Generation Why Bother

By the time November rolled by and we were halfway into the month, things had settled down yet again and Put’emup, Put’emup was rolling along. Tegan and I didn’t share any classes with Chuck or Riley, but we normally ate lunch together, and of course we saw more than enough of them at the flat whenever we visited after school.

For the first time, the number of guardians who had found their powers outnumbered the amount who hadn’t discovered theirs. At that point, it was just Tegan, Chuck, and Andy. Neither Tegan nor Chuck seemed to be anxious about it, but Andy…was a different story. When somebody used their powers to help around the apartment, like when Chance poured glasses of water or when Mick improved the greenery, he found a way to complain about it.

At first I thought it was just a simple case of jealousy. You know, like how lead singers in bands are always stereotyped to want the spotlight on them and them only – nobody can be more talented or be more respected than them. Then again, there wasn’t a reason to believe that Andy would be that kind of person, really. At least, not to me. Maybe Anthony or someone else who knew him better would be able to see that side and vouch for it, but really, he was the only guy in the band to not have a power at that point. I couldn’t blame him for getting a little anxious, at least.

I still tried to avoid talking to him after that little snippy remark he said to me the day Anthony found out his power. If I made him angry somehow, I didn’t want to make it any worse than it had to be.

Tegan would talk to me about how she wanted to get into a dire situation so that she could discover her power, and she had even asked me to throw an anvil on her to see if anything would happen; other than that, she seemed to be doing fine. Chuck just brushed over the subject completely. He liked to stay quiet in group situations unless Riley brought him into it, and the most he ever talked was when they got into arguments over dumb things.

Seriously, those two argued every single day at lunch. They’d argue over which punk band was better, what exactly was punk, what characterized each wave of ska, what was real emo (Tegan and I got involved in those discussions too) – it went on. And on. And on. Sometimes it carried over into the car ride when I drove them to the band’s flat after school. From what I understood, it was all in good fun, though. They didn’t stop being friends.

The point is, life went on and not a lot of things were very different after Chuck and Riley were thrown into the mix.

The next big thing on Put’emup, Put’emup’s plate, however, was a huge concert happening in downtown Chicago at the same outdoor venue where Tegan and I got struck. Despite the fact that the weather was going to be freezing and dreary, their record label decided to hold a big concert featuring three of their bands for charity.

One of the main things the band always griped about was the fact that their label, Not Listening, was Florida-based since its founder was a huge figure in punk in the ‘80s and ‘90s down in the southeast. The dude’s name was Raimundo Asbury – what a name, right? – and didn’t limit his record label to one genre. Just from the sampler CD they put out every winter, the label boasted southern punk, singer-songwriter easy listening, indie rock, and even girl punk. I guess he just signed anybody he really liked the sound of no matter the distance.

Well, that concert was going to boast three completely different bands: Put’emup, Put’emup in their pop-rocking glory, the cowpunk styles of Fire Motion, and the hard-to-classify indie band Plaster Caster. When the band said we teens could come along and watch from backstage, I was actually pretty excited. They were all pretty good from what I had heard, if not a little weird.

Another funny thing about that concert was that all the bands were from totally different age groups. The dudes in Fire Motion were old enough to be my dads, Put’emup, Put’emup were still kicking it in their mid-20s, and Plaster Caster…well, they were…they were in their junior year of high school. Meaning that they were a year younger than we teenage guardians.

“They’re a year younger than you guys and they’ve accomplished more than most folks twice your age!” Andy had laughed right after telling us that.

Odd record company aside, Tegan, Riley, Chuck and I had tagged along with the band and hung backstage with them before the show. Although it had meant to start at six PM that Saturday, people were lining up to get in long before that, and I had to feel a little arrogant, being brought to the show by one of the bands and getting to save the world with them too. They told the stagehands that we had won a local radio contest, hence the VIP treatment; who wouldn’t buy that? (Obviously, they bought it.)

