Hooligans

Tyler’s Point Of View

Bright lights nearly blinded me; they shined directly in my eyes. There was a collective roaring of noise emitting from the audience in front of me. Their screams almost deafened me. Sweat dripped and slid down my face and my breath came in fast, shallow pants.

“If you don’t like us as a band then why the fuck are you here?! Just get the fuck out!” I yelled into my microphone at a couple of boys that occupied the space at the barrier, who had been shouting rude words and obscenities at us from the moment we’d come on stage. “Why don’t you just jump over that barrier and we’ll fight right now!” I continued, thoughtlessly.

“Tyler, shut the fuck up!” Michael shouted at me in his microphone to make sure I’d hear him clearly. The rest of my band mates were clearly angry with my behavior at this moment, but of course I didn’t listen to them. I hardly even noticed their disapproving glares.

The security guards shoved the boys back as they actually attempted to hop over the barricade. I laughed, spit another insult at them, and launched into another song, even while the rest of the band shot me annoyed glares.

That song was the last of the night and we scurried off stage after a few goodbyes to the fans. “You meeting with the fans tonight, Tyler?” AJ, our guitarist, inquired still clearly annoyed with me as he wiped his face down with a towel.

“No.” I shook my head, plopping onto the couch in the lounge. “Don’t feel like it tonight.”

“C’mon, man, don’t disappoint the fans!” Michael argued. “Just a few minutes!”

“I said I don’t feel like it!” I sat up as my voice raised a few octaves. They left, the door slamming shut behind them, as I vaguely heard them mutter obscenities about me.



Within the next few days, the short tour we had ventured out on wrapped up. The last date was close to our hometown of Pasadena so we didn’t need to travel far to get home.

When I did finally arrive home, my band mates in tow, I was surprised to find my parents sitting on my living room couch. “What’s going on?” I asked, taking slow steps into the living room. I looked over both my parents and then turned to scrutinize my friends. My parents didn’t visit often and they especially wouldn’t when they knew I was away on tour.

“Sit down, Tyler,” my dad instructed, gesturing to my recliner.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I demanded, completely ignoring my dad’s request. “Why are you guys in my house?”

“We told them to come,” I heard from behind me.

I turned to stare at Skyler, the one who had spoken. “What? Why?” By this point I was pretty aggravated. “Someone please just tell me what is going on!” I huffed.

“We just need to talk to you, Tyler,” my mom tried to assure me. “Just take a seat,” she pleaded. For the first time since I‘d been there, I listened and sat in the recliner across from the couch they were sitting on, bu not without crossing my arms in frustration. My band clustered around the couch as well.

“Now will you tell me what’s going on?” I questioned, letting my annoyance seep into my words.

No one spoke for a moment so Michael took it upon himself to be the one to break the silence. “Tyler, as of lately you’ve kind of been, well for lack of a better word, a dick and very arrogant. This band has built up your ego way more than it should have and it’s not good at all. Tyler, you’ve been talking down to fans, not to mention trying to fight them!”

“Where are you going with this?” My eyes narrowed and I looked around at all the faces staring at me, all wearing looks of concern.

“This is becoming a problem Tyler!” Ty, or Scout as we called him and also Skyler’s brother, said exasperated. The twins looked very much alike. The main difference was Skyler’s unruly curly hair. They both shared the same dark skin and facial features, with small changes. Their build was fairly the same, Scout being only a little taller than his brother. “Don’t you see that?!” he continued.

“How is it a problem?!” I growled, raising my voice and standing up. Their complaints slid right off my back.

“Are you kidding me, Tyler?!” Josh spoke for the first time since we’d been here. “You’re giving the fans the impression that you don’t give a shit about them. You’ve been missing signings and like Michael said you talk down to them. When we first started this band you took the time to speak with every fan individually and take pictures with each of them. What happened to that?!”
My eyes narrowed into slits at the blond haired male. “The band’s grown since those days.”

“That’s exactly the point we’re trying to make!” AJ sighed, rubbing his hand across his forehead in frustration. “You’ve let it all go to your head, man.”

“What was the point of holding this little meeting?” I sighed and sank back into my leather recliner. I surveyed the faces that stared back at me, expectantly.

That’s when my mom spoke up again. “We think it would be good for you if you stay with your Aunt Betty in Georgia for a little while. Just to get away from the city… ground you a little.”

“I don’t even know her,” I complained, angry at the way both my friends and family were ganging up on me.

“Get to know her. She’s your family, Tyler,” my dad replied in a stern voice.

“What about the album? We have an album to write,” I argued, my dad's words not registering in my head. It didn't even feel as if he had spoken.

“You can work on it there and we’ll work on it here,” Michael suggested. “We’ll call each other to see how the other is doing with it.”

“I’m not going,” I growled, defiantly. “You can’t make me. I’m 21. I can do whatever I’d like.”

“Tyler, you’re going,” Scout told me with narrowed eyes.

“You can’t make me.”

“Tyler, you’re going or you’re out of the band.”

My gaze snapped to look at Michael. “You can’t do that! This band would be nothing without me.”

“We can and we will,” Michael continued. “You’re a vocalist. You don’t think there aren’t a million of those in Cali? We can easily replace you.”

His words brought me to a stunned silence. Would they really kick me out of my own band? Scout and I formed this band together and they would be willing to drop me that easily. After a few more moments of my angry silence, I finally grumbled, “Fine, when are you shipping me out?”

“Tomorrow afternoon,” my mom replied, her normally soft and sweet face hard and uncaring. “We’ve booked your flight for three thirty and Betty will pick you up at the airport once you get there.”

“Sure. Whatever you say. Apparently all of you know what’s best for me better than I do.” I barely glanced at anyone as I rose to my feet and stormed up the stairs, slamming my door to let them know I was angry on my way to reluctantly pack for this trip.