In Bloom
By Cedric G! Bacon
Slouched and puffy-eyed from a late evening (that turned into early morning) writing songs he felt he’d never play for anyone, Garth Lillington contemplated laying his head down on his desk and catching up on the sleep he missed because he was wrestling with rhyming “indentured” with “tenure”. He had to use his English major for something other than sleeping in class, he felt.
He didn’t usually get these slacker feelings often; more like they would creep up on him when he least expected them to pal around his shoulders, sort of like a suburban Laurel and Hardy. Of course, being from suburbia, it had the superpower of doing things like that to someone.
He heard a chair squeak beside him, and looked up lazily; it was Ding-Dong Fowler, beaming so bright that light reflected off his heavily bleached bicuspids, off of Garth’s glasses, and into his eyes. “What up dude?” he said sliding into his chair, slinging his backpack on to the chair’s spine, then sat on top of his desk to face Garth.
“What up with you?” replied Garth. Being that it was too early for Ding-Dong’s usual shenanigans, Garth glared blearily at his companion with a look that made him resemble an alcoholic..
“This,” and Ding-Dong produced from his pocket a folded piece of paper, handing it to Garth, who eyed it suspiciously, recalling once during their Freshman year the last time Ding-Dong had given him something that was folded up. The pages were “mysteriously” stuck together, causing Garth to regret this action for the last three years. “It’s clean dude,” laughed Ding-Dong. “I ripped it off the wall near Steinburner’s office.” Weighing his odds like Slim Pickens facing down doom in a deserted dustbowl dance, Garth gingerly took the paper, grabbing it by the edge, and unfolded it. Plastered on the front in bright red bold letters against a black backdrop ran the following:
BATTLE OF THE BANDS
UNF
WANTS YOU TO ROCK!
Followed by the usual descriptions of time (Wednesday, 8 p.m.), and where (Jerome Horwitz Memorial Gym). Two days from now. The poorly done Photoshop job was of some no-name 80s hair metal band whose image joined countless billions when one wanted to search for “rock music” in Google or Yahoo.
Garth finished reading this and looked up at the smiling Ding-Dong, who had now produced his drumsticks and was beginning to twirl them, a dark look in his eye that told Garth two things. “And my answer is no,” was Garth’s reply.
“Aw come on! You didn’t even think about it!” pleaded Ding-Dong.
“Okay, how about this?” Looking up at the sky, Garth pretended to give Ding-Dong this benefit of the doubt, before replying, “Okay, thought about it. Hell no. Better?”
“But why, man why? This is everything that the Jughead’s need!”
Sitting upright now, Garth looked directly in Ding’s eyes. “First,” he said, holding up his forefinger, “We gots no songs. Feel me?”
“We got songs,” Dingy grinned. “You just don’t wanna let her know that we do.”
“Secondly,” Garth continued, ignoring Dingy, “it’s just me and you. We need a singer,” he tacked up his middle finger along with his ring finger, “and a bassist. We ain’t the White Stripes here.”
“Hey, Meg White’s a hot little…”
“It’s too early in the morning and I’m a little past tired to hear the end of that sentence.”
“Just talkin’ bout Meg.” No answer from Garth. “Dig it?”
“I don’t dig. As much as I don’t dig dragging our band—which we barely have by the way—to a Battle of the Bands in two days with no songs or even a proper rhythm section. You do realize the only people who go to those things are bands who bark more than sing!”
It was Dingy’s turn to have the floor. “You’re much too hard on our band. You play rhythm guitar anyway, so if we just get a bass player, we’ll just have you sing…”
“Hell no.”
“Or get her to sing.” Ding-Dong nodded over behind Garth’s ear, knowing Garth was too chicken to look at Shannon Hale come striding in, her long legs making their appearance first before her curvaceous figure followed the rest of her inside the classroom. “You know she plays bass guitar too.”
“Shhhh! Shut up before she hears you!”
Ding-Dong grinned. He’d brought out his Ace; he’d been friends with Garth since Sunday school, where it was him, Garth, and their mutual friend Froggie who got kicked out for saying words that began with F. And S. And C. And A. And another A, the one that has “hole” added at the end. They’d been through so much together, they knew each other well.
