Backstage Pass
Page 16
Girly. Such a silly little name can lift my heart. Especially now.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, because it’s what I always ask. Even though nothing changes. My dad is doing what he always does, what he does best.
He sighs. “What do you think?”
“It’s easier, though, right? Writing without Faith here?”
“Yeah.” He breathes. “Actually, it is. I really don’t care anymore, Des. I can’t use her stuff. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with it. I’m sure she does really well and I wish her luck, but it’s just not me.” He shakes his head, looking down at his work again.
“I know.” Dad could never be Faith. Thank God for that! He is so much more. Dimensions and light-years and all that more.
For a while we’re quiet. I love how I can interrupt my dad while he’s writing, and he’s okay with it. Anybody else interrupts him, and they’ll have hell to pay. But he’s fine with me there, and I never get the sense he wants me out. It’s like I’m another layer of him, standing there, watching over him. And he knows it.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, baby,” he answers, crossing out in a graphite cloud the words he can’t seem to make clear.
“I know the whole thing with Faith was so the twenty-five-and-unders could identify with the music.”
He doesn’t look up. Just keeps writing. “Something like that, Des. It doesn’t matter anymore. If they can’t connect with my lyrics, that’s nobody’s fault.” Then he eyes me in that way he does when he really wants me to understand something. “Either they enjoy them, or they don’t. I can’t ask for anything more. We have to get back to what counts, the music, clicking, enjoying it for what it is, while we’re still together. If nobody buys into it, that’s their problem. I’ll still be at peace.”
Yes. He’s right. I totally get it.
“Still,” I say, “it’d be good to have some songs that young people can relate to, even if it’s just to get them to buy the CD, so they can hear the better songs, right? Like getting a foot in the door?”
“Yeah, that’s true, girly. You got it.”
“So…” God, I am crazy for doing this. So freakin’ crazy. “I don’t know what good this does, or if you can even use any of this crap, but here’s some stuff I wrote.”
His expression changes, pauses. He looks at me, trying to see me differently. “What stuff, hon?”
If I hand him these sheets, it’s all over. My private thoughts will end up in CD racks, cars, players, people’s minds everywhere. But I don’t care anymore. I kind of need for it to be out there.
“Well, the bracket you’re targeting, the twenty-five-and-unders, I think maybe they can relate to this. I mean, it’s all teen angst anyway,” I say, handing him my poems. He reaches for them, fingertips closing over the sheets softly.
Let go, Des. Let go. You can do it, girly.
I release my grip, and he begins to scan over them. I watch his expression, changing from faint smile to recognition, to guilt maybe, to connection. I can tell he’s connected with something, some words I wrote. He’s nodding.
“Girly,” he says with a smile. “This is wonderful.”
He loves them. The Almighty Flesh loves my poems! I don’t know why that surprises me. I mean, I’ve always known that my dad likes my writing, but still, this confirms it right here. I always kind of thought that maybe he was just saying it to encourage me, you know, like any parent should encourage the twinkling of a talent, but no.
Then his smile dampens. “Wonderful. But personal. I can’t use them, hon. Believe me, it means everything to me that you’re offering them, and I know how hard it must be for you to be doing this…but I have to write my own. You know, it’s—”
“A need. I know, Dad.” Whew, this is kind of a relief!
He looks down at them again, rereading. “They are beautiful, though, Des. Absolutely beautiful. You are so gifted, you know that?” He shakes his head like he can’t believe I wrote them.
“Dad, come on, all parents think that.”
“No, really. Truly, Desert. This,” he says, shuffling the sheets one behind the other, taking another look at the lines, “this is talent, hon. This makes me look bad. I have no doubt whatsoever that these words’ll be seen by millions of people someday. Whether you write songs or not.” He reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. “Thanks, girly, but save ’em. You’ll use ’em one day.”
Something in my heart breaks just then. I can’t explain it. I can feel my father’s acceptance. Acceptance that the time’s coming when he’ll need to let someone else be heard, someone with his voice, but different. Female maybe, twenty-three years younger, a different perspective, and yet the same.
I have no doubt that someone will be me.
And that means…I am in such deep shit, now. The world is gonna see these. My inner thoughts. Maybe not right away, but…holy crappy poems, Batman!
“Hey Dad,” I say. “Write whatever it takes to keep you guys going, okay?”
And if I have to tour along for another seventeen years, so be it. I’m fine with that.
That’s been my life in a nutshell anyway.
