’ll be in a cast from anywhere to eight to ten weeks. And he’ll go through a two week physical therapy session to regain the use of his arm but then he’ll be back.” I shrug, reaching around my sister and picking up her drink. “I don’t mind, I figure twelve weeks of full time pay will give me a bit of money and I can use the time to find something else. Thank you, by the way,” I hesitate, feeling a bit shy suddenly. “For everything. I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

Hollie waves it off dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Aren’t you going to ask me how I managed to get you an interview there?” Her eyes are dancing merrily and she’s biting down on her lower lip gently, like she’s dying to tell me.

I roll my eyes and set her drink back down on the bar. “How’d you get me the interview, Hollie?”

“Oh I know some people,” She admits airily. “When you’re as popular as me, all you have to do is make some calls and things just happen for you.”

“Fuck off,” Rachel, her best friend, laughs from beside us. “You got him that interview because you’re fuck buddies with his nephew.”

Hollie opens her mouth to retort but Mike pops up behind me and nods his greetings at the two familiar girls. “Hey man, you ready to go on?”

I glance up at the stage and realize that it’s empty before nodding. “Yeah, is Tré with you?”

“Here I am!” Tré shouts, slinging an arm around my neck. “Ready to rock and roll, baby.”

Hollie finishes off her drink before hopping off her stool. “Come on,” She grabs Rachel’s wrist. “Let’s get up front. Good luck, boys,” She smiles widely before disappearing into the restless crowd.

The three of us collect our instruments from where they were stored in the tiny side room off stage before striding out under the lights. There’s quite a few whistles and yells as we take our respective positions.

“Hi,” I laugh into the microphone, scanning the waiting crowd quickly. “We’re Green Day and this song is called Welcome to Paradise.” I take a step back from the microphone before Tré counts us in and I start us off with the guitar intro.

Almost instantly, the crowd begins to move with the music and as I step back up to the microphone for the first verse and the crowd starts to sing along with me, an indescribable burst of pride washes over me. I can hardly contain the smile on my face as I look out into the crowd again. This is where I’m meant to be.

-X-

About three-quarters of the way through our performance for the night, I spot him entering the building, looking extremely uncomfortable and out of place. He takes a few steps to the right to escape from the constant flow of people entering and leaving the building before maneuvering his way towards the bar.

After three more songs and an impromptu drum solo, Tré closes the set by sprinting out from behind his drum set and launching himself into the crowd. Mike and I both watch in amusement as he’s carried across the room before thanking the crowd. We begin to gather up our instruments, hurrying for the next band is anxious to begin.

It takes ten minutes for the three of us to pack everything up and store it carefully in the van. Mike double checks that the doors are locked before we walk back into the club where some metal band called Filth are playing.

I break away from my friends and head straight towards him at the bar. He’s still dressed in his suit from work I notice as I take a seat next to him and motion for the bartender to hand me a drink.

He’s nursing a coffee and turns slightly in his chair so he can properly view me. “You guys sound good,” He notes casually, nodding his head.

“And you sound surprised,” I retort, smiling gratefully as a chilled water is placed in front of me.

David waves it off, laughing slightly and takes another drink from his coffee. “I’m not honestly. I know how talented you are in the music department--you take after Dad in that aspect.”

My smile falters ever so slightly and I roll the long necked plastic bottle in my palms meticulously before looking back up at my brother. “Do you know why I asked you to come here tonight?”

“No,” He admits freely, watching me carefully from the corner of his eye. “Do you need help, Bill? Heather and I would be more than willing to help you financially—“

I hold up my hand, shaking my head. “It’s not money, Dave. But thanks for the offer.” I pause again. Why is this so awkward? It shouldn’t be, David’s my brother. I can talk to him about anything.

“What is it then?” He asks curiously as he watches me struggle for the words. How’s that for irony? I’m supposed to be a lyricist and I can hardly figure out how to talk about this.

I begin slowly, choosing my words carefully. “It’s about your job.”

David perks up immediately, his eyebrows coming together as he frowns. David is the assistant principal at Pinole Valley High School, the very same school I dropped out of over four years ago. “What about my job?”

The singer on stage gives a particularly deep and guttural scream and I push away from the bar quickly. “Not in here. I can’t have this conversation like this. Come outside?” I ask, inclining my head towards the exit.

David looks almost relieved as he drains the last of his coffee and follows me out the door. We walk a few yards away from the stragglers standing under the awning of Gilman’s before I step out onto 8th Street and sit down on the curb.

Almost automatically I find myself pulling my pack of cigarettes from my pocket and lighting up. “Want one?” I ask, holding out the slightly smashed package.