And Ding-Dong knew that Garth was such a hopeless romantic.
“Isn’t she…”
“Schlock Pussycat broke up last week. Cat told me, so Shan’s up for grabs. And single.” Ding-Dong grinned broadly as these words left his lips, watching for Garth’s reaction and seeing the gears (albeit spinning slowly due to sleep deprivation, but still working) running behind the Jugheads erstwhile leader. Why else would he throw that bit out about her singledom if he didn’t know that would give Garth the push to…
“I’ll talk to her,” he finally said.
“Knew you would,” replied Ding-Dong relaxing back in his seat. It was a poorly held secret that Garth had a thing for Shan since middle school. The only person the college who didn’t know it? That would be Shannon, who had always treated Garth like a really good friend, never knowing that her “really good friend” did not have the balls to admit his long-standing crush on her. Ding-Dong often heard the laments in the songs that, despite Garth’s claim that the band had no songs, he knew full well weren’t just about any random punk rock dream girl. Ding-Dong had seen his friend often keep quiet in his crushes, preferring to let his poems and lyrics say what he couldn’t say as he remained a “ really good friend”, rather than the boyfriend that he wanted to be.
And hey, if it meant that Garth would be less of a sour-ass son of a bitch, then Ding-Dong was happy to push things to their rightful conclusion.
Shannon sat down and began going over the materials for class that day. Garth stopped a moment, allowing his heart to catch up with his legs. The nerve he’d had just forty-five seconds ago was slowing leaving him and settling quite nicely in his bladder.
He was starting to turn around back to his seat when he heard a sing-song voice say, “Oh, hey Lillie.” He winced a little when she said her affectionate nickname for him. “What’s up?”
Shit! “Hey Shan, not much, did you do the homework last night?”
She shook her head. “Not all of it. Thank God that old man Bowyer always comes in late from his morning coffee eh?” They both shared a laugh at their Biology teachers morning habit.
“Yeah,” Garth said. “Say, listen, I had…something I, uhhhh…wanted to ask you.”
“Yeah, sure Lil. Shoot.”
It didn’t take long for Garth to explain himself to her, and she listened with eagerness, looking wide-eyed, and surprising Garth with her how attentive she was to his every word.
“Seems like a rock solid plan, Lil,” she finally said. “When do you wanna have practice?”
Garth thought on this for a moment. What would a leader do? he thought, stroking the little scruff on his chin. “Ummm, when’s a good time for you…to come over that is.” Yeah, that was a smooth move exlax.
“Sure, sounds fine with me,” Shannon said smiling. For a second, Garth felt a sense of elation enter him, as though he could honestly see himself as worthwhile.
“Hey Shannon.” Garth turned around, to see Mike Horner wave and subtly elbow Garth out of the way. “What’s up? We still on for tonight?”
“Definitely!” Shannon said, then turned to Garth. “Hey, you know Garth Lillington right?”
“Oh yeah,” Mike said. “You got that one band. Aren’t you queercore?”
Heat from the anger he felt flushed to his face, but Garth kept it in. “Uh, only our old bassist, Brian, was.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right.” From Mike’s tone, Garth could tell that this conversation was over and he could add nothing further. “So I’ll see you tomorrow night then Shan?”
“For sure Lil!” Shannon said.
. . . .
“Alright, that was good, but let’s take it from the top again.” Beads of sweat were dotting across Garth’s forehead as he gripped his Olympic white Fender Mustang like a battle axe, his left hand wrapped around her neck in a choke-hold worthy of Ultimate Warrior. He wiped the moisture away, cursing that they had decided to practice in a garage (“We’re a garage band!” Ding-Dong had explained, offering up his garage as the setting of their “Behind the Music” episode), namely one that lacked proper air conditioning. Still, though, he realized it wasn’t all bad: the day before, he’d talked to Shannon after class and one look in her emerald eyes and he almost had to toss himself into a vat of cool water to keep his composure from freaking out.
