Chapter Fifteen
War and Peace
Song: Dancing Barefoot—Patti Smith
Jesse, Thomas, Betsy, and the woman from earlier sat around the dwindling campfire.
Jesse’s face rose with rage when his eyes met Keith’s.
Keith groaned. “Here we go.”
It was strange and not like Betsy to remain quiet. Her lips stayed shut like they were taped together. Something was wrong.
Tonya slammed the door shut, and the sound grappled with the silence. The fire hissed and was careful not to crackle. Darren and I hung back to use the Matches as our shields. We did not want to be the first person to say something.
“Hey, Jesse. We brought you some peaches. We even had to run from the cops to get them for you, but you are worth it,” Mason said.
“You can’t butter me up with some peaches, Mason. Plus, you stole my new friends,” he said, pointing to us.
My heart boomed. I gnawed on my fingernails as I peeked around the Matches’ towering, skinny bodies.
“Look, I know the show didn’t go as planned last week, but we are all here now and want to figure this out as a band,” Mason pleaded.
“Maybe I would if he would talk for himself. Until then, I am going to be with my beautiful lady here,” Jesse said as he rubbed the woman’s arm.
Keith stepped forward, making the dirt compact under his boot to form a deep-lined print. “I am here. We can talk.”
Jesse grabbed the glass beer bottle from under his chair and stood up. “What do you want?” He took a sip, swishing the liquid around his mouth while he swallowed.
“The show we played in Portland was rough. I am sorry I did not listen to you and follow your lead. The song order was wrong, though. The crowd would have gone wild if we had played it the way I wanted. We have to try new things if we want to keep rising in popularity.”
Jesse shook his head back and spit on the ground. “My way is the right way. It’s the way that works. I started this band, and I wrote that setlist. You are being ungrateful.”
“I wanted to help with the setlist and write songs for the album. You wouldn’t put them on it. It’s not only me. We all want a say,” Keith said.
Jesse looked at Tonya and Mason, gritting his teeth. “You two are a part of this, too?”
“Jesse—”
Tonya didn’t get to finish before the bottle in his hand sailed through the air toward us. It was the color of moss and was translucent enough to almost shine.
Mason put his hands in front of us to push us out of the way. He was like a crossing guard guiding us to safety.
Tonya stepped back when the glass hit the ground. The dirt absorbed most of the impact, making a thud rather than a shattering noise. Multiple shards were left to poke and dig into the dirt.
“What do you think you are doing? Are you trying to hurt somebody?” Mason shrieked. His eyes glossed over with a twinkle of fear and hurt.
Tonya only shrugged like she was used to their fighting.
Jesse stumbled away. “You guys should form a new band and see how that goes. Come on, baby, let’s lie down in the stream.” He motioned for the woman to follow his lead.
My body told me to run and hide. Ideally, I would have taken action rather than recoiling. I stood there, stiff and unable to help in any way. I was a young, useless girl who feared a man’s wrath.
The tall dark woman rose and followed Jesse like a devoted puppy.
Betsy and Thomas sat in the lawn chairs, defeated.
“How long has he been drinking?” Keith asked.
“Since you left. He saw the bus and started drinking. The more he drank, the angrier he seemed,” Betsy informed us.
“Yeah, he’s a mean drunk,” Mason said.
Everyone sat down in sorrow.
I picked up my shoulders and put one foot in front of the other. My body was tense. I tried to seem unaffected by the yelling. Fawn curled up at my feet with her ears standing straight up.
Thomas seemed on edge, while Betsy was beaming. She was probably happy she learned something new to gossip about.
The band bowed their heads. I was not against drugs or alcohol, but addiction was entirely different.
I had obscure memories of my dad before he left, and he was similar to Jesse.
Fortunately, my mind blocked those harmful recollections from rising to the surface, and I was too young to remember much of it.
I thought that rockstars were supposed to be happy.
They had life made. What was there to complain about?
“Is it the age-old tale of a rockstar who has a drug and drinking problem?” Darren questioned. I wasn’t exactly sure what Darren was referring to.
“No, it’s different. He has had this problem since we were teens. Fame just made it worse. Jesse hides from his demons by drinking or making music. When he can’t get his way, he throws fits. He grows more irritable and lonelier with each tour we go on,” Keith said.
They were saying that Jesse Young, the one that was a rockstar, the one every girl wanted to be with and every boy wanted to grow up to be, had a real problem.
It had to be a mistake. I couldn’t believe it was true.
