Something Made to Last

If you asked my friends they'd tell you that I'm the perfect girl next door. There is nothing special about me. I am not smarter than an average whomever nor am I more beautiful. I haven't been abducted by aliens or saved the world from an apocalypse. Instead, I work exhaustive hours at the paediatric yard of Staten Island University Hospital and spend most of my free time in my apartment in Midland Beach. I'd go to the end of the world for my friends and like to think they'd go the same length for me. This isn't the life I dreamed of but I could have had it worse. My dad was killed in a car accident the night of my sixteenth birthday and, in some ways, my mom followed quickly. With the help of my parents' friend, I got a scholarship to attend nursing school and secured a job in his team. I don't always believe everything happens for a reason but hoping for better days is what keeps me up. I'll get to turn my dreams into a reality one day but in the mean time, I'll take what I can to not forget them. It's the reason why I agreed to help my best friend on her musical website. We make a good team, Ali and I. She deals with people while I write about them. I won’t write albums and live shows reviews forever but it may be the closest I’ll ever get to be published. I’m fine with it. I don’t write to have a light shining on me. I write because I love how one single word can hold so many feelings and meanings. There isn’t a day that goes by without me writing. I play with the styles, working on a short story one day and just using my diary the day after. I try my hands at poesy sometimes or concentrate on my novel. I always feel better after putting words onto a page. My notebook is like a psychologist, only cheaper and less condescending. I never go anywhere without it. The cold wintery air hits me hard as soon as I step out of the subway, my phone buzzing instantly. I don’t have to look at it to know who’s trying to call me. Here’s the thing with my best friend: she doesn’t take no as an answer. She knows what she wants and she goes to unthinkable length to get it. What she wants these days is for me to leave New York for a few weeks. See, a couple of British bands are coming over to tour together and the support act’s management wants to work on a feature with us. From what I understood, the collaboration would consist in us publishing daily video updates of their life on the roads while they’d just have to look pretty. Okay, I’ve been working with Ali long enough and talked to enough bands to know that’s not all they have to do. If there’s one thing I learned these last couple of years is that it may not look like much but a touring band is a full time job. It’s not just about showing up every night to play your heart out. It’s about dealing with a bunch of people you’d rather not have to deal with, from managers to noisy journalists. It’s about pretending to be flawless and living the perfect life to not be a target to so-called medias. I couldn’t bear a life like theirs. And there’s no risk anyway; I’m too talentless to be a prized musician or actress. But let’s go back to business. Ali accepted the offer, saying it could help us reach our dreams for JustMusic.com. It has never been a dream of mine to co-own a musical website, let alone have it working so well that it ends up ruling our lives, but I’ve never found the right time to tell her. She’s probably right, though. The headliners are quite known here already. I’ve seen them a couple of times, once on know the Vans Warped Tour a few times and once with We The Kings. They have a solid American fanbase already, partly due to their strong friendships with some of our popular acts. It is not their first headline tour in the US but it is the first they sold out in a matter of days. The supporting band, however, are complete strangers to our scene. They’ve never toured the country and I’m not even sure their albums were released here. And obviously, because it’d be too easy to deal with an already liked band, they’re the ones I’ll be working with. I tried to tell Ali that I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t go on tour with a bunch of guys I knew nothing about, but she didn’t listen to me. She insisted all she could but I wouldn’t budge. And then, she fell off of her bike in the middle of Time Square. She cracked a couple of ribs and broke a leg; which made her unable to attend the tour. We could have explained the situation to the bands’ management then. I wanted Ali to call them from her hospital bed and tell them that she couldn’t fulfil her part of the contract. She didn’t, obviously. Instead, she got my boss to blackmail me into taking all of the days off I’ve never used. I wouldn’t have known what to do with all the free time would have I stayed home. And that is why I’m now standing in front of the Knitting Factory, purposely avoiding her phone calls. I decline her hundredth call of the morning and look through my contact list to find the tour manager. I regret coming here already. I’m not a social person. I’ve been single for the bigger part of my life and my friends are either girls or gays. I don’t know how to act around straight men. Stan, I think his name is, picks up on the fourth ring with something that sounds like a rough “hello”. I’m in full panic mode right now but I’m not allowed to stutter. For once in my life, I have to be professional enough.

“Hi, I’m Devyn Parker from JustMusic.com. I’m just outside of the venue…”

“Don’t move, I’ll be right there.”

