“Miranda drove all the way from our hometown in Rotterdam to be here tonight,” I told the crowd. “Everyone say, ‘Thanks, Miranda.’”
The crowd responded, “THANKS, Miranda.”
“By the way,” Steve chimed in, “we almost died on the way here. Derrick almost drove us into a head-on collision.”
Someone in the crowd yelled, “Fuck you, Derrick!”
The band and the crowd all laughed.
“Aw, come on,” I said. “Derrick’s a good guy for helping us play the show last minute. Also he had a tough initiation, so cut him some slack.”
“Initiation?” said Wolf. “What are you talking about, Gray?”
“Oh, Steve didn't tell you? We made Derrick pick a cherry up off the ground with his bare ass cheeks and drop it in a cup across the street. Like literally across the street in front of Green 90 tonight.”
“That's a truth.” Steve sipped his Rum&Coke. “That is a truth, my friends.”
“Aw, that's nasty!” said Wolf.
As the crowd laughed, the head of Wolf’s guitar bumped his microphone hard enough to fall out of the stand. It very slowly glided toward the ground as the attached microphone cable followed it like a bungee cord.
The whole band watched it happen in what seemed like slow motion. We all anticipated a larger impact, but the microphone simply landed gently on the stage, causing a THUD throughout the venue speakers.
“Whoops.” Wolf uneventfully picked it up and placed it back in its stand.
Pac-Man’s voice boomed over the intercom between the sound booth and the stage.
“Yeah, you can come kiss my ring after the show. But I’ll let that one slide.”
We all paused for a second and looked at each other.
“Steve,” I whispered.
Steve walked up to his microphone. “This song’s called ‘Attack!’”
He played an intro riff on his guitar; then we all came in with force.
“Political scum,
reaching for their guns!
They try to teach a lesson.
Everybody run!
We try to fuckin’ act, but they only hold us back!
It’s honest politicians and freedom that we lack!
* * *
They want to push us, we’ll push back!
Time for attack! Time for attack!
They want to push us, we’ll push back!
Time for attack! Time for attack!
* * *
Stomp the fuckin’ protest,
It turns into a riot!
Tear gas sprayed on the innocent and harmless.
Rubber bullets bounce, but the mental image stays.
The police believe that they have the right of way!”
A circle pit spooled up in the middle of the crowd. The kids in front started singing along.
Wolf was struggling to shake off Pac-Man’s comment. He looked around at the monitors surrounding him, growing increasingly frustrated with Pac-Man’s list of rules. They weren’t ruining the show for us. We were in the process of killing it. We’d come so far and put so much on the line to play this show, and for the fucking sake of it all, we were actually pulling it off. Something was just digging into Wolf about that bullshit pre-show meeting and the way we had been treated since we arrived at Green 90.
We were all feeling it. Anger FM was nowhere to be found. Instead, they’d sent their asshole tour manager to treat us like shit. The only way we weren’t going down in flames was if Pac-Man thought to keep his fucking mouth shut...and goddammit did we almost make it to the finish line before he opened it.
All of us were pissed off, and Wolf just happened to be the first to crack.
Unable to contain his anger any longer, Wolf kicked his microphone stand straight off of the stage, into the crowd.
The kids in the front grabbed the microphone out of the stand and started singing into it while the band continued playing.
Steve and I exchanged looks. We both knew there was no way to stop the chaos. Steve laughed, then turned around and jumped on one of the floor monitors in front of him.
I was panicking. Pac-Man was going to pull the plug any second, and I was trying to figure out how the hell we could get out of the place as fast as possible with all of our gear and merch.
A kid climbed onto the stage, then crowd-surfed off. The kids singing into Wolf's microphone pulled on it so hard the cord broke. Derrick was laser focused on not messing up his drum parts.