He looked over at Shannon, who’d taken a minute’s breather and was sitting ontop of her amplifier. She was wearing her usual leg-warmers, accentuated with a plaid skirt and Chuck T’s, with a Bauhaus (or was it Love and Rockets? There was no name but Garth definitely recognized Daniel Ash between Shannon’s breasts, which he tried not to be caught looking at) t-shirt completing the look. He watched as she pushed back her long blonde-hair, light glinting off her glasses, and took a sip from a water bottle with the label ripped off. Her bass, a ’66 Fender Jazz in Lake Placid Blue, smiled at Garth as she leaned next to her.
He’d been lying if he didn’t say that the thought of what may have happened between her and Mike Horner last night hadn’t been aching at him as he leaned into the mic to sing “New Rose” by the Damned (just a crazy insane punk song, to get the crowd going) and happened to catch a glance at Shan, wincing a little at the irony as he sang the opening lines: “Is she really going out with him?” before Dingy came crashing in with his drums.
“Come on, give us a break G-dizzle!” complained Ding-Dong, wiping his face with a towel. “We’ve been over the same four songs since school let out. I can’t even tell what time it is in here!”
“It’s Gucci time, and I don’t think we’re as tight as we can be.” They had agreed on two originals, and two covers; “New Rose”, and the Ramones “Teenage Lobotomy”. Dingy’s desire to be the next Keith Moon came in handy for “New Rose” but he was way too sloppy for the other songs and Garth knew this. A band was only as tight as their drummer and the drummer was undoing everything. “Let’s go over the songs Shan did again.”
“I dunno, my throat’s getting kinda hoarse,” quipped Shannon. “I read that for special school events we were excused from classes. Let’s call it a night and work some more tomorrow. Lunch maybe?”
Dingy agreed. “I second that. I wanna watch some wrestling and…”
“Shut up Ding,” Garth said. He then looked over at Shannon. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Pfft, I’m fine. Just a little tired is all.”
Garth nodded. “Alright, well, I guess we can call it…”
“FINALLY!”
“Shut up Ding.”
“Well that’s great guys,” Shannon said putting away her bass. “So lunchtime is cool right?”
“Yeah, cause it’s gonna be a pain my ass moving my kit and…”
“Shut up Ding! Yeah, Shan, that’s fine.” Garth stopped for a moment, and thought. Then he added, “Is your roommate picking you up?”
Shannon shook her head. “Nah, I’m walking back to the dorm tonight. Nobody’s there at so I’m mostly by myself.”
“You hear that?” winked Dingy
“Ding…”
“Okay, I’ll shut the fuck up.”
Shannon laughed. “You guys are too much.” She looked over at Garth. “I’m glad that we’re working together. Tricia Woods said you were pretty good, and I’m glad that she wasn’t lying.”
Really? Garth thought. “That’s awesome.” He smiled crookedly.
“See ya.”
“Yeah, see ya tomorrow.”
“DUDE! Go after her!” Ding-Dong threw his drumsticks at Garth’s back as Shannon left, closing Ding-Dong’s garage door behind her back.
“Yeah right, we’re just friends,” Garth said as he began packing his Mustang in her case. He’d gotten pretty good at lying to himself, to avoid the unutterable pain one goes through when the status quo is disrupted. And Garth knew that, the moment you utter the words “I”, “like”, and “you” to a friend, well, you were certainly doomed. Kiss that friendship goodbye.
“Because you say you’re friends! Have you even had a real conversation with her?”
“We talk all the time.”
“That’s gonna change when she really does join this band.”
Good point. “I gotta go.”
Ding-Dong grinned. “I thought so.”
. . . .
Even though I’m straight-edge, I don’t think Ian Mackaye would mind if I thought about drinking some liquid courage, thought Garth, one of millions of thoughts that were racing through his head. Despite Ding-Dong’s garage feeling like the 10th Level of Hell, a cool breeze had begun to swish around the neighborhood of Mount Vernon and Fairview. Though he was wearing a Mighty Ducks hockey jersey and jeans, Garth could feel it in his bones, causing his nerves to dip ever so steadily. His eyes searched the encroaching darkness, but Shannon had already gone. He contemplated turning around and going back inside, and looking at Ding-Dong’s face. In the back of his head, he could just imagine that everything he’d ever done he’d done in secret because he didn’t want to embarrass himself.