I convinced myself that maybe Jesse was just having a rough day, and it was an isolated event.
There was no way someone as talented as him would be so violent.
“It’s getting harder to take care of him. It’s difficult seeing your best friend dig their grave,” Keith said with a sigh.
“I joined the band because Jesse thought the British invasion would wipe out his band, so his solution was having a Brit join them. I was honored to stand as a woman and be equal to these guys. After a while I wasn’t.
Jesse only cared if he survived the next day, and he especially didn’t value my opinion.
It’s not worth speaking out. Keith fights with him all the time, and it goes nowhere. ”
It was complicated. Hearing that your idols were ordinary people with issues was freeing and simultaneously terrifying.
Darren’s hand was bunched up in a fist by his side.
If music was our God, how could he let the greats suffer?
They said money and talent do not mean you will live a comfortable and happy life.
Every magazine showed their luxurious mansions, yachts, and vacations.
It didn’t make any sense. Yes, sometimes there were tabloids about rockstar’s divorces and drama, but I figured it was for publicity’s sake.
Drama made things more interesting. The first rule of writing was that there was no story without conflict.
“This is too heavy for a group of kids like you to carry. You are fans. Do you want to hear a couple of our songs? Our instruments are in the back. Then I will drive you into town,” Mason said.
“I would like that.” Music was my medicine. Although it was not a cure, it would help.
The band carried their instruments to the grassy area by the grill. Since there was no electricity, they had to improvise. Keith had a less intricate set of drums, Tonya had an acoustic guitar, and Mason had a Bauer Portable Mignon.
We sat in the cold and dewy grass across from them.
Keith counted them off with his wooden drumsticks. “One, two, three.”
They began playing their top song “Bright.” The tune was a love song with deep drumbeats and an electric feel.
Without the bass and keyboard, it was a soft song.
I felt like I was back in the park with James dancing around and throwing pennies into people’s hats.
There were no bells and whistles. It was back down to the basics.
I was comfortable and in my element, so I moved to the music.
“May I have this dance?” Darren asked with a chuckle.
I took his hand and danced like I was a little girl again. I didn’t need to lie about who I was. I could just exist with the music.
Betsy and Thomas danced next to us. They fumbled around, and Thomas stepped on Betsy’s toes. She shrieked. “Stop being such a doofus. Watch where you put your feet!”
I minded my business by resting my head on Darren’s chest and looking at the stars. He didn’t try quick movements with his feet or popular dances like Thomas did. Instead, he held me as we moved our bodies back and forth.
The airstream’s door swung open. “If you are going to play my song, then you need someone to sing the lyrics,” Jesse said.
Fawn’s head jolted up at the sound of Jesse’s voice.
“You need to see that I am right in front of you. It’s always been me. We are like fire when we ignite, baby together, we are bright,” he harmonized the chorus.
He sang the rest of the song clearly as he took the lead.
His gritty voice made the song go from gushy to rock.
I thought the instruments made the song, but after hearing it live like that, I learned it was Jesse’s voice.
When the song came to an end, I rose onto my tippy toes to give Darren a kiss.
His kisses were gentle and left me always wanting more.
Keith stopped playing and yelled, “Hey! You said you could play the drums. Why don’t you come and play with the one and only Jesse Young and the Matches?”
“I don’t know... I am not a professional like you guys,” Darren said, timid.
Darren was being modest. He’d learned so much over the years, even though he wasn’t a professional.
If his dad had let him practice more, he could be something.
He knew how to read music and could replicate a song’s beat after one single listen.
He had a talent, and most people would want to use that aptitude for money and fame.
Darren, on the other hand, desired to use it to teach.
I understood his need to inform others. I wanted to use my voice to critique music and reveal the truth. Whatever the truth really was.
“Darren, you may not be a rockstar yet, but you should play. Go learn how to become one,” I said as I pushed Darren toward the band. He deserved to feel validated for his work.
“Fine. No promises it won’t sound awful.”
Darren sat on Keith’s throne. It took him a minute to get comfortable. Using someone else’s drums was like getting used to a different car. Drums had universal controls for the most part, along with small details that you had to use to pick up on.
“Hey, Jesse, this kid was singing a song he made from library sheet music. It’s excellent. You should play it,” he said, holding Darren’s shoulder.
Darren inhaled and raised the sticks into the starry night. His hands began to fall until they suddenly stopped mid-air above his head. “Penny, you need to sing it for this to work. You are the one who made me go to the library. You already sang it once. It is only right.”