No Way Back Today

by Eric Shoars

  It’s just after six. Jared and Ani are with Julie and me on the deck. It’s been months since we’ve been able to spend time together. The grill has worked its usual magic and the four of us are enjoying steak, corn on the cob, and zucchini. It’s a perfect evening to be dining out. Outside, that is.

  I’d spent the time between my morning coffee and firing up the grill making notes and plans to be able to submit the requested official proposal to our potential sponsor. Scenario planning will be key if I’m to pull this off. But, coming back to Aniko, it is clear I have not shared what I’ve been up to since talking to her class. First, another bite of the steak I’ve grilled. Mmm.

  I take another run at getting Ani to comprehend what I’ve trying to get across. “Remember when I spoke to your class about my rock and roll dream going down the tubes? Well, I decided to track down Todd, Laurel, and Lorelei to find out if they wanted to kick start the rock and roll dream.” Another bite of steak then I continue.

  “Hired a freelancer to write some songs, did research on possible venues, hired Nick to teach me how to play drums, and now we’ll see what happens.”

  Aniko waves her hands in a motion suggesting she’s trying to shoo flies. “Stop. Hold it.” She brings her hands down and takes a deep breath. “You’re actually doing this? You’re going to tour as a band? A band. This is happening? How did I not know about this?”

  A quick swallow so I don’t talk with my mouth full and then, “Maybe. I got everyone together a couple weeks ago to share the idea and, well, let’s say the reactions were mixed.

  “We got kicked out of an Applebee’s in Ames because the other guy in the group took offense to one of the songs that was inspired by his life,” Julie interrupts.

  Aniko looks at me, “This is crazy! Are you going through a mid-life crisis or something?”

  I frown. “No, dear sister, I am not having a mid-life crisis. I just have some unfinished business and hopefully the other three feel they do as well.” I let all that sink in by taking another bite and waiting till I’ve swallowed it before continuing. “As to why you didn’t know about it, I asked Julie, Nicole, Ashley, and Nick to keep it under the radar.”

  “Kind of like an item on a bucket list,” Jared offers, inserting himself into this conversation for the first time. Jared, ironically, is a band teacher in the same school district as Ani. He stands slightly taller than me. He’s slender in build, helped by being an avid biker. The pedal kind.

  “Exactly, except you know how I feel about bucket lists,” I answer.

  “We are all well aware how you feel about bucket lists,” Julie says with an eye roll.

  “Yes, bucket lists are focused on things to do before you die...why not be focused on what to do while you’re alive,” Aniko repeats my feelings on the subject she’s heard many times. “Yes, we know.”

  “Are the songs up to snuff?” Jared asks, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Do you think you can actually pull a band together this fast and start a tour so soon?”

  “They’re superb. I gave my freelancer the subject of the song and a sentence or two and she worked her magic.” Another bite. “I’m hoping we get to play them.”

  “When will you know if the others are going to join you in this band thing?” Aniko asks.

  “Keep your fingers crossed...” before I can finish my thought my cell phone dings, alerting that a text has come in. Our rule is no phones at the table but I’d kept mine in my pocket just in case one or all three friends try to get in touch tonight. “Excuse me,” I say to the fam, “gotta check this.”

  Laurel: Skype @ 7 tonight? 3 of us r here. Need 2 talk.

  My reply is in the affirmative. Two seconds after I hit send on my text back I get a thumbs up emoji from Laurel to confirm we’re a go. I look up from my phone and announce, “I’m going have to step away for a few minutes at seven. The three are apparently in one place and want to Skype so I’ll find out what the next move is then.”

  “If there is a next move,” Jared says. “This is such a remote possibility.”

  “If there is a next move,” I repeat.

  “Oh stop it, Jared,” Ani scolds seeming to have a change of heart. “I know I’ve been skeptical tonight but Eric has made it this far with his idea so you never know what could happen.”

  “I’m just being real,” Jared responds. “A band doesn’t happen out of nowhere. These people have lives. Maybe they don’t have the emotional investment in this that Eric has. I’m not trying to rain on the parade but it’s true. These things aren’t just done on a whim.”