Wolf and Steve had huge smiles—these guys who pissed me the fuck off so much but had given me a second chance when I had bailed on them years ago. The two pains in my ass that I traveled with and played more shows with than I could ever remember. The only guys I wrote songs with. The only guys I ever really rocked with. Two guys who will forever be the only people on this planet that stood onstage with me and sang these songs and shared my vision. They knew the struggle and the suffering. We’d shared the same dreams since we were kids, and here we were playing the biggest show of our lives and going straight to hell for it apparently.
I looked into the crowd, our crowd. The crowd we had earned. The crowd we had won over. The crowd that came to see AngerFM but were now throwing down for us Rotterdam punks. They didn’t know the behind-the-scenes bullshit. They weren’t able to hear what Pac-Man said. For all they knew this was all part of the show.
I looked over at Nico—my brother, who walked beside me to hell and back no matter what. Who came all this way just to hang out and support me. He always knew best; and honestly, if he had given me the signal to get the fuck out of there, I would have unplugged my bass and started running. But he didn’t. Instead, he flashed me a look that said, “Are you good?” I grinned and shrugged toward Nico. He shrugged back. Yeah. I was good. I was fucking great.
I turned around and jumped on Derrick’s bass drum. He laughed and gave me a quick fist bump; then I jumped off. Wolf and Steve saw me joining in, and we all ramped up our antics.
Wolf spit into the crowd a big nasty loogie that landed right on Crow Mask Girl's beak. Her friend appeared to genuinely think that was awesome.
Pac-Man tried to make good on his promise to remove us from the stage. Nico spotted him in the crowd and rushed to cut him off. When Pac-Man got within a few feet of Wolf, he lunged at his feet as Nico completely blindsided Pac-Man, slamming him to the ground. Nico disappeared into the circle pit, and Pac-Man never knew what hit him.
I never saw such a shitshow in my life. The crowd was booing and screaming. Miranda was crying excessively. Then the sound system was completely turned off and the house lights came on. I had a sudden glimpse of clarity, realizing how bad we’d fucked up. Wolf and Steve were laughing.
We hustled through the back, heads down, carrying the last of our gear while Ben Watts unloaded on us.
“...and don't think about ever coming back to my club, you motherfucking pieces of shit! You're BANNED.”
He slammed the back door to Green 90 on us.
“Well, no shit,” I murmured.
The back door suddenly cracked back open.
“COCKSUCKERS!”
Then it slammed back shut.
* * *
Derrick, Nico, and Ryder were helping me pack our cars.
“Got everything?” I asked Nico.
“Pretty sure.”
“Thanks for body checking that fucker.”
“That guy had it coming.”
Steve took a drunken stumble toward the back door. I stepped in his path.
“Whoa. We can't go back in there, buddy.”
“Miranda wants me to meet her friends. Let me in there. Blow Job City.”
“I'm pretty sure Miranda is having a mental breakdown. Besides, the bouncers won't let us back inside. You'll get another chance.” I said.
“Ahh, fucking...stupid fucking America, fuckin’ bullshit...I’m an American, fuck you,” Steve rambled.
“Where is Wolf?”
“He’s over yonder, takin’ a piss...like an Am
erican!”
Wolf was around the corner wasted, urinating on the side of Green 90. He leaned against the wall, resting his head drunkenly on one arm, then yelled,
“Stars and stripes, motherfucker!” and swung his other hand in a fist, breaking a small window slightly above his head.
“Your boy is buggin,” Nico said.
“Wolf, get in the fucking car!” I yelled.
Ryder ran toward Wolf.
“Yo, look!” Ryder shouted as he peered into the window.
We all walked over. The broken window allowed a view into the green room AngerFM was hiding in all night. We could make out members of AngerFM snorting lines of powder and having sex with the two girls from the woods. The Crow Mask Girl was still wearing it, screaming,
“CAWWWW, CACAWWW!”
“Aw, man…” Steve was offended. “I fucking hate this place!”
“We really need to get the fuck out of here,” I said.
* * *
I guided Steve and Wolf into Derrick's van like a police officer so they didn’t hit their heads on the way in.