While Fire Motion set up their stuff onstage, as they were the first band of the evening, Put’emup, Put’emup rehearsed backstage and ran over a few songs to warm up. We gathered around them and listened in because they didn’t say we couldn’t, and even though it was all acoustic, everybody was so into it that it felt like they were just powering through another one of their energy-packed gigs.

Chance bobbed his head as he played the guitar and hit every note perfectly, double-timing rhythm and lead. Anthony was in his own little world, blank-faced as he ran his fingers up and down the neck of his bass. Mick only had his drumsticks and was reduced to pounding his own leg to keep the beat, still with a smile on his face that let everyone know that it didn’t make a difference. With his eyes closed, Andy wasn’t as exaggerated as he was when they played their music for real, but he still sang his heart out and let his voice climb all over the powerful notes he was known for.

They probably knew it for a long time, but it just felt like those guys were born to play music and born to play it together. Even if Anthony and Andy fought every other day over the dumbest things, they had chemistry whether they realized it or not, and watching that kind of candid performance was mind-blowing to me.

When they finished their warm-up song (“Get the Hair Outta Your Eyes,” off their 2009 EP, if you must know), Andy looked up at us and smiled shyly like he didn’t realize we were there. As Mick said, “Well, I think we’re good to go,” they went further backstage and told us to stay there and keep an ear out for Fire Motion since their set was starting in a few minutes.

I broke off from the pack and kind of wandered near the front of the stage in the little alcove where I could peek out onto the stage. Just as I did, Fire Motion exploded into their first song of the evening after greeting the crowd and talking about how happy they were to be there along with the obligatory complaint about the freezing weather. (They were based in Gainesville so I understood. Chuck and Riley did the same thing all the time.)

As their set went on, though, from what I could see from my vantage point, the sky was getting cloudier. Maybe it was just night setting in, but something still felt odd about it. If it tried to rain, we wouldn’t have gotten snow, we would’ve just gotten cold rain – and if lightning struck again, all hell would have broken loose, if not for the universe trying to tell us something, then from the sheer confusion.

I was the only one looking outside from the backstage since the rest of the teen guardians were just listening from afar or talking to the bands, but after a few minutes, I wasn’t alone. Suddenly, a hand gripped my shoulder and I whirled around to see who it was; sure enough, I ended up face-to-face with Andy, who didn’t have a concept of personal space.

I kept my mouth shut and tried to catch my breath, not wanting to bring up what he probably forgot about. Just thinking about it made me dizzy from embarrassment.

“That sky looks kinda fishy,” he said, staring out. “If someone else gets struck tonight, it’s gonna throw a bunch of stuff off…”

I gulped. “Um, yeah. Uh.” I couldn’t look at him. There’s really nothing quite as humiliating as pissing off one of your role models, and I was still reeling from it weeks later. I just tried to focus on not letting my face turn bright cherry in fear.

Andy looked at me, though he only caught my profile since I was making an effort not to look him dead-on. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” I stuttered.

He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “You’re acting funny and you’re all tense.”

“I just, uh…I had a hamburger earlier today, and it’s not really agreeing with me…” I reached, glancing at the bridge of his nose to make it look like I was telling the truth.

He saw right through me. “No you didn’t. Now tell me, Mosh,” he said, going back to the nickname he gave me, “what’s wrong?”

So I bit my lip and tried not to be an idiot this time. I sighed. “Look, I’m sorry for that stupid question I asked that day Riley ran away, and…uh…yeah…”

“What question?” he asked like it never happened.

“When I asked what would happen if me and Chuck got in trouble…” At that point I was back to staring at the ground to avoid even further embarrassment.

“Why are you apologizing for that?” he said gently.

“’Cause I think I kinda ticked you off.”

He groaned and then rubbed his eyes, still gripping my shoulder tightly. “Oh, Christ, that’s right, I was a dick after that…” Taking his hand off his face, he forced me to look him in the eye and then said, “Listen, Oshie, don’t apologize for that. In fact, I’m the one who needs to say sorry – so, I’m really sorry. I was just…mad at other things at the moment and I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

Out of a stupid instinct, I said, “Sorry,” but quickly scrambled to stutter over it so as not to sound as mind-numbingly dumb. (That plan failed.) “I mean, uh, sorry for saying sorry. Yeah.” Forcing a laugh, I smiled back at him since he was doing the same to me but with an eyebrow raised like he thought I was crazy.

