Mixtape for the End of the World

by Andrew J Brandt

  “How much did you drink?” Derrick asked. He was pulling out a pan from the cabinets below the cooktop surface on the counter and cracked three eggs into a bowl as she groaned.

  “I don’t even know,” she said. “Me and Ashley and Stephanie got a couple of bottles from the stash. While the adults were doing that electric slide thing, we snuck out back and drank them.”

  “Aunt Carol is going to beat Ashley and Stephanie if she finds out,” Derrick said. “And then she’s going to come for you next.”

  “I don’t think she knows. At least not yet. So maybe they’ll be back in Clearwater before she finds out,” Cassandra said.

  Derrick chuckled, his anger letting up.

  He scrambled the eggs in the hot pan on the stove and chopped up some of the bacon. In a second pan, he placed the bacon bits and let them sizzle and then folded them into the eggs with some shredded cheese from the fridge.

  He plated the omelet on a paper plate that he pulled from the cabinet above him and slid it her way. She dug into it greedily, stabbing at it with a fork and shoveling the eggs in her mouth.

  “Oh my god,” she said. “This is really good.” She leaned back into the chair and closed her eyes. Her hair, wild and curly, shot out in every direction.

  Derrick made a plate for himself and, leaning over the counter, picked at it with a fork.

  “I feel like I really overreacted,” he sighed.

  “You did,” Cassandra said.

  He looked at her and rolled his eyes. “You’re supposed to comfort me here. I made you a hangover buster.”

  “Well, just call your friend up later and apologize,” she said. “It’s not hard.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. But the pang of embarrassment still lingered in his mind.

  “I can’t believe they left us here alone. Mom would never do that from her own decision,” Cassandra said as she finished her omelet.

  “I think Doug is pretty trusting, but I also think we’re going to have twenty-four-seven surveillance. I bet there’s a cop car parked outside right now,” Derrick said.

  “Well, even if there is, I’m not doing anything today except sleeping,” she said, pushing the empty plate away from her. “I still have to write a report for Mrs. Thompson’s class but there’s no way I can do it right now. If I’m not awake by five, come get me.”

  She got up from the counter, thanked her brother for breakfast and shuffled her feet down the hall to her bedroom.

  Derrick put away the dishes and the trash, and in the silence of the house, went to the living room, powered on the giant rear-projection Pioneer television in the corner and fired up the Nintendo 64. Today would be a day of Goldeneye and Ocarina of Time.

  ♪ ♪ ♪

  After a few hours of video games, shooting evil Russian secret agents on the giant television screen, Derrick grew bored and shut it off. He looked at the clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen. It was just after noon, and he figured AJ must be awake by now.

  He called AJ’s house from the phone mounted to the wall in the hallway, and AJ’s mom answered, but she said that he wasn’t there, that he’d gone to the music shop with Dustin.

  Derrick remembered the forty dollars that Doug had left him. Of course, it was meant for pizza, but he figured they could order a couple of pizzas to last them for a few days for half the money, which meant he could take some of the money and head to Sherman Music himself.

  Knocking on Cassandra’s door to let her know that he was leaving, she mumbled something unintelligible. He threw on his headphones and pressed play on his Walkman as he left the house and started walking to Main Street.

  He hoped that, maybe, he’d run into AJ at the music store, and he’d be able to apologize for going off on him at the wedding. The more he thought about it, the worse he felt.

  He got to the music store and walked in, scanning the place for his friends and bandmates. There were only a handful of people in here today, and none of them were Dustin or AJ. He was hoping they’d be here and they’d check out guitars together. Instead, he’d walked all the way down here to find himself alone.

  Not wanting to leave immediately, Derrick browsed some of the instruments hanging on the walls, daydreaming about owning one of each someday. He felt at home here in Mount Vernon, but somehow foreign now. Here, by himself, he realized how few friends he had in this new town. He didn’t know anyone in the store even these people who should he his people, fellow musicians. But, even the few patrons in the store were older. None of them were someone he would or could hang out with.