Which is why nobody knew about his band except close friends and family.
Which is also why nobody knew he played guitar.
And which is also why he could never admit his feelings for Shannon to her face.
“Damn I’m such an asshole,” he said to the wind. “If I were a sad emo kid, I’d so be posting this on LiveJournal right now.”
“Try Twitter. You’ll get better sympathy that way.”
He turned around. Shannon was leaning against the garage, smoke twirling and curling from between her fingers. “Why do you want to post on LJ anyway?”
“To complain about Ding’s bad drumming,” Garth joked. Shannon smiled. There was silence between them for a few moments, enough so that the beats could have been filled by Marky Ramone on a good day. Finally (sighing in his head), Garth opened his mouth and sucked in air and spoke.
“I thought you were heading home?” Geez why not say “What the hell are you still doing here!”
Shannon shrugged. “Was, but then I had an idea for a song. Since we’re, y’know bandmates and all. Thought I’d run it by you and see what you thought.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Also, I was getting a little bit hungry so I thought I’d swing by that Denny’s on Adams for some nom. Wanna join in?”
“Yeah sure!” Garth replied his voice a little louder than he intended. Bringing it back to normal, he said, “Just lemme grab my guitar and let Ding in on the plans.”
“Uh, actually, I know Ding’s your friend and all but I was kinda hoping to hang out with you since we don’t really do a lot of that outside of school.”
Bwah? Garth thought. Does that mean…
“Sure. I’ll totally be out in five minutes.”
Shannon smiled.
She did not see the Pepper-Jack cheese grin on Garth’s face as he entered Ding’s garage, catching him in the middle of cleaning his cymbals, and nodding to Ding without saying a word and was outside again all within forty-five seconds.
. . . .
“Bacon cheeseburger, medium well, with sweet potato fries.”
“And for a drink?”
Shannon thought for a moment, and then looked over at Garth. “Am I too hipster for black coffee?” she said with a laugh.
Garth shrugged. “I won’t tell anyone. Your secret identity is safe with me Hipster Girl.”
“Then coffee, black please, and could I have a dessert menu?”
“Sure thing hon.” The waitress now turned towards Garth. “And for you sweetie?”
“Uhhh, fries and a coke please.”
The waitress scribbled on her notepad. “Got it. Be back with your orders dears.”
“Thanks,” Garth and Shannon said in unison. Denny’s was oddly empty for a Tuesday night; Garth looked over in one corner booth, and saw an elderly couple wearing matching red berets with black motorcycle jackets and white silk scarves. At the bar was a chef with a greasy apron serving a slim young woman with hay-colored hair and wearing a dark hoodie. Up and down the street outside were the usual Ladies Night crowd at Huntington’s across from Denny’s, singing their favorite drunken carols.
Things were quiet between Garth and Shannon again. Garth was trying to consciously not make eye-contact, instead concentrating on knuckle-rolling his lucky Johnny Ramone guitar pick that his dad had given him for his sixteenth birthday. An image of the bowl-cut wearing, Mosrite power-chord wheeling guitarist formed as Garth thought, What would Johnny do? He wouldn’t be scared out of his mind to talk to the most beautiful girl in the room right now. He’d say…
“So that song I was telling you about earlier,” Shannon said, interrupting Garth’s thoughts. “I was up late last night with my brothers watching ‘Night of the Living Dead’.”
“Romero’s God,” replied Garth. “Did you like the movie?”
“Eh,” shrugged Shannon. “Zombies aren’t really my big thing for horror. But I liked the idea of a feminist zombie song.”
“Huh?”
“Like…” Shannon leaned in a little bit closer. “What if a chick came back from the dead to be a zombie and was starting to chase the boy of her dreams? She’s free of any insecurities and inhibitions she might have had while she was alive.”
“Except she’s dead,” Garth said.