  “I was there the night Eric told them,” Julie declares. “They were shocked by it at first but by the end of the evening they seemed to be considering it. Eric did a great job of putting together a business plan that showed them how serious he is.”

  “You do realize how preposterous all of this sounds, don’t you?” Jared presses. “For someone like Eric who conceived the idea and has been putting together all the details over time, sure, it makes sense. But to anyone else, it’s...out there.” Jared is nothing if not practical and rooted in logic. He’s not one to throw caution to the wind. That would be me.

  “You do realize,” comes from me dripping with venom, “you sound like you’re channeling Mr. Tripolino.”

  Everything stops as Julie, Ani, and Jared catch the meaning, the tone, and my death stare. I understand very well how nonsensical this quest seems but all I’m hearing is another music teacher telling me I’m not good enough. And I have had enough of that. Seconds of silence tick away as no one knows how to respond to my conversation stopper.

  The tumbler of iced tea on the small table next to my chair comes with me upon my departure from the deck. I’ll apologize to Jared later. I shouldn’t have taken my disappointment and frustration out on him. Nerves are still a bit raw.

  The glass door slides behind me and closes me off from my family. Fifteen steps later I am in my office and plop in the office chair. The PC is brought out of sleep mode and Skype is activated. The computer clock reads “6:58” as I log in and sit tight till I’m hailed. Butterflies swarm my stomach. I’m about to learn if my bandmates are up for a reunion or if all this time and effort have been a colossal waste of my life.

  The Skype medley alerts me to an incoming a video call. Call accepted then a momentary pause before Laurel, Todd, and Lorelei appear on screen. It looks like they are gathered around Laurel’s kitchen table. Laurel is at the end with Todd sitting to her right and Lorelei to her left.

  “Hey, Eric,” Laurel greets. Her hello is followed by salutations from Lorelei and Todd. “How are things?”

  “Good,” I reply. “Sister and her husband are over for a grill out. You guys?”

  All three respond with positive comments. The small talk is not what we’re here for. Can we just rip off the bandage and move on with our lives? I become aware that I’m swiveling back and forth in my office chair, a sign of my anxiousness.

  “Okay,” Laurel says, “let’s get down to business, shall we?” Three affirmatives follow from the rest of us.

  Here we go, I think.

  “Lorelei, Todd, and I have spent the afternoon discussing your idea – your proposal. Admittedly, there’s a lot to discuss and to consider.”

  A rising wave of discontent and impatience originates at my feet and begins its ascent. Snark remains dominant within me following the exchange on the deck. Just tell me if we’re doing this or not, whatever the decision. This preamble is unnecessary. Laurel abruptly halts her exposition seemingly reading my mind or perhaps just my expression.

  “Yeah, anyway,” Laurel picks up. “We’re in. The Onions At A Crime Scene reunion is on.”

  No response from me as I have an inner body experience. Images flutter through my mind like a deck of cards being scattered by a game of 52 pickup. The four of us on a playground. KISS. Sheila
E. Junior high disappointments. Regrets. Talking with Ani’s class. Drum lessons. Research. Planning. Friending. Coffee meetings. Getting thrown out of Applebee’s. Karaoke.

  “Hey, doofus,” Todd leans toward the camera barking at me. “Did you hear Laurel? We are doing this. We. Are. Doing. This.”

  “Yeah, isn’t it exciting? I’m pumped!” Lorelei adds bouncing in her seat.

  “We’re doing this,” I say dumbfounded.

  “YES!” that sounds suspiciously like a “duh”, comes from the others in unison.

  “Holy crap! We’re doing this!” I yell, propelling my fists to the sky and spinning in my chair. “Onions At A Crime Scene!”

  The four of us cheer. It’s a shared moment of joy, a joy that comes from knocking logic on its rumpus. We are going to embark on a reunion tour for a band that never existed. Till right now.

  My feet hit the floor to break my spin so I’m facing my bandmates once more. “This is fantastic. I wasn’t sure you three would say yes but I’m so happy you did. Not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth but why?”