  “Can I help you, son?” an elderly gentleman behind the checkout counter asked. He wore a pair of glasses low on a nose that was as round as his back.

  “Um,” Derrick started. “Where are the new release cassettes?”

  The man pointed a knobby finger toward the back of the store. “Back there, by the music books.”

  Derrick thanked the man and strode to the back of the store, where a rack of cassette tapes lined an entire wall. He thumbed through them, checking out some of the new ones. In the section labelled “ROCK,” he saw a few that he recognized, but nothing that he needed to have immediately. Instead of buying a new tape, he figured he’d just go home and make a new mixtape from some songs off of Napster.

  “That’s a good one,” a man next to him said.

  Derrick looked up. The man perusing the tapes beside him had long hair, greasy locks that fell down to his shoulders and a wiry beard that hung nearly to his chest. He pointed at the tape that Derrick had in his grip. It read Fugazi.

  The man nodded toward it. “They’re a punk band from up in Washington. Real raw. Real underground punk stuff.”

  “That’s cool,” Derrick said. “I didn’t know they carried stuff like that here.”

  “Frankie Sherman is old school, but he listens to us guys when we tell him what we want to find,” the man said. He held out his hand for a fist bump and Derrick tapped it with his own. “I’m Ben,” he said.

  “Derrick.”

  “You play anything, or do you come to find new music?”

  “A bit of both,” Derrick said. “I play guitar in a band with some friends from school. We’re called Stealth.”

  “Man, I remember those days,” Ben said. He shook his long, greasy hair out of his eyes, combing it back with his fingertips. “I had some buddies back in the eighties and we had a band. We called ourselves The Conspirators.”

  “Cool!” Derrick said. He hadn’t met anyone else outside of AJ and Dustin that were involved in playing music. “Do you still play?”

  “I still have some of my guitars,” Ben said. “Sold a few when my daughter was born. But, no, we don’t have the band anymore. Some of the guys moved off and Terry died in Desert Storm.”

  “I’m sorry,” Derrick said.

  “It’s all good. I guess we just all grew up.” Ben thumbed through some more of the cassettes in the rack. He pursed his lips. “It was fun though. A lot of fun.”

  “Do you miss it?” Derrick asked.

  “All the time,” Ben said. “We were good, but we had a good time too.”

  “Do you have any advice for someone just starting out?” Derrick asked.

  “Yeah. Don’t give it up. Keep playing, keep believing in yourself, even if you’re the only ones that do,” Ben said. “And listen to a lot of different music. Someone might make fun of you for listening to pop music, or tell you that it’s for fags, but you can learn so much about melody from New Kids on the Block or the Backstreet Boys.”

  “Really?”

  “Hell yeah, dude. Some people might judge you, might tell you it’s not cool to listen to stuff like that, but it doesn’t matter. Take in everything you can and use it to form your own songs. If you don’t pay attention to how different genres use beats and melodies, you’ll just end up a copy of the stuff you normally listen to and it will get stale. Expand your musical tastes, and piss on everyone else.”

  Derrick thought about AJ l
istening to Hanson, and wondered if he still did. He wondered if he had to hide it because of what other people thought.

  “Also, don’t sell your guitars. For any reason. Sell your eyes before you sell your instrument,” Ben said with a half-smile.

  “I don’t think I could ever sell my guitar. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted,” Derrick said.

  “Remember that,” Ben said.

  Ben had a couple of cassettes in his hand and said, “Alright, kid, take care of yourself. And if you guys ever play some concerts, post the flyers up on the board up front. I’d like to come check you guys out, listen to some live music.”

  “Okay, I will,” Derrick said.

  Ben left him at the cassette rack and went to pay for his purchases. Derrick hung around a little longer, ruminating on growing up and growing away from music. It was sad, to have to choose between living life or playing music. Some people didn’t have to choose, though. Some people made it. He wanted to be one of those people. Playing on stage in front of thousands of fans, getting to play guitar for a living.