“Nobody likes you/ When you’re the/Living impaired/Boys get turned off/When they see my yellow teeth/And balding hair!” sang Shannon with a grin in her voice as she relaxed back in her seat. “People don’t lie in songs, you know.” Garth was impressed; he usually sat down for hours and even days to come up with a lyric that good.
“You could probably throw in some stuff about how she has to worry about her D-cups falling off and slapping someone in the face at a concert,” he added. “And maybe how she didn’t use to be a maneater but now she’s got the hots for a Manwich.”
“She wants that meat and knows how to get it,” laughed Shannon. Garth looked around, poking his head above the booth. “See anybody coming?” Shannon asked.
“I don’t think you’re gonna get your dessert menu anytime soon,” Garth said.
“Good.” Shannon reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. “Don’t mind do you?” she asked.
“ Totes cool.”
“Thanks.” She placed the cigarette in her mouth and lit up for a few seconds before she pulled it out and put it out under the table. “It’s a bad habit, I know.”
“Nah, totes cool.”
“Totes…I’ve always wondered you say that. Is that some regional thing?”
“Me, Ding, and Froggie’s thing. Short for totally actually. When me and Froggie lived in Tampa we started saying it,” he laughed.
“Oh I see. So I gotta be from Tampa to be cool eh?”
Garth grinned. “Totes,” he said, causing Shannon to smile. He was beginning to see that it never really took much to make her happy or smile. Sure he knew he’d said some stupid things during school that made her laugh, but he was realizing that she actually enjoyed him outside those walls of the college.
Some more customers began piling in as their food was finally served. Shannon looked down at her food and then at Garth. “I usually don’t order this much, but I haven’t eaten at all today.”
“Heh, it’s cool. I’m the same way. Something about my stomach telling me ‘Yo, feed me Seymour!’ throws a heavy hint.”
“I know right,” laughed Shannon as she dug in. Garth looked around and realized that it was going near midnight when the college kids started piling in and anchoring themselves in all the back-corner booths and at the counter. A couple walked in holding hands, reminding Garth of the old couple (long gone by now) in their near matching outfits, and the long, loving looks they had in their eyes. “Almost looks like they’re gonna eat each other,” Shannon said.
Garth looked up. “Yeah, a kinda ironic spin on that old saying: Boy meets girl, Girl falls in love with boy…”
“Girl eats Boy’s Manwich,” Shannon finished as the couple walked by them and parked in a booth two rows down from where they were. Within seconds the couple was making out, their lips locked in a seemingly eternal embrace from which no force on earth (or even heaven for that matter) could break them apart.
“Yeah,” agreed Shannon. Her plate clear she began sipping her coffee. “I wouldn’t do that though.”
“Oh?”
“Yup. Drama-seeking whores only do that. I’m more of a back-row at the movie theater or a quiet lonely night at the beach kind of girl.”
Almost sputtering on his coke, Garth managed to gargle out, “Bwah?” Shannon laughed as she quietly sipped her coffee.
“Figured that’d catch you off guard.”
“Gotta say it did,” laughed Garth.
Smiling, Shannon said, “So since we’re clearly in the comfort zone with each other now, I want to tell you something.”
“Uhhh…really?”
“Yup. There’s a reason why I didn’t want Ding-Dong coming tonight cause I didn’t want him hearing what I want to say.”
“Oh.”
“I know you know we hang out a whole lot outside of school,” Shannon said. “And Ding’s a pretty cool guy. Funny, smart. He’s not a bad looking dude either.”
Shit. Should’ve known, Garth thought. “Yeah, well, that’s Ding for you. I don’t know who’s all on his hit list though.”
“Oh I know about the hit list. Not really impressed, he goes out with some real bitches from what I’ve seen.”
“He could use a good girl,” Garth said rolling his eyes. “If you want, I can set something up between him and you.”
“Eh, I’ll leave him to his dipshits. It’s you I’m interested in.”
BWAH?!?! Garth’s mind exploded. Did he hear what he thought he’d heard? “Ahhh, you’re just messing with me.”
“I’m not shitting you, Garth. I like you. Bottom line.”