David shakes his head, wrinkling his nose ever so slightly at the smell of the cigarettes. “No I’m alright, thanks. So what about my job did you want to talk about?”

I shrug, pushing my cigarettes and my lighter back into my pocket. “I’ve just been thinking about something Adam,” I grimaced at his name. “said at Mom’s dinner on Monday.”

“Billie,” David sounds exasperated. “You know not to listen to a word that comes out of Adam’s mouth. You of all people—“

I interrupt him quickly. “It’s not just Adam who’s said it though, Dave. Mom’s said something to me and even-even Hollie mentioned it to me.” I shrug, scratching the back of my neck absentmindedly. “And so I got to thinking and maybe they’re right.”

“Right about what?” David seems uneasy with where this conversation’s headed.

“You know how I dropped out in February of my senior year,” I ask rhetorically, rolling my hand as I spoke for emphasis. “So I could focus on Green Day.”

“Yes,” His eyes are glued to the street as he listens intently to what I’m saying. If we hadn’t been having such a serious conversation, I would have laughed at the sight of my thirty-three-year-old brother crouched down on a dirty street curb in his immaculate suit.

“And ever since then, I’ve been floating around from job to job. I just—“ I break off, running a hand over my face. “We’re getting somewhere with Green Day. We’re working on our third album, we’ve got an amazing group of fans. I know this is just the beginning but it’s like I’m-I’m teetering on the edge of it all. We’re so close to making it, you know? I can feel it but we’re not quite there yet.” I take a deep drag off my cigarette and blow the smoke away from us before continuing. “When I dropped out of high school, all I wanted was to play with my band. I didn’t think about the consequences dropping out would have on me.”

“As you usually do,” David comments dryly, his eyes dancing merrily.

I wave off his comment easily. “I guess what I’m trying to say is after four years of running dishwashers and mopping up other peoples’ messes, I’m tired of it. I don’t want to do it anymore. And this is where you come in,” I finally make eye contact with my brother and I find him watching me intently with green eyes so like my own. “Nobody wants to hire a high school dropout. I had like nine weeks of high school left and I guess what I’m wondering is, is it possible for me to…” I falter at the end and I realize with a jolt in my stomach that I’m actually nervous. My stomach is knotting painfully inside me.

David’s hand is on my shoulder suddenly and he’s squeezing me lightly. “Finish up your degree?” He supplies kindly.

I nod, feeling frightening waves of nerves wash over me as the prospect of what I had just proposed hit me full force. I don’t trust myself to speak so I instead settle for taking a huge hit off of my slowly burning away cigarette.

“I’ll tell you what,” David says finally after a few moments of silence. “On Monday I’ll take a look at your file and see what credits you need to finish in order to get your diploma. I’ll give you a call when I figure things out, okay?”

“Thanks man,” I breath, stubbing out my light and running my palms across my pants. “I really appreciate it.”

David smiles and stands up, brushing off his gray suit pants. “Don’t worry about it. Shall we go back?” He motions towards the club and I stand up off the curb, running my hands down the back of my pants to get rid of any dust.

“Dave?” I mumble as we near the club once more.

He looks down at me, one eyebrow raised curiously. “Hmm?”

“Just-just don’t say anything to Mom or anyone yet, okay?” I request on an impulse. “Who knows if this’ll even work out and I don’t think I can stand to disappoint her again if it doesn’t, you know?”

Hollie appears suddenly and David nods solemnly as she pokes him in the side childishly. “What are you doing here, old man?”

David hugs her to his side, ruffling her sweaty hair jokingly. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Hey, I’m not thirty-three,” Hollie protests, wriggling out of his grasp. “I’m only twenty-five, thank you very much.”

“With the maturity of a sixteen-year-old,” Dave fires back smoothly and I can’t stop the laughter that escapes from my mouth.

“Ouch,” I duck as Hollie’s open palm swings through the air uselessly. “And you’re just going to sit there and take that, Hols?!”

Hollie and David banter back and forth playfully as both Tré and Mike join us in the doorway of Gilman’s, where the cool night wind blows soothingly across our sweaty brows. Tré notices David standing there and turns to me with a smirk.

“Isn’t Gilman’s a strange place to be having a family reunion, Billie?” He jokes, nodding towards the three of us. “It’s a bit too classy, don’t you think?”

I shove the drummer away from me, rolling my eyes at his comment. “Fuck off.”

“But seriously,” Tré stops laughing. “Half of your siblings are here. Did I miss a memo or something?”

“Nope. Hollie’s always here whenever we play, you know that. And I asked David to come down because I had to ask him a question,” I ignore Mike’s curious stare and gesture towards the band now taking the stage in a lame attempt to get the attention away from me. “Is it just me or does this band suck?”