“I really hope you haven’t been hung up on that up until now,” he grinned.

I shook my head and shrugged, which means I told a little white lie.

“But are we cool now? You’re not gonna be all awkward around me?” he insisted, palms up. “Because I noticed you haven’t really been talking to me much at all lately.”

“Yeah, I just…didn’t know if you secretly hated me,” I laughed. “But we’re cool now. If you’re cool with it, I mean.”

Even though I kept fumbling over words, Andy beamed and even pulled me into a little hug no matter how stupid I sounded. After that, he adjusted the earpiece he had to wear onstage, patted my arm, and said he had to get back to the band and help set up Plaster Caster’s set, which was starting soon. My face bright red, I nodded.

A little while later, though, Fire Motion’s set ended and Andy came back up to where I was standing at the edge of the stage, holding the curtain open for the opening band, who was lugging their equipment through. The lead singer, a scruffy ginger guy who had probably the most well-kept beard I’d ever seen on any human, passed by Andy and the two shook hands briefly before he led the rest of his band backstage to pack up their things. Must’ve been a band thing.

Tegan walked up and said hi to us, and right behind her was Plaster Caster themselves – four kids who looked so young I had to do a double take to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. Andy nodded at them as he held the curtain open for them as well, and he even fist-bumped their bassist.

When they got onstage and started their set, Andy jogged to the rest of his band and told us to keep an eye out for anything funny happening, and we said we’d do our best. Really, I just wanted to watch a concert from a really close angle, so it wasn’t any burden to me or Tegan, who seemed enthralled by her discovery of watching a performance from that short a distance.

About halfway through one of their songs, the rain started and pounded down on the canopy above the stage and audience area. Not only that, but the wind was rising, whipping through the trees surrounding the stage. It would have been funny if it wasn’t getting so serious, seeing as how they were playing a really beachy song called, “Socal,” maybe an intentional contrast to Chicago.

The Windy City lived up to its name and the stagehands knew it; they were signaling Plaster Caster to cut their set short and go backstage as quick as possible so that the equipment would be safe and nobody would get shocked by the rain hitting a cord or something. Like they were pros at fleeing the scene, they all dismantled their instruments and worked as quick as possible to get to safety.

Their drummer was the first to dart through the curtain held open by Tegan after he covered his drum set with a tarp. Next was their guitarist, and she held the beanie to her head as she squeaked by, her guitar in tow, followed closely by their singer who helped the others out.

The only problem was their bassist, who was having difficulty disconnecting his bass from the amp and turning it off. It may have been nerves, which would’ve been understandable; he took the longest, and he was the only one onstage when a huge gust of wind picked up and blew through the open part of the canopied stage, almost throwing him back. He wouldn’t let go of his bass, and when he finally was able to rip off the cord, he looked around for the nearest haven and saw the open curtain Tegan was holding.

Disoriented, he started to jog across the slippery stage. Right behind him was the tower of amps belonging to not just him, but the other bands, and that tower was just about to show its true power when the wind picked up in yet another rough gust. It swayed for a moment, then just as it seemed to fall back into place, it was tipping right in that bassist’s direction and he didn’t even know it.

My eyes were glued to the scene and so were Tegan’s as we watched him escape death. It wasn’t all him, though. I figured that one out when Tegan shot out her hand, screamed, “NO!” and her fingertips began to glow magenta all so fast.

Suddenly, the amps teetered as the bassist glanced at Tegan right as it happened. They fell back into place and stood stolid against what was now a dying wind, and she retracted her hand after a few seconds of blindly holding it out in shock.

She gasped and looked at me looking at her like a dehydrated fish, and we both just knew what had happened.

And the crowd may not have noticed it, but Plaster Caster sure did.