  “I guess for me it was part nostalgia, remembering the dreams we had as kids. Plus, you aren’t asking us to commit to anything long term. Three gigs fairly close to home and we’re done. Touring, at least. We better stay in contact and hang out after the tour’s done though,” Lorelei says moving in toward the camera.

  “I was leaning against it,” Todd reveals. “Forty years is a hell of a long time and the whole band thing never made it out of 4th grade. But then I re-read your proposal and then went on YouTube and watched the KISS performance you and I saw way back. It was then I figured this would be fun to do.”

  “Yes, it would be fun,” Laurel echoes. “Plus, your numbers make sense. In reviewing them they didn’t seem out of line. If we can secure a sponsorship, it’s a no-brainer. But...”

  Dammit. There’s always a “but”.

  “...this can’t be just you doing all this and the rest of us just show up to play and sing. Onions At A Crime Scene needs to be a team, not just a band.”

  I like the sound of that.

  “We need to divide up responsibilities so we are all contributing to the band’s success,” Laurel finishes.

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Lorelei jumps in. “I’m in charge of scheduling and running practices. By the way, the first one is next Saturday here at Laurel’s at 1. That work for you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I respond without hesitation.

  “I got logistics and transportation,” Todd announces. “Someone has to haul all the equipment.” Any excuse for him to drive something big.

  “I’ll handle financials,” Laurel says, picking up the responsibility baton. “I’ll host all of our practices too.”

  “And I’m doing, what?”

  “You get the hard stuff,” Laurel answers. “You get securing gigs and marketing. No one tells our story better than you do and that’s going to be huge in getting venues to bring us in and for people to show up to see us.”

  The use of “us” and “our” and “we” in all of this may be the most exciting thing to me.

  “That makes total sense,” I agree. “Can I say this is how I envisioned this? Not necessarily the division of responsibilities but the four of us working together, the four of us being equal partners in this. It means more than I can express. Not only because you are part of this journey but that you took the time you did this afternoon to decide whether or not you wanted to do this, as well as how we will proceed from this moment on.”

  “Eric, thanks for all the work you’ve done to get us here,” Lorelei says softly. “It means a lot to me that you did all that you have to bring us back together. Since Dominic died I haven’t looked forward to a lot and in some ways I shut down emotionally. I’m soooo looking forward to this.”

  “I owe you an apology for that thing at Applebee’s,” Todd offers. “I was a jerk and shouldn’t have reacted the way that I did. The song was too real for me and, I guess, the wound is still closer to the surface than I let myself believe.”

  “Apology accepted and, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry that I blindsided you. Sometimes I get so zealous about an idea that other people’s feelings don’t always get considered and things like that happen. I promise, no more blindsiding...for any of us.”

  A quick glance at the clock alerts me to the fact that we may want to wrap this up because we all have lives to get back to...and I’m sure the fam on the deck would like to know what’s what. “Not that I want this conversation to end but I think you all have spent enough time today on this and there’s still some Saturday night to enjoy,” I say. “Shall we adjourn till Saturday’s practice?”

  It’s then that the other three look at the clock and realize ending the call would be the prudent thing to do. “All right then,” Laurel starts to bring the curtain down on the call. “We’ll do that.”

  “Everybody stop!” Lorelei exclaims. “We just can’t say goodbye! Boooring! We’re a band darn it and we’re going to end this call as a band!”

  Todd looks at Laurel and Lorelei then asks, “What did you have in mind?”

  “Onions At A Crime Scene on three,” she fires back. “1, 2, 3...”

  “Onions At A Crime Scene!” we shout in unison flinging our hands in the air. Then Laurel ends the call.

  I’ll be damned. We’re actually doing this.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bacon and Onions

  May 5, 2018

  “OW!” A sharp, instant pain radiates from my left triceps. “What the heck?” I look to my left at Lorelei. She’s standing next to me with that devilish grin of which I have grown fond.

