Brendan Dude

Okay. That Saturday presented quite a few questions about Joey.

Why did he offer to become our manager?

I didn’t know.

Maybe he was bored. Maybe he was trying to be a better brother to make up for all the bad years. Or maybe he was trying to brush up on his business skills.

I went with the second choice.

Joey changed, no doubt about it. The way he laid off with the wedgies made that evident. I was glad, too, because it seemed like he was completely over David…no, everything. Self-pity, lack of acceptance, you name the problem and he let it go, man.

I guess he felt bad for all the crap he made me go through as a little kid. And he being Plaster Caster’s manager was pretty cool. Before all this, we barely knew him. But he was friendly to us, genuine at the same time. He worked hard even though there was rarely anything to work at. I mean, every one of us had school, and between that and homework, we barely had time to practice.

Despite all that, we stuck together. Ren, Soria, Luke, and I were cool as cucumbers even under the heaviest pressure.

Before all this had happened, I’d stayed out of Joey’s life as long as he stayed out of mine. But now that he was a big part of it, there were things about him I learned that I’d have never guessed. First of all, when he was real young, I found out he was in a band himself. As a drummer. Eerie, right? I thought so too. Their name was Circuit Rider, and according to Joey, they were part rockabilly punk and part skate punk. It was hard to mesh them in my mind.

A crucial part of it all was that he was a huge part of that basement show scene, even when he was older and got kicked out of Circuit Rider. That meant that he could hook us up with some shows and get a little more coverage.

And get this - there was even this chick in my art class who came to us and offered to design a t-shirt for Plaster Caster!

After mowing every lawn in the county, babysitting every screaming kid, and walking every stupid dog, we covered the expenses and sold ten on the first day. For seven bucks, too - yeah, cheap, but it paid off!

Sixty …no, wait…seventy bucks!

Although it was a while before we actually made some profit after paying for the shirts and letting the artist chick have a slice of the pie, it felt pretty neat to see people walking by who wore our shirts. We sold ‘em outside the Pinn Flixie on weekends when bratty little Girl Sprouts weren’t hounding old people for money.

We had a little trouble deciding what to do with the money. We didn’t have nearly enough to buy recording equipment, but it would seem like a waste to just get new instruments. So really, we were stumped.

As for recognition, we finally put stuff on our FlySpace. Since we had no way to record our music, we only had live videos. We had Joey tape us playing in the garage a few times and put them on CoolTube, which got us a few fans there also. On FlySpace, local bands like Kickback and Fiberlight promoted us, and in turn we supported them. Kids from everywhere in our area and beyond were getting word of us thanks to the little web of locality we’d weaved.

As for gigs, though…well, the only ones we had were basement parties and shows held at the houses of Joey’s friends. Now, I’m not complaining since there was more energy and fun at a basement venue, but if I wanted an excuse to bail out on college when I got older (words cannot express my hate for school), we couldn’t just be rockin’ out in a stranger’s basement every week. There needed to be a nice amount of recognition going for us, and not just within adolescents.

Bars were out of the question, and Claymore Middle School only had so many events. There were benefit concerts at the amphitheater downtown, but those were for huge names in music like Jason Mraz and Taylor Swift. We couldn’t afford tickets, let alone stand a chance in performance.

One gig was locked in, though - we were definitely playing at eighth grade graduation in May. A couple kids came to us and requested, and we went to the principal. There was a school-wide vote, and 95% of the entire student body was for it! I didn’t want to say goodbye to Claymore Middle, but I was looking forward to a fond adieu.

So anyways, Joey was working his ass off at getting us a place to play. After ages of waiting, we were finally booked to perform at…

Goosehaven.

Yes, Goosehaven.

Or as I call it, “The Boneyard.”

See, Goosehaven is this retirement home for military veterans to rest their old bones. I respected them for serving their country and all, but…

I don’t like old people.

Nope. Grandma traumatized me as a little kid by making her dentures talk to me. My other grandma had a wig that always ended up falling off her head. Grandpa writes freaky alien stories, which led me to believe that he was actually abducted by Martians. And my other grandpa introduced me to the kidney stone - to this day, I’m still a little scared to pee.

For this reason, I couldn’t smile while performing.

It’s not like we were playing a super fast song. We knew that would probably give them all heart attacks. So for this occasion, we broke out “Skylight,” our only slow song. It wasn’t my favorite since I really couldn’t go wild, but it wasn’t bad or anything. Plus it was a song that Luke, Soria, and Ren had written amongst themselves before I was even a part of the band.

We played in the bingo hall on Friday night, setting up while the seniors filed in one by one. Soria chatted with a few of them, apparently since they had worked with her dad. Luke was doing the sound check, and Ren just hung out quietly.

“Oh my Lanta, Doreen, you should fix him up with your niece! How old is she?” one lady said, pointing to Ren. His eyes widened, but he tried to avoid being disrespectful.

“She’s forty-one, and he’s too young,” another old lady said.

I got goosebumps. I let out a little sneer, not intentionally making it audible, but apparently some grandpa overheard. “You shut your mouth, punk,” he scolded, wagging a finger.

Yep. I hate old people, and old people hate me.

Luke stepped up to the mic, awkwardly trying to come up with a nice opener. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen, take your seats. We’re Plaster Caster, and we’ll be playing a song for you called ‘Skylight.’”

Everything went quiet as Soria picked up her acoustic and started strumming. Ren took a deep breath and began to sing.

“Skylight, help me see now
Because, I can’t breathe now
Night lights, make me wonder
The city, just went under.
I don’t know
Which way to go.”

By then, half of the old farts had coughed at least twice. And I think a few of them needed their diapers changed. On the chorus line, I chimed in and played the drums softly.

“The opportunity
Is out of tune,
Not out of reach.
Skylight, give me hope.
Skylight, make the night
Alright.”

A group of old hags in the front row were smiling politely. I didn’t buy it. When one of them almost coughed out their dentures, I almost lost control.

“I’ll try
Not to gasp
I don’t think
I can last
Neon streaks
Everywhere.
I can see
Your hands are in the air.”

We went over the chorus again and eased into the bridge, careful not to hurt anyone’s ears.

“Skylight, starbright
Start your flight.
We will be alright.”

An easy instrumental calmed my nerves, almost comforted me from the creepiness of those skeletons. Almost. Fear overpowers hope.

“Lullaby.
Please don’t cry.
My skylight.”

The song faded out and a weak applause came from the audience. I was just glad our time in this place was limited. Suddenly, an old geezer rose out of his seat and crooned as loud as he could (which wasn’t that loud):

“They said we were getting Boston! I want my Boston!”

A low murmur arose down below as I stepped up from my stool. Nurses scuttled to the middle of the floor to calm them down, and a security guard ushered us off the stage.

I turned up my nose.

Strike one.