RockFan
1
As the rain poured down outside my window I laid in my bed, under the covers, overtaken with grief. My father, my last surviving relative, was dead. Three days ago, a healthy man in only his early seventies, he was struck on a crosswalk by a speeding car. This morning I had stood in a cemetery with a priest, my one and only best friend, Sara, and the gravedigger. Growing up I heard the story of how my father was born during a terrific thunderstorm, and today he was buried in the cool September rain.
My boss had called and left a message on my voicemail, giving his condolences and telling me to take as much time as I needed. I wondered how true that statement was, what if my depression kept me in bed for a month? I don't think I could stay away for more than a week anyway, tackling chaos and conducting interviews for RockFan magazine could be blissfully distracting from personal pain. I would get out of bed tomorrow morning at 5 am, and I would be at my desk by 7.
*
"Adrienne?" I heard my boss, Tim, call my name from behind me. I spun around in my chair to face him.
"Morning, Tim," I said, hoping he wouldn't ask too many questions about how I've been doing the past week.
"Did you get my message, that if you need time-"
"I did," I cut in, and rarely did I interrupt Tim purely out of respect, "Thank-you, but I'd rather stay busy."
He nodded, "I understand completely, I was the same when I lost my father. Look, if you need anyone to talk to, about anything...I'm here."
I forced a weak smile and nodded, "Thanks. Now update me on what I've been missing."
Tim chuckled, "Well, it's exciting."
Exciting? Tim must've booked a pretty big band to interview if he's excited. RockFan magazine was fairly new, and most of the bands we covered and interviewed were local, indie, or both. We didn't get many huge name acts such as U2 or even Blink-182; we didn't have nearly the amount of cred that Rolling Stone or Spin had. So, for Tim to be excited he must've scored an interview with somebody arena-worthy.
"Exciting how?" I asked.
"Remember Dookie, by Green Day?" Tim was grinning.
"Sure, loved it," I replied.
"Well, they're about to release another album, American Idiot."
"Yeah, I've heard. Rolling Stone reviewed it already, said it was going to be the biggest album of the year."
"Uh-huh. So, guess who's booked an interview with Green Day?" Tim's fingers were fidgeting madly, he was trying so hard to contain his giddiness.
"Oh my fuck," I said, covering my mouth in shock, "You're shitting me?!"
Tim laughed, "No! It's real. Apparently they have a sentimental love for Minnesota, 'cause they did a lot of gigs here in their early days, and they want to give back to the underground community. I told their manager were pretty indie and underground, the band agreed."
"I can't believe this," I said, shaking my head. Was I dreaming? Did I really get out of bed this morning? Was Tim really in my dream? I pinched my arm, hard, and winced. I think I'm really awake, I thought.
"I know, right? So, now, guess who's interviewing them?" Tim was beaming at me. I was pretty sure he was saying I would interview one of the biggest bands of the nineties, but I didn't want to get my hopes up.
"Who?"
"Don't play dumb. You! You're my best writer, Adrienne, this mag would've died out two years ago if it wasn't for you."
"Tim, RockFan IS only two years old."
"Precisely," he said.
My boss had called and left a message on my voicemail, giving his condolences and telling me to take as much time as I needed. I wondered how true that statement was, what if my depression kept me in bed for a month? I don't think I could stay away for more than a week anyway, tackling chaos and conducting interviews for RockFan magazine could be blissfully distracting from personal pain. I would get out of bed tomorrow morning at 5 am, and I would be at my desk by 7.
*
"Adrienne?" I heard my boss, Tim, call my name from behind me. I spun around in my chair to face him.
"Morning, Tim," I said, hoping he wouldn't ask too many questions about how I've been doing the past week.
"Did you get my message, that if you need time-"
"I did," I cut in, and rarely did I interrupt Tim purely out of respect, "Thank-you, but I'd rather stay busy."
He nodded, "I understand completely, I was the same when I lost my father. Look, if you need anyone to talk to, about anything...I'm here."
I forced a weak smile and nodded, "Thanks. Now update me on what I've been missing."
Tim chuckled, "Well, it's exciting."
Exciting? Tim must've booked a pretty big band to interview if he's excited. RockFan magazine was fairly new, and most of the bands we covered and interviewed were local, indie, or both. We didn't get many huge name acts such as U2 or even Blink-182; we didn't have nearly the amount of cred that Rolling Stone or Spin had. So, for Tim to be excited he must've scored an interview with somebody arena-worthy.
"Exciting how?" I asked.
"Remember Dookie, by Green Day?" Tim was grinning.
"Sure, loved it," I replied.
"Well, they're about to release another album, American Idiot."
"Yeah, I've heard. Rolling Stone reviewed it already, said it was going to be the biggest album of the year."
"Uh-huh. So, guess who's booked an interview with Green Day?" Tim's fingers were fidgeting madly, he was trying so hard to contain his giddiness.
"Oh my fuck," I said, covering my mouth in shock, "You're shitting me?!"
Tim laughed, "No! It's real. Apparently they have a sentimental love for Minnesota, 'cause they did a lot of gigs here in their early days, and they want to give back to the underground community. I told their manager were pretty indie and underground, the band agreed."
"I can't believe this," I said, shaking my head. Was I dreaming? Did I really get out of bed this morning? Was Tim really in my dream? I pinched my arm, hard, and winced. I think I'm really awake, I thought.
"I know, right? So, now, guess who's interviewing them?" Tim was beaming at me. I was pretty sure he was saying I would interview one of the biggest bands of the nineties, but I didn't want to get my hopes up.
"Who?"
"Don't play dumb. You! You're my best writer, Adrienne, this mag would've died out two years ago if it wasn't for you."
"Tim, RockFan IS only two years old."
"Precisely," he said.