I Guess I'll Never Get To Call You Mine
CHUCK
It took me about ten seconds to recognize who she is. I’ve been in a hurry today and hadn’t looked where I was going. Unfortunately, I ended up crashing heads-on to the person who happened to stand in my way, knocking her into the ground. “You’re the kid I met in Old Port,” I said in disbelief. “Oh hey! Chuck Comeau!” she beamed, not seeming to care she was sprawled all over the pavement. She had someone with her this time, another teenager, brown-haired and wide-eyed as she recognized me.
“Sorry about that,” I said, reaching out a hand to pull her up to her feet. “But listen, can you do me a favor?” “Um what?” She looked as if I’d asked her to dance the samba on the spot. I know, I know. Rock stars usually don’t ask fans for favors, but I haven’t got much time. “How old are you, kid?” “Seventeen.” “Can you drive?” “I have a learner’s permit.” “Good enough.” I handed her a business card. “I want you to go to the junkyard and pick up this vehicle I had the mechanic fix up. Then I want you to drive it to this address.” She took the card gingerly, staring at it if it were gold. “I’m probably going to hit a tree on the way and end up in a hospital, but I guess I can do that.” I hoped she was joking.
“Perfect. OK, now you...” I turned to her friend, who squeaked and pointed at herself, as if saying Me? “Yes, you,” I said, smiling at her. “If it’s not too much to ask, I need you to go to this restaurant and ask for the owner. Tell him that Chuck Comeau sent you and that you are to pick my order in my place. Then I’d like you to deliver it here…” I took out a scrap piece of paper from my packet and hastily scribbled a note. “Got it?” I said. The girls nodded, both staring at me and looking star struck.
“If you get everything ready by eight I’ll give you both backstage passes to a Simple Plan concert,” I said offered. “I’ll let you play with Seb’s Framus and touch Jeff’s head. You can steal David’s candles too if you like.” There was a pause. The dark-haired girl folded her arms and scoffed. “That’s it? I’m taking a big risk here. What if I break my neck driving? I don’t have insurance coverage you know.” “Good point,” he said. “What else do you want?” “A tour of the recording studio,” the girl piped up. “And an exclusive first look at your new album and—” “Pierre’s phone number,” her friend added. Geez kids are such good bargainers nowadays. “Oh fine!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air in defeat. “I’ll get into trouble for this but fine.” The brown-haired girl flashed me a grin. “Then it’s a deal.”
“Sorry about that,” I said, reaching out a hand to pull her up to her feet. “But listen, can you do me a favor?” “Um what?” She looked as if I’d asked her to dance the samba on the spot. I know, I know. Rock stars usually don’t ask fans for favors, but I haven’t got much time. “How old are you, kid?” “Seventeen.” “Can you drive?” “I have a learner’s permit.” “Good enough.” I handed her a business card. “I want you to go to the junkyard and pick up this vehicle I had the mechanic fix up. Then I want you to drive it to this address.” She took the card gingerly, staring at it if it were gold. “I’m probably going to hit a tree on the way and end up in a hospital, but I guess I can do that.” I hoped she was joking.
“Perfect. OK, now you...” I turned to her friend, who squeaked and pointed at herself, as if saying Me? “Yes, you,” I said, smiling at her. “If it’s not too much to ask, I need you to go to this restaurant and ask for the owner. Tell him that Chuck Comeau sent you and that you are to pick my order in my place. Then I’d like you to deliver it here…” I took out a scrap piece of paper from my packet and hastily scribbled a note. “Got it?” I said. The girls nodded, both staring at me and looking star struck.
“If you get everything ready by eight I’ll give you both backstage passes to a Simple Plan concert,” I said offered. “I’ll let you play with Seb’s Framus and touch Jeff’s head. You can steal David’s candles too if you like.” There was a pause. The dark-haired girl folded her arms and scoffed. “That’s it? I’m taking a big risk here. What if I break my neck driving? I don’t have insurance coverage you know.” “Good point,” he said. “What else do you want?” “A tour of the recording studio,” the girl piped up. “And an exclusive first look at your new album and—” “Pierre’s phone number,” her friend added. Geez kids are such good bargainers nowadays. “Oh fine!” I said, throwing my hands up in the air in defeat. “I’ll get into trouble for this but fine.” The brown-haired girl flashed me a grin. “Then it’s a deal.”