Rain on My Parade

I stood outside, clutching my parka closer to my body in an attempt to save body heat. My brother, Dylan, told me to wait on the front porch while he brought his car around. We were up much too early, for my taste, on a Sunday in March. I was not to be bothered often at 7am, so there wasn't much to complain about. It was the New England weather that was spoiling my mood.

He whipped his ride up to the sidewalk and unrolled the window.

"Cars clean. Sorry. Come on."

Leave it to him to be embarrassed by a trashy vehicle. Since we were kids, Dylan had always had a thing about cleanliness, especially towards strangers. You'd think, being a roadie, he would've been the total opposite. I, on the other hand, was graced by the god of unorganized. The one thing, I was sure, that Dylan could absolutely not stand about me.

"Pretty sure my legs are dying," I said, slamming the car door behind me. "All so you can hide your secrets. Tsk tsk."

He shifted into first gear and said, "oh yeah, I bet you were wondering what I hid underneath my seat."

"McDonald's or Wendy's? What a mystery." I snorted. "Where are we off to anyway? It's a bit too early for band stuff, yeah?"

"No. I got you something."

"Oh... Interesting. All right."

He grinned, looking over at me while we stopped at a red light. "Don't worry, sis. I'm hooking you up with a job before you go back to school. Let's just say I'm the best big bro ever."

"If it requires me to be up before 9am, this isn't going to end well for either of us."

"Not nine but a little later," he flicked the radio on and changed it to 100.1. I had already assumed I was going to one of his work's meetings. Before the bands go on tour, it is essential of all road crew to meet a few times for organizing. Making sure the transportation is all set and running. Checking in with venues, testing the equipment, including electronics. And the most important: making sure the band members are one hundred percent to be on the road.

No later than ten minutes, we pulled up to a large, plain building, something you'd miss in every day traffic. A couple of cars were close knit together out front, but other than that, it seemed a bit dreary. He parked his Mazda in the spot closest to the front door and I checked my hair out in the side mirror. Lookin' half dead with some bed head. Nice.

"Don't worry," Dylan said. "I parked close enough to the door so if you need to bolt, for fangirling reasons, here she is."

I shoved him and he playfully shoved me back. "Hate to burst your bubble, but if we're at a tech meeting, I'm already used to this shit."

"We'll see."

I tried keeping up with my brother but fell behind him as we walked into the building. And it was not just crew. Oh how wrong I was. I had recognized Of Mice & Men first, hanging off to the side nearest to breakfast. I slowed, and Dylan caught on by the sound of my fading footsteps.
He walked backwards to meet me and said, "oh yeah, this is the final meeting before actual touring begins. Keep up, Nat. Almost there. Don't quit on me yet." I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. This wasn't the first time I was in this position. At least I didn't think so... What was I so anxious about? Just normal guys playing some music for a certain demographic. Just normal, attractive, men around my age, just using their talents to enthrall people. I was starting to make a big deal out of nothing when we hit a long, white table covered in piles of papers. Behind it was a scrawny looking fellow, whom I definitely didn't recognize.

"Hey Dylan, long time no see." They shook hands and then he focused his attention on me. "This your sister?"

"Yep, the one and only. Natalia. She's going back to college in the Fall."

"Cool, cool. Let me grab your paperwork and everything should be all set for Wednesday." He handed Dylan and I stacks of two separate colors. Green and blue. I glanced over at Dylan who was giving me the biggest shit eating grin of his life.

"Before you look at that, let's sit somewhere." He brought us over to another set of tables, but more pens than paperwork decorated the surfaces. I sat down and finally looked over what I was getting myself into.

-Merchandise Manager-

"What the hell is this?" I whispered, and suddenly I felt hot. Merchandise manager was the more professional title for merch person. And I had heard some horror stories of the women who were involved in this section. Over the years, it was apparent that you were not to get tangled up with this job, even if offered by the sweetest, most innocent person on tour. And I knew everyone thought it was a joke, thanks to Dylan and his fat mouth.

"Nat, please," he said, soaking in my reaction. "The head called out last week. She's got some family problems and I knew you were looking for some work. They needed somebody last minute."

I seethed. "As a merch girl? Are you kidding? I thought I was going to work with you on stage. This job has the worst reputation out of everything."

"Don't be ungrateful." He looked down at his own paperwork and began to write. "You don't even have to apply. You're already there."

"I'm not ungrateful," I groaned. I couldn't be, because he was right in a way. I didn't have to apply for a boring job and wait a few weeks to hear back. This was already in the bag, and I was going to make money as soon as tour began. Money was nice, but everything else that came along with this position was not.

"All I'm saying is if you say you can't do it, then I'll go tell Tyler now but he's going to be stressed out and very disappointed." Dylan gave me a sideways glance and watched my face falter. Ah, another downfall of my character. Getting sucked into things because I was terrified of other people's disappointment. "You have nothing to do for the next five months. Make money while sitting on your ass. Listen to good music and hang out with some chill people."

I hesitated as I clicked the pen vigorously, something I did as a nervous habit. I decided I might as well read the rest of the information, holding my breath as I skimmed.

-for the band: Bring Me The Horizon-

-Hourly pay: $11 per hour, plus commission-

"Okay, the pay rate is pretty good," I whispered to my brother, who ignored me as he continued writing. "Bring Me The Horizon is okay. All right, maybe it's not too bad."

"Are you going to write your name on the dotted line yet or do I have to do it for you?" Clearly irritated, he grabbed my paper and hovered over the line with his pen.

"Do it. But write your own name," I grinned, taking the paper back from him. He rolled his eyes, sick of my obvious mood changes. I was trying to make light of this situation, only because I didn't see much of a way out. Out of all the years Dylan went on tour, I was never able to go because of other commitments I had. I used to say how I wished I could try it just once, know what it's like to go on tour and meet new people around my age. I had accomplished new friends in college, but only a select few had stayed with me through my third year. I was never around people who played music for a living though. There must be a completely different vibe to their character.

"When you're done, we'll go over and meet the band. I need to talk to their bus driver and sort some things out." Dylan got up and walked back over to Tyler, paperwork in hand.

I watched him, suddenly nervous, and looked back down. The rest of the information was about legal issues. You know, no freebies for your friends (or yourself). No price cuts for those without enough cash, etc. It was a business, I got it. But inside, I was genuinely scared to be around those girls. Most of them had experienced touring as if they were born from a venue's womb. The fighting, the gossip, the fact that most of them would sleep with whoever in whatever band just to say that they did. It wasn't the best environment, but as I signed my name on the dotted line, I began to embrace the change. Just because they were like that, who said I'd have to be too?