  He left the music store a few minutes later, and all he wanted was to get back home and play his guitar.

  14

  ♪ Incubus– Pardon Me ♪

  DERRICK DIDN’T HEAR from AJ at all on Sunday. The only phone call had come from his mom and Doug. They’d made it safely to the resort in Santa Fe and were getting ready to enjoy an evening at the casino. He spent the rest of the night downloading music on Napster, and went to bed way too late. Each song took close to fifteen minutes to download, but he’d found some stuff from the band Fugazi that Ben had told him about, as well as some new music from Incubus. After school and tennis practice, he’d planned on spending the evening making some mixtapes for AJ and Dustin. He wanted to give them a “style” mix of songs and bands that he wanted them to pay attention to for writing their own music.

  His morning alarm went off, and he thought he hit the snooze button, but instead he hit the off button on the electronic clock. When he opened his eyes again, the blaring red LCD screen read 7:50, and he had fifteen minutes to get to school. Cursing, he threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, pulling his Chuck Taylors on as he walked out the door. He nearly ran to school, as groggy as he was. Derrick wondered if AJ had waited for him at the corner, eventually leaving to get to school on time himself.

  Once at the school, just as the first bell rang, he saw Dustin in the hallway before their first classes.

  “Hey man, have you seen AJ this morning?” he asked.

  “Nope,” Dustin said. “How was your weekend?”

  “It was hectic. I’m ready for our next practice though,” he said. “I hated going a whole weekend without getting to jam with you guys.”

  “Yeah. We’re good for Saturday thought right?”

  “Yup,” Derrick said. “I have some new riffs and stuff to try out.”

  The second bell rang, which signified the beginning of first period, and the students in the hall started making their way to their classes. Derrick said bye to Dustin, but looked around the hallway for AJ before going into Coach Vargas’s biology class. He didn’t see him.

  He did see Haley, however, and as he walked into the classroom she gave him a smile. “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey.”

  “You ready for the tennis tournament this weekend?” she asked.

  He groaned. He’d forgotten that their last tournament of the semester was that weekend. He was already disenchanted with tennis. He enjoyed the time he got to spend with Haley, but his heart wasn’t in playing tennis the way it was with playing music.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I just haven’t practiced much lately,” he said. “My mom’s wedding was this weekend, and we’ve been so busy planning that, that I haven’t spent much time at the courts.”

  “You’ll be alright,” she said. And then, she leaned in closer. “I’ve been thinking...wanna go on the roof again?”

  Derrick’s heart did a backflip. He said yes, tonight, before the words even processed in his brain.

  She smiled and leaned back into her chair and as Coach Vargas walked into the classroom to begin his lesson. Derrick, however, heard not a single word of it as his mind was already on the roof, underneath the stars.

  And with Haley’s hand in his.

  ♪ ♪ ♪

  Derrick walked into Mrs. Rogers’ classroom, hoping to see AJ, but he wasn’t there either. Maybe he was sick or something, but he felt like Dustin would have known about that. He took his seat and opened up his notebook. They were studying Julius Caesar, one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, and their essays were due. He pulled the pages out of his spiral notebook, sure to tear along the perforations, when AJ fell into the desk next to him.

  Derrick turned to say hi and gasped.

  AJ’s face was swollen and bruised, still red and bleeding, from a recent beating. A cut above his eye was bandaged and his bottom lip was blue.

  “What the f…” Derrick trailed off.

  AJ’s eyes were full of tears and he didn’t say anything, simply held his head low.

  “Dude,” Derrick said. “What happened?”

  AJ looked up and said one word. “Ty.”

  “Come with me,” Derrick said. He stood up from his desk and motioned for AJ to follow him back into the hallway. Derrick led the way to the bathroom down the hallway from the English classroom. Once in the bathroom, he leaned against the wall near the sinks while AJ stared at himself in the mirror.