“How much did we get paid?” Steve asked.
“We didn't. I had to give the promoter some of our merch money to cover the cost of the broken microphone cord too.”
“Ah. It was worth it. American citizens of the United States of America. Fuckin’ pussies. Fuck this pile of shit place.”
“AngerFM can suck my dick!” Wolf added.
“Definitely. Fuck those guys,” I said. “Don't forget to call out of the Airport before it's too late, Steve.”
I closed the van door, then walked over to my station wagon. Ryder had the wheel; Nico sat in the back. I rolled into the passenger seat, exhausted.
“We're all set, man,” I told Ryder. “Give Derrick a honk when you’re ready and he’ll follow you.”
Nico tapped me on the shoulder with his cell phone.
“Yo.”
I looked over. “Who’s that?”
“Freddy.”
Twenty-One
Home
We pulled out of Green 90’s parking lot, then turned back onto the long dark road in the woods that brought us there. I took the cell from Nico.
“Yo,” I answered.
“Yo, buddy, what’s up? How was your show?” Freddy asked.
“Ugh. Not great. We kind of blew it and got kicked out. We’re leaving right now actually.”
“Aw, damn. That’s no good. Sorry to hear that, brother man. That why you wasn’t answering your phone?” Freddy asked.
“My phone fell out of Derrick’s window and got run over by a car. It’s been a really long day.”
“Damn, son. Well, I’ll let you go in a second, but I just wanted to tell you I fixed that situation with my girl.”
“Really? Last I heard she was destroying your car at Chris’s house.”
“Oh, yeah, no—yeah that car is destroyed. Forget that car, son. That car is fuckin’ bye-bye. But here’s how I’m gonna get that bitch back!”
“Hold on. I’m putting you on speaker quick.”
Nico and Ryder were all ears.
“Alright. So what happened?”
“OK. So like I was saying,” Freddy continued, “that car is fucked. Shoulda called the cops, but I thought maybe she’d spin some bullshit story that would make me look like the bad guy and somehow my ass would end up gettin' cuffed. So fuck that.”
“Right.”
“So I did this bitch dirty-dirty, son. I started telling her everything she wanted to hear. Told her I was wrong for using her computer to watch porn instead of doing homework. Told her I loved her. Told her no tranny in the world could ever replace her. She started calming down, right? So I said, ‘Fuck the car; we can worry about that later’ and convinced her to go back to her place with me to talk this out.”
I stared out of my window into the darkness of Vermont.
“OK. So then what happened?” I asked.
“We get back there, and I start laying on the Caldwell charm. Give her a little back rub and start kissin’ on her neck and whatnot. She wants it, right, so I put her through every position I could think of—and when I finally came, I busted the thickest, nastiest rope of baby boogers so deep in that skank’s pussy that I fucking guarantee she got pregnant.”
“What?!”
Nico was laughing in the back seat. “Are you fucking for real right now?”
“Dude, why would you get that crazy girl pregnant on purpose?” I asked.
“Oh, trust me, dude,” Freddy said. “I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. What I’m gonna do is, once she’s passed out on three Smirnoff Ices, I’m gonna call Chris to come pick me up with all my shit. Then I’m gonna go buy a new SIM card, change my number, and never talk to that bitch ever again for the rest of my life!”
“Oh my fucking god, Freddy. Jesus fucking Christ, man.”
“Yeahhh! How you like me now, bitch? Have fun raising my baby, baby!”
“Freddy,” Nico said, “what happens when she comes after you for child support?”
“Oh. Well...she’ll have to find me first. She ain’t gonna get it, son!”
“So you are going to let your kid, Freddy Jr., grow up poor and have that crazy bitch for a mom?”
“Well, no. I mean, it’s not really like that...I don’t know, son. I didn’t think about that part really.”
“Oh man. I don’t know if this was the best plan here, brother,” I told Freddy.
Freddy paused.