“But…I don’t get it. Why?” His mind screamed at him, You idiot, I’m checking out if you’re going to keep acting like an asshole. “I mean, we’ve known each other for a while, but I don’t know what you’d see in me. I’m not even your type!”
“Oh hush up Lillie,” replied Shannon as she finished the last of her coffee. I know what I like. I know how to pick apart dipshits and good guys that I like. And you’re the good guy. I can tell that just from hanging around with you. And as far as being my type…I just know I don’t like being held to what looks like a good jigsaw fit and it turns out to be messed up. You match up well with me without any of the bullshit that a lot of other guys have.”
Garth was silent for a few moments. He grabbed his Coke glass and began to sip at the ice, scrambling for something at the bottom so he can fathom this bombshell. The only words he could muster were:
“It’s getting late.”
Shannon nodded. “Yup. I agree. I’ve probably got like a zillion messages on my answering machine from my dad wondering where the heck I am.”
They got up from their booth, leaving a tip for their waitress and paying at the counter for their meal, and disappeared into the night, walking with their guitars in their hands as they banged against their sides saying nothing to each other. They stopped at the outside of Shannon’s dorm, standing downstairs opposite each other. Garth did not know what to say, feeling like complete and utter shit the whole way, and there was Shannon looking all calm and cool.
“Sooo…tomorrow, practice before the show?”
“Yup,” Shannon said. There was something oddly cool about her response that sent shivers up Garth’s spine.
“Okay,” was his reply. “See you tomorrow.”
“Sure. Take care.”
The chill of that last comment followed Garth all the way back to his dorm, slinging his guitar into the corner and hopped into bed, staring at the ceiling some until sleep took him away.
. . . .
That afternoon, Garth showed up a little bit late to practice, returning to his previous bleary-eyed state that he had been in days earlier. Leering, Ding-Dong looked at his friend with Groucho Marx eyebrows and said, “So, how’d it go?” Before Garth could muster up an answer (or an excuse), Shannon walked in; in Garth’s mind, the correct word would be glided in, as though she were Stevie Nicks with her flowing scarves. She did not look at Garth, but grinned at Ding-Dong as she took her place to Garth’s left shoulder and set up her equipment.
Garth sang the covers, and Shannon sang her originals, followed by a little bit of an instruction from Garth about Ding-Dong’s drumming needing to be a little tighter for Shannon’s stuff. Afterwards, Shannon packed her things, and, before leaving, said, “I’ll be back when the show starts.”
“Shannon wait,” Garth began. Shannon turned around and looked at him through her glasses. And Garth lost his nerve. “Thanks for helping out.”
“Yep.”
After she left, Dingy looked at Garth and said, “Dude! That was colder than when Felicia Wright shot me down! What was going on there?”
“She likes me,” was all Garth said.
“That’s awesome! What’d you say to her?”
“I said it was getting late.” Ding-Dong’s face had suddenly taken on a resemblance to Scooby-Doo that Garth found a little bit funny. He was silent for a few moments, before he said:
“Dude, you’re worthless.” He walked away from Garth, leaving his friend alone.
Showtime, the group was playing fifth, right after a couple of hip-hop and dance acts. They weren’t the only rock band playing, but they definitely weren’t the best, from what Garth could see on the list; there was Mike Horner’s band, who was playing right before theirs, and at least three more down the bill. Not too bad.
Standing beside Ding-Dong at the school amphitheater, Garth craned his neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Shannon. He did; she was standing right next to Mike Horner, holding his hand. Rather than the sounds of Shakira and Beyonce, the sound of a pounding jackhammer filled Garth’s ears. He began thinking about everything, as Mike Horner smiled smugly holding a hand that could have rightly been his…if he hadn’t been so wishy-washy. That was his internal conflict; externally, how could he prove to Shannon that there was more to him than the asshole last night.
Mike Horner’s Band (that was their real name), was called onstage, and Mike Horner left Shannon alone, allowing Garth the opportunity he needed. But before he could move in, the crowd began to swell when Mike kicked in with a song by the Casualties, that caused a small mosh pit to form. They played two more numbers, both being high energy punk songs needed to induce the crowd, but in Garth’s mind, he saw this as one more obstacle.