  “I was walking to school this morning,” AJ started. “I waited for you at the corner for a little while, but I figured maybe you’d come early or something. And then Ty drove by. He stopped and got out of his truck and told me that his back window cost a hundred dollars to fix and he was going to take it out of my ass.”

  Derrick’s heart broke as he listened to this story, knowing that he should have been with AJ, but instead had accidentally slept in.

  AJ continued, “I tried to run away, but he was on top of me immediately. He threw me to the ground and punched me a couple of times in the face. Then he got back in his truck and drove off. I walked the rest of the way to school and went to Mrs. Harris’s office. I told her what happened and she cleaned me up.”

  “He should be expelled now, right?” Derrick was angry. He could feel the heat rising in his neck and his ears.

  AJ shrugged. “Mrs. Harris took me to the principal’s office, and I told Mr. Rawlings everything that happened. He said that since it didn’t happen on school property, I would have to file a police report first before the school would do anything.”

  “What?” Derrick was indignant. “He’s just walking around now?”

  “Yeah.” AJ leaned into the door of the stall across from Derrick.

  “I am so sorry,” Derrick said. “This is my fault.”

  “No it’s not,” AJ said.

  “I should have been with you this morning. But, I accidentally slept past my alarm. If I was with you, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  AJ told him that it was okay, that if they’d been together, they both would have probably been beat up. “Or worse,” AJ said. “He could have run us over or something. I’m okay though. I probably look worse than it actually is, to be honest.”

  As he talked though, Derrick’s attention went elsewhere. Out in the hallway, outside of the classrooms, as kids dispersed for second period, Derrick could hear the voices of Ty and his friends. And he heard Ty laughing.

  Derrick walked out into the hallway. AJ followed him and Ty immediately saw them in the doorway of the bathroom.

  “Hey Tooley,” he snickered. “You and your butt buddy hanging out in the bathroom together?”

  Before he even registered the implications, Derrick’s feet were moving, pounding against the linoleum tile of the hallway.

  He saw nothing else. As he pounced on Ty, fists flying as they connected with the bully’s face, his sight went black.

  15

  ♪ B
ush – Comedown ♪

  DERRICK SAT IN Principal Rawling’s office. Mr. Rawlings was a short, squat man who wore suspenders that kept his pants over his substantial belly. He plopped into the chair at his desk and read over some papers. Derrick sat across from the desk and sunk into the chair. He knew he was in trouble, the adrenaline having subsided. His hands and knuckles ached and throbbed. Now that he was sitting here in the aftermath of that sudden loss of sense, the weight of what he’d done hit heavy in his chest. He wanted to cry.

  Mr. Rawlings pulled his glasses from the crook of his nose and rubbed the knot between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I understand you’re new to Mount Vernon this year, Mr. Townsend,” he said. “And I understand that Mr. Anderson was involved in an altercation with your friend before school this morning. However, this school has a strict no violence policy.”

  Derrick nodded. “I understand, sir.”

  Mr. Rawlings clasped his hands on his desk. “I also know that, according to your teachers and your tennis coach, you’re a good kid and that this is your first offense. So, I am not suspending you. However, you will have detention after school every day this week. And Coach Vargas has been informed that you will not be participating in the tennis tournament this weekend.”

  “Yes sir,” Derrick said. “Thank you for not suspending me.”

  Mr. Rawlings lifted a piece of paper from his desk and held it out to Derrick. “You will need to have this slip signed by your parents and returned to me tomorrow to start your detention. If you do not return it, you will be sent to in-school suspension.”

  “Yes sir.” Derrick took the paper and read it over. It was a notification of detention. He nearly blurted out that his parents were out of town and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday evening at the earliest. However, he kept his mouth shut. He already had a plan for this to stay out of trouble.

  “You may return to class,” Mr. Rawlings said dismissively.

  Derrick stood from the chair and left the office. A smile crept across his face as he walked the hallways back to class. Despite the throbbing in his hands, he knew that everything was going to be just fine.