It has been easier than I thought it’d be. I realize that this, getting inside the venue, will not be the hardest part of my day but it is a step forward and I do take it all one step at a time. From the corner of my eyes, I notice a man approaching me. He looks young enough, thirty at the most. He's sporting a smile as wide as his face. He holds a hand out, introducing himself as Stan, Kids In Glass Houses' tour manager. I'm not totally sure of the line of action in this situation. I've already said who I was on the phone and he seems to have recognized me. I re-introduce myself anyway, just in case he doubted getting to the right girl.

“The guys are rehearsing right now, it should be another twenty minutes or so. I’ll introduce you once they’ll be done. You can chill inside, though. There’s nothing private going on in there and your damn city is colder than an iceberg.”

I laugh at that. Not because it’s fundamentally funny but because I expected him to be used to the cold. After all, Great Britain is not known for its warmth. Lucky for me, Stan doesn’t seem to take offense in my sudden giggling attitude. He even flashes me a smile. We walk to the venue in silent, choking warmth attacking me as soon as we pass the doors. The security guard nods in our direction before pushing the double doors open. I stand next to the soundboard while Stan goes back to doing his thing. Many people will go extreme length to be at the front, their chest crushed against a barrier to see the band properly, but I prefer standing in the back. I may not always see the band on stage but I get to hear them perfectly. And I can hear a lot of potential in this band. They are rough in the best of sense. I can hear that they play what goes with their characters and not what could sell best.

“What do you think?”

I jump at the sound of a man’s voice addressing me. That’s not a good start to my new social status. The guy looks handsome enough with light eyes and dark hair, the shadow of a beard on his chin. I’ve seen him before, on pictures while doing some research on both bands. He’s part of the main act and, judging by his spot on promotional shots, I’d say he’s the lead singer.

“I’d love to get a puppy and call it Pixie.”

A small part of me knows that I shouldn’t be acting all smart-pants witty with someone who could easily get me fired but I can’t find it in myself to care. I am who I am for a reason and I won’t change to fit in better. I had to change to many aspects of my life and of myself in the past. It won’t happen again.

“You’re something special.” He laughs as the band starts playing another song.

I know this one. It’s on their latest album, the one I reviewed and won the attention of their management. I liked the record. I didn’t quite get the concept Wikipedia claimed to be the link between all the songs but I found it interesting enough. There were some tracks I liked less than other but the only real down side I found was that they didn’t use all of their potential.

“So are they. I won’t lie; at first I thought you brought them to the US because they’re your friends but I know there’s more to it now. I listen to them, and I mean really listen to them, and I hear potential. They could start a revolution if they believed in themselves half as much as they believe in their music.”

The singer’s jaw hits the floor at my words. I don’t think he realized whom I was when he came over. I bet he thought I was just an employee of the venue, trying her luck by observing a band on her working hours. Either way, I can say that he didn’t expect a formulated opinion on the band’s musical potential.

“And I know now why Raw Power insisted on having you here.”

I want to tell him that I’m not Ali but I say nothing.

****

It took a little over an hour for the band to go through their twenty-five minutes set, which left me plenty of time to observe them. I've seen how the singer needs to always be in movements, how the drummer enters a different world for each track he plays and how the guitarist on the right side tries to stay in the shadow. He looks uncomfortable, unsure. He makes it look like he doesn't belong here but he does. He has talent. He plays his parts without a moment of doubt. He knows what he's doing. He likes it even. He just lacks confidence and boldness. They can't afford to keep their arms down if they want to make it here. They'll have to struggle hard to find the tiniest spot under the stars. They have all the good cards but they still have to play them right. I'm starting to understand why Ali wanted to cover their first tour in the US. She works on feelings, follows her guts. And these guys are not only gifted musicians but also great human beings. They like to party, I can tell. I have had more fun in the few hours than in the last ten years. They've all been friends for years and have enough private jokes to keep the CIA busy but they don't make newcomers feel like outsiders. They explain or talk about something else. They don't let any of us feel out of place. I feel comfortable with them. They're not trying to make me talk and let me observe instead.

"You, my new American friend, were right. The beer's pretty good here." Aled, the singer, says as he drops on the chair next to me, his third beer of the night in hand.

I have never seen anyone drink as fast as he does. I have never seen anyone drink as many beers as he does either. I don't know if I should be impressed or worried. I think I've read something about his partying habits. He tends to get really drunk and lose all inhibition as well as personal effects. I wonder if he'd be considered alcoholic. I don't think he ever went on stage or to an interview drunk out of his mind, maybe he has enough control to keep clear during duties.

"He's not an alcoholic." The drummer, Philip, says as if reading my mind. "He tends to drink a lot when he goes out but he doesn't even have beers at home."

"Do you go out often when you're on tour?"

"Whenever the schedule allows us to."

