Beautiful Tragedy

I swung the microphone around my hand as Quinn strummed the final chord of our new song triumphantly; it was the first time we’d finished it without making any mistakes.

“That was amazing,” Jeph grinned, wiping tiny beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “I think it’s the one!”

“You say that every time” Quinn laughed, collapsing into an old armchair that we’d had since we were teenagers, gratefully taking the beer Branden offered.

“But I get the feeling…I know this is it,” Jeph paused, looking at us all in turn. “It’s our time to shine, guys”

I giggled at him and his bright eyes shining enthusiasm before looking around our crowded old garage; the amps, instruments and chairs scattered across the room. The walls covered in posters of bands we loved or graffiti-ed ones of those we hated. Alongside those were scrap piexes of paper showing scribbled lyrics, song ideas or messages to each other.

I’d never forget this place. No matter what may have become of my life, I doubted ever feeling more at home and happy than being at band practice in Jephs garage.

”Bert!”

I was snapped out of my trance-like state by Branden’s loud clap in my face.

“Huh? What?” Not completely registering what was happening – much to the amusement of Quinn who was giggling like an idiot in the corner.

“Your phone’s ringing.”

Finally recognizing the vibration of my phone on the table, I snatched it up and held it to my ear.

“Bert? It’s John…”

“Oh! Hey John!” I grinned, watching my three closest friends stop their conversation and stare at me. Each now perching on the edge of their seat as if it would help them hear what John was saying.

“Listen, I’m in a bit of a rush, but I was just wondering if you could do me a favor…Hang on,” He started, I nodded into the phone and smiled at Branden cheekily as I heard Johns muffled shout and the sounds of a busy studio through the phone. “Sorry, I’m with you again.”

“So, what was this favor?” My curiosity too intense for idle small talk.

“Band I know, short of a roadie. I know you know the basics and I’ll make sure you get paid. Basically you’ll be a member of the crew”

“When is it?” I asked, thinking of the gigs Quinn had just got confirmed in some local venues in October.

“Well, the thing is…The tour starts Monday. That’s why they’re so desperate. Someone pulled out at the last minute>”

“I reckon I could do that” I Smiled, thinking of the free meals, the contacts I’d meet and the wad of cash I’d receive at the end.

“Do what?” Jeph asked, his face a picture of pure impatience.

Swatting my hand at him in a ‘shoo!’ gesture, I stood and walked towards the garage doors – feeling three pairs of eyes following my every move.

Lighting a fag, I listened to John talking to someone in the background and waited for his attention.

“So you’ll do it? Great,” His voice clicked clearly back into the conversation, “I’ll ring you later with all the details; im real busy right now.” He rushed, and I chuckled as I imagined him sitting at his desk, running a hand through his hair in exasperation as everyone ran riot around him.

“That’s cool. I’m sure I could fit your phone call into my extremely busy schedule.”

I spluttered at his sarcastic laugh, and just as he was about to end the conversation, a question struck me.

“John?”

“What, Bert?” Again, an exasperated sigh.

“Which band is it?” I inhaled deeply as I waited for an answer.

“My Chemical Romance.”