“Oh shit. Ohhhh shit. Ohhhh no. I fucked up. Oh, I fucked up bad! Shit.”
We heard Freddy rummaging around through drawers and cabinets.
“I know this idiot has a Plan B pill somewhere in this house. Fuck. Where the fuck is it? Yo, I gotta go, guys. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later, man. Good luck.”
I handed the phone back to Nico. He was wearing a headband with a red LED light, looking like a coal miner while rummaging through a lock box full of weed and money.
“You might want to close that up before we hit the highway,” I said.
“Nah, we're good. All we have left is weed and a little acid. Ryder sold all the coke and pills to AngerFM.”
Nico counted a large stack of money.
“Alright, then,” I laughed. “Let's get the fuck out of here.”
I didn’t have the patience to lug the gear back to Steve's. Once we got off the Schenectady exit, our caravan split ways. Finally, we pulled up to Nico’s house.
“I gotta piss,” Ryder said. “Later, Gray. Hit us up tomorrow, brother.”
“I will. Thanks for coming, dude.”
Ryder headed inside. Nico and I stood on the sidewalk underneath the streetlights. The cool, clear summer air reminded me of the night we’d walked to South Gate and got robbed.
“So anyway...” Nico said.
“So anyway,” I sighed, “what a disaster. I'm not sure how much longer I can do this.”
“You can do whatever you want for as long as you want, Gray. But you can’t do anything without learning to prioritize your shit first.”
“I know. I gotta get serious. I need a backup plan. I just don't know what. Wolf has his dad's business. Steve is quitting the airport soon to be full-time at the gym. Maybe I'll become an engineer so I can design the bridge I'm going to jump off of when Natalie dumps me.”
“Yeah, that too. Don't feel sorry for yourself if that happens. Natalie has already given you enough time to figure your shit out. Life is hard, Gray. She wants security. And skipping town at the drop of a hat to get kicked off stages isn't it. See how you had all of these people to count on to try to make today happen and it still went to shit? Meanwhile, the only person to fuck up her plans today, was you.”
“Fuck...Fuuuuck.”
I felt so much guilt come over me.
“Yeah. That’s what they say, though, right? You gotta face the music at some point,” Nico said.
“I know.”
“Wh
atever happens, me and Ryder-die over here will hit you up tomorrow.”
“Alright. Sounds good, brother.” We shook hands, throwing an arm around each other. “See you tomorrow.”
I walked toward my car. Nico started walking away.
“Yo, tomorrow we’ll try to get that paint off your car!” he yelled.
“I kinda like it!” I yelled back.
“Good. Get home safe. Love you.”
“I love you, too, Nico.”
I started my car, adjusted the rearview mirror, and took off toward Natalie’s apartment in silence.
Natalie was aggressively picking up around her apartment, hair still wet from the shower, wearing shorts and a T-shirt as pajamas. She heard a car pulling into her complex and spotted my station wagon through her window.
She quickly checked her hair in the mirror next to her front door, then ran over to her couch, threw a blanket over her legs, and pretended to be in the middle of a paperback. She could hear my footsteps coming up the stairs.
When I got to her door, I knocked. Natalie didn’t answer. I knocked again. This time, the lock clicked and the door swung open. Natalie was already halfway back to the couch as I walked in.
“You have a key,” she said.
“I'm sorry.”
“I was reading a book.”
“No, I'm sorry. For today, I mean.”
“Are you? Then why haven't you returned any of my calls?”
“My phone got run over by a car.”
“Your phone got run over by a car? Really, Gray? Why would I believe that?”
“Because it happened. Look.”
I opened my backpack, pulling out the pieces of my phone.
“How do I know you aren't lying?” Natalie asked.
“Trust me?”
“Like I trusted you to help me today after you fucking promised you would?!”
“I said I was sorry!”
“Nice to fucking meet you, Sorry!” Natalie began to cry. “I'm Natalie…Grayson's stupid fucking girlfriend he doesn't give a shit about!”
Trouble Bored Page 13