  “Well, you said pinch you,” she shrugs and giggles. “Just thought I’d oblige.”

  Gathered here in Laurel’s garage in Ames ready for our first practice as Onions At A Crime Scene, I had asked aloud to be pinched to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.

  “I was speaking rhetorically,” I fire back at Lori with an over the top reaction acting like her pinch nearly severed my arm. To amp that up a few notches I call out, “Laurel, Lori’s being mean to me!”

  “No, no, no,” Laurel shakes her head and wags her right index finger at me. “I am not the mother of this group. Do NOT go there.”

  “I sure as hell ain’t the dad of this combo,” Todd throws in. “Rhetorically, metaphorically, or any other way.”

  We revel in the silliness. The endorphins are pumping and probably the adrenaline too. Laurel did the band a solid allowing us to hold practices here. She and Seth just finished adding on what amounts to a third stall to their already massive garage. Seth is going to use it as a workshop but Laurel convinced him to delay moving in until after the Onions finish our concert tour. Finish our concert tour. Has such a righteous ring to it.

  This new addition is a stall unto itself with a garage door facing the driveway and a regular door as the entry/exit to the Escalade and CTS parked on the other side of the wall behind Lori. The space itself is 16 feet wide by 20 feet long. More than enough space for my drum kit, Lori’s keyboard, a couple of guitars, plus the wires, amps, and accessories we need to make our brand of magic.

  “Troublemaker,” Lori says with a parting shot as she backhands the spot on my arm she just pinched then returning to her place behind the keyboard.

  “OUCH! Geez, woman, don’t make me tug your pigtails!” I protest rubbing my arm once more.

  “Oh, like you did on the playground in 4th grade?” Lorelei says sticking out her tongue at me to punctuate her point.

  “Settle down, you two,” Laurel softly scolds, “let’s get focused on why we’re here. We wanted to start at one and it’s a little bit after.” Todd nods while putting the finishing adjustments on his guitar.

  “You’re right,” I say. “But hang on one second. There’s a quick
finishing touch that needs to be made.” Reaching down into my briefcase I pull out a piece of paper, a drawing I sketched 40 years ago. Before I left home I put a piece of Blue Tack on it so I could stick it to my drum kit. It is positioned strategically so the fans that Seth has set up in our practice space don’t blow it away.

  Todd shakes his head at me. “You’re ridiculous. Always so sentimental.”

  “Says the man in the KISS concert t-shirt,” I send back at him with a sardonic snark in my voice.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Todd accepts the teasing. “I’ve gone to at least one KISS concert every year since 1989...so I think I’m entitled to wear one of their shirts to my band practice.”

  “Aw, you called it ‘your band’,” Laurel tags herself in to the teasing. “That’s adorable.”

  Todd blushes and responds with, “Well, who are you supposed to be with those leather wristbands...Leather Tuscedero?” He fails to hide his fluster at getting called out on taking emotional ownership of our group.

  “I’m supposed to be me,” Laurel asserts. “I rock.” Her tone confirms her ownership in our merry band of music makers.

  “Hey,” Lorelei chimes in, “if we’re supposed to be a band, we need to look the part.” She has a treble clef tattoo behind her right ear that is visible when she pushes her hair back. Resting on the front left hand corner of her keyboard is a California Raisins figure that has one gloved hand pointing at her keyboard and the other pointed to the garage ceiling.

  “There’s looking the part and there’s going overboard,” Todd turns his teasing to our keyboardist. “I mean, are you trying to bring back the 80s?” He looks at Laurel and me, extends his arms in Lori’s direction, palms facing up and says, “For cryin’ out loud, look at that, she actually has a Trapper Keeper with her! Why?”

  Laurel’s and my heads turn to Lorelei. Lori swiftly bends snatching up her Trapper Keeper then waves it defiantly in our faces. “Look, it keeps my notes organized and they don’t fall out. ‘80s or no ‘80s, still the best!” At first we don’t know what to do with that then all of us start roaring amused by the ridiculousness of the argument and delight in gathering here, taking the first step in this improbable quest.