Finally, the Jughead’s were announced, and Garth gulped a little bit. He looked back to the spot where Shannon was standing, but she was gone. Picking up his guitar, he made his way towards the stage, when he ran into Mike Horner, he grinned smugly. “I heard about you and Shannon,” he said.
“So what?”
“She came to my house yesterday. Wanna know what me and her did?”
Garth launched himself on top of Mike Horner, but Mike, being bigger and better built than the slight Garth, slammed Garth against the wall, and held him until Ding-Dong came and broke them up.
“Hey hey, let’s let the little rockstar get up on stage, eh? All’s fair in love and war, remember?” Mike looked at Garth and then at Ding-Dong.
“Me and Shannon fucked last night after you left her,” Mike Horner said then spat at Garth’s shoes.
“You alright man?” Ding-Dong said, patting Garth on the back. “Your lip is bleeding a little there.” Garth did taste the metallic grunginess of blood getting into his mouth. Spitting out a crimson wad, he said “I’m okay. Where’s Shannon?”
“Backstage getting ready.”
Garth only nodded, saying nothing as he grabbed his guitar with Ding-Dong following him. In the back, there was Shannon sitting ontop of her bass, her Jazz bass getting ready to shred. She glanced up and turned away, only to quickly say, “Garth?” when she saw his face. Putting her bass down, she went over to him and looked him over. “Jesus Christmas carol, what the hell happened?”
“Your boyfriend happened,” Ding-Dong said with malice.
“What?” Shannon replied.
“Mike Horner gave me a knuckle sandwich…good thing I didn’t have room for dessert,” Garth said.
“What’d he say to you?” Shannon asked.
“It’s no big deal. Are you to go on?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Ding, get your drums ready. I’ll tell the old man we’re ready.”
“Right on boss.”
The lights faded on the audience, making it difficult to see. If he’d been anybody else, Garth would have been ecstatic because that meant that he didn’t have to look at one’s faces to see how much he sucked. But now, he wished he could because that would mean that he could face their face, and see their reaction. Holding his Fender Mustang, slung low, he looked over to Shannon.
“I like you Shannon Hale. Always have. I don’t care if you and Mike fuck or suck or whatever.”
“What?” Shannon said. “But Garth…”
“We’re on.” Garth stepped up to the microphone. “Hey everybody, we’re the Jugheads and this one’s called ‘New Rose’…Is she really going out with him?”
They blazed through both covers, and followed Shannon’s originals. Garth checked his watch. They had about three minutes left in their set, why stop now? he thought.
“We got one more song for you guys. It’s an old favorite from our big brothers collection.” Ding-Dong looked at Shannon who returned the glance when Garth faced them both. “Follow me,” was all he said. Then he struck a B-chord, and right away both knew what he was playing, as the crowd went wild.
“He’s the one, who likes all the pretty songs, and he likes to shoot his guns, and he likes to sing along, but knows not what it means…” Garth sang into the mic with brutal conviction and honesty, as he looked back at Shannon, who was smiling at him.
In his mind, Garth himself didn’t know what all of this meant. His eyes drifted across the crowd of faces, trying to pinpoint Mike Horner’s, but he did not see it. Probably best that he didn’t, because he would have returned the spit from earlier.
Although the song was winding down, in his mind Garth imagined that he was being called back for an encore, and put away his Mustang in favor of his J-160 acoustic/electric, with Ding-Dong going offstage to get some snacks for himself. He imagined Shannon sitting there looking confused. He also imagined grabbing a chair, sitting down, and tuning up, before getting down to playing.
“Words are bleeding through my fingers, heavy with the thoughts that linger, in the mind, I’m thinking only of you.”
The lights would dim, and he’d say what all he needed to say.
People do not lie in songs, you know.
May 14, 2010
Categories: Uncategorized . Tags: music, Nirvana, original, short story . Author: zedd1986 . Comments: Leave a comment
The Android's Dungeon 