Chapter Thirty
Why can’t I take Moonlit Park with me? All these trees. This bench. Wrap them up and stuff them into the trucks. And Liam. I can smuggle Liam on bus two as a roadie. Now that would be a killer story for Adriana.
“At least you made it through one, whole school year.” Liam tries to make me feel better.
I grin and nod but can’t speak. I’m going to miss this boy. I mean, really miss him.
“What am I supposed to do without you for five months?” he asks, holding my waist with one hand and sliding his other along my ponytail.
“I dunno. Think of me?” I tilt my face up and stare into those baby blues. He’s killing me. Take a mental picture of him, Desert. Freeze it. Just like that.
“What if I wanna fly in to a show and surprise you? Will I find you with someone else?”
Right! “Not unless he’s your long-lost twin who came to surprise me first!”
He smiles and leans down to kiss me. I have to make this one last….
The next day Becca stands there, watching the crew load bus one. It’s rumbling and hissing, and I never realize how much I miss the smell of bus exhaust until we start a new tour. I know, I know…weird. And Becca looks like she wants to tag along too.
“I said good-bye to him last night.” I grab my pillow from a stack of suitcases. “Believe me, it wasn’t easy.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him for you,” she says, pushing her hair behind her ears.
“That’s okay. We agreed to stay friends. I can’t ask him to wait for me while I’m gone, Beck. If he’s not with someone else by the time I get back, then maybe we’ll hook up again. But I do love him. I told him that.”
She smiles her sad smile and looks away.
“Oh! I can’t believe I almost forgot.”
“What?” she says.
“Here, hold this a second.” I give her my backpack, my pillow, and my iPod. I run off to bus two and pull a flight case out of the luggage compartment.
Becca sees me coming back and smiles…none of that sorry, pained stuff but a real, big grin across her face.
I stand the guitar case on its edge in front of her. “J. C. left early this morning,” I say. “He said to give you this. It’s a Martin. Don’t ask me which model.”
Her eyes totally light up as she opens the latches to take a peek inside. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“I kid you not. It’s yours.”
She stands and rings her arm around me, pressing her cheek against mine, almost dropping my player in the process. “Thank you so much! I can’t believe him! Tell him I say thanks!”
“I’ll do that.” I love seeing her get all goofy like a little kid.
“So the last show is in Miami?” She lets go and hands me back my stuff.
“Yep. November tenth.”
&n
bsp; “Well, then…I guess we’ll see you there.” She smirks kind of awkward, and I know what she means. This is the real good-bye now. Becca’s eyes are all shiny.
Augh! I hate this. “Hey, stop it. I’ll be back. And I’ll be calling and e-mailing you guys all the time. Trust me.” I pull out an envelope from my backpack’s outer pocket and hand it to her.
“What’s this?” she asks, flipping it over in her hands.
“For the Miami show. For you and Liam. Two backstage passes.”
She nods, and we hug real hard for the last time. I turn around and step onto the bus. At the top step I look at Becca again, her rotten sneakers, the guitar at her feet. “Later.”
She flashes me a peace sign.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to the following people for their invaluable contributions to this book: Steven Chudney, Leann Heywood, Joyce Sweeney, Michael, Mom, Dad, Oscar, Oliver and Fermin González, Saundra Rubiera, Adrienne Sylver, Chris and Devin Núñez, Marjetta Geerling, Danielle Joseph, Linda Rodriguez Bernfeld, Susan Shamon, Liz Trotta, Elaine Landau, Mari Locklin, Sue Van Wassenhove, Marian Sneider, Ruth Vander Zee, Eduardo Figueredo, Isabel Avendaño, Joan Sánchez, Graciela Triana, Brigette Triana, and Nana. Without you all, I would still be writing stories in my head instead of on paper.
About the Author
GABY TRIANA lives in Miami with her son, Michael; dog, Chewy; and two cats named Disney and Luke (Skywalker). Her life ambitions include making the world’s best sugar cookie and meeting Bono of U2. Her second novel, CUBANITA, is also available from HarperCollins.
You can visit Gaby online at www.gabytriana.com
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Also by Gaby Triana
Cubanita
Credits
Cover art © 2005 by Michael Storrings
Cover design by Sasha Illingworth
Cover © 2005 by HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
Copyright
BACKSTAGE PASS. Copyright © 2004 by Gabriela González. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub © Edition SEPTEMBER 2009 ISBN: 9780061883316
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