I try to remember the tour schedule Ali showed me last night but all that comes to mind are the extremely long journeys. There aren't many of them and they're almost always followed by a day off but they are still there, twelve or so hours stuck in a moving bus with a bunch of guys. I'll probably be spending days off with them too, just in case they'd be something to document. I get that the constant proximity is part of the tour experience but I'm a proud loner. The idea of spending twenty four hours a day with a bunch of guys makes my head dizzy.

"So, Parker, what's your story?"

The question takes me by surprise, making me choke on my wine. Joel, the guitarist who feels more comfortable in the shadow, is quick to tap my back gently. It'ss useless for it's supposed to help me cough and I'm already spitting my lungs out here but I'm not gonna tell him. And I'm not gonna tell them about my life either. I may feel comfortable with them, I'm not ready to let my walls down. I may never be. The only person I ever opened up to is Ali and that's only because we've been friends since forever. She knows everything there is to know about me because she's been with me through everything.

"I don't have much of a story to tell." I say simply, getting up. "And I should get going. I'll see you all tomorrow."

My legs are weak and I'm shaky than a Parkinson's patient but I make it outside without embarrassing myself. I couldn't have been more conspicuous if I'd tried. They probably think I have something to hide now. I don't have to hide anything but I don't want to share this.

"Devyn, wait!" Joel calls out. "I'll walk you home."

I smile in spite of myself. I have never tried to walk the distance between Brooklyn and Staten Island but I have a feeling it may take more time than we have. I also have a feeling he won't find his way back if we go too far. New York is tricky when it comes to public transportation. I've lived here all my life and I still get lost from time to time.

"I'll let you walk me to the bus station."

****

I have been living in New York for about twenty five years and I have never felt unsafe, not even after 2001. My life has never been threatened by anyone. I don't need a knight in shining armor, especially not one that can't find the way back to his castle. That's what I should have told Joel at the bar. I should have told him I'm doing just fine on ny own, that I'm used to it. Maybe he wouldn't be crashing on my couch then. The bus ride has been longer than I expected but it hasn't been too bad. Joel didn't try to know why I fled when asked about my life. He didn't ask anything too personal and didn't insist when I changed the subject. He kept it casual and comfortable. And he hasn't shown ulterior motives yet. I think he only has good intentions. He just doesn't realize what he is getting into before getting into it. He couldn't have known this time. I should have warned him.

"Don't take it the wrong way but your place is strangely far from the bus stop."
It's not supposed to be far. The bus stops just around the corner down my street. I was so lost in thoughts of what I didn't do and what I should have done that I didn't pay attention to where we were going.

"We walked past it." I mumble and turn on my heels. I can hear him laugh behind me, which annoys the hello out of me. I wouldn't have missed my own building if it wasn't for him. I'd have taken the ferry from Manhattan, picked up my bike at the docks and taken the roads I always take. It would have taken me longer but it would have been nicer. I'd take the ferry over the bus any time. But I couldn't go to Manhattan with Joel on my heels. I could have been sure to lose him.

"Do you often get lost on your way home?"

"Only when annoyed at stubborn British guitarists."

I'm determined to ignore him now. I'll ignore the fact that he worried about me and had to walk me all the way home. I'll ignore the nice time we had time, the silly conversation and the laughs. I'll ignore that he'll be the first man to put foot in the loft with the exception of my friends.

"Welcome to Parker's household, the place where your dreams won't come true." I say, pushing the door of the loft open. And I'm not sure I know what to do now. I've had people coming over before but I've known them for years. I could do what I usually do. I don't know if I can just act normal with him around. Should I drop my things in the living area or should I put them in my room? Can I disappear in the kitchen while he looks around or do I have to watch him inspect my place?

"Do you want a cup of tea?"

How cliché of me to offer tea. He comes from the land of tea. He may rather have a coffee or a soda or even plain water. Why did I have to offer tea? I could have just said "do you want something to drink?"

"Tea would be grand, thanks."

Here comes the half smile again. He must know he'll get everything he wants with such a smile. I shouldn't let myself fall for it, especially since I've only known him a few hours. And he's already getting a look into the last ten years of my life. He doesn't just glance at the pictures on the wall; he watches them. He makes me feel uneasy. It's bad enough that he's invading my personal space he doesn't have to try and figure me out too.

"You went to nursing school?"

"I lost a bet." I smile, handing him one of the fuming cups. Please, don't dig. I don't think I could explain why I studied nursing. It isn't a vocation or a passion. It isn't really a choice either.

"I really thought you graduated in music or creative writing."

"Are you disappointed?"

I don't know why I ask. It doesn't matter what he thinks or feels. I'll be doing this feature regardless of his opinion. I won't pretend to be what they expect me to be.

"How could I?"