Chapter 15
(Kit)
Before my original audition to become the relief drummer for Blissfully Immune, I’d never seen another state outside of Rhode Island and Massachusetts.
Being on the road with them was eye-opening, and not just when it came to making music.
Slowly, I came to understand what Rebel meant when he said that a person couldn’t create in a vacuum.
I was constantly floored by the sheer number of new sights, sounds, and experiences there were to be had, and because of it, I found myself constantly tapping out beats, playing with rhythm, and testing out the way words flowed when they were pieced together.
If this was what it felt like to grow and evolve as both a person and a musician, I hoped the road never came to an end.
“Working on something new?”
Ozzy’s voice startled me, and a drumstick went flying. Fortunately, no one was seated anywhere near me because they’d probably have gotten hit. Chuckling, Ozzy retrieved my errant drumstick and handed it back as he took the seat across from me.
“Thanks,” I replied, resting it beside my electric drum kit. “I’m not sure what it is yet. It just sort of popped into my head while we were in town this afternoon.”
“You’ll figure it out. It’s beautiful up here, perfect for finding inspiration.”
“Sometimes I think you have more faith in me than I do,” I admitted.
“Because you haven’t learned to dream big yet,” Ozzy said.
“You’re still stuck in survival mode, unsure of what you need to do to prove yourself and how to make your mark, so you never have to worry about whether or not the rug is going to be yanked out from under you.
It’s not. The guys love you and are beyond impressed by the way you’ve settled in and made that throne your own.
Which is why we won’t be setting mine up on the stage any longer, even when I play part of a set. ”
“Wait…are you sure? Because I don’t mind playing on your kit.”
“But you shouldn’t have to, and let’s be fair here, you are already playing more than half of each set. You deserve to play on your own equipment while I work out the best way to transition out of the band.”
“It’s really coming to that, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Unfortunately. But hey, I had a good run. Better than I ever hoped for when I joined up with these guys back in high school. At best, I expected us to play up and down the coast and maybe get invited to do the Portuguese Feast and the Whaling City Festival before we faded into obscurity like so many other bands before us. I know you know what the odds are of a band gaining national exposure, let alone going on to play around the world.”
“I sucked at math, but the laws of probability say not high.”
“Exactly.”
“How much longer do you think you’ll be able to stay on the road with us?” I asked, hoping we were talking months and not weeks because I was not ready to be on my own without my mentor.
“If I can make it to Rocktoberfest, I’d love to say my goodbyes there and officially hand over the sticks.”
Phew. It was only May. Rocktoberfest was in October. Five months wasn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it was better than him telling me that our July 4th show would truly become my independence day.
“You’ll still be around online, right?” I asked. “And I can still call you and text and bug the shit outta you if I get stuck on something?”
“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” Ozzy admitted.
“I know the guys will be hitting me up too, and I look forward to still being able to contribute that way. I plan to keep the YouTube channel going. With all the influx of free time I’ll have on my hands, I might up things to two tutorials a week, just to keep my own skills sharp. ”
“You should. They were a godsend for me.”
He chuckled at that, messy black hair falling into his eyes since the only time he could ever be bothered to tie it back was when he was playing.
“When I started that channel, I never expected to have so many followers, let alone find my own replacement among the mix.
I did it to keep myself grounded when the band's momentum kicked into overdrive. I never wanted to get so big that I forgot where I came from or how much of a struggle it was to earn fifteen bucks a week so I could pay for lessons.”
“Is that why you made it free instead of putting it somewhere people would have to pay to see the tutorials?”
“Hell yeah.”
“Thank you again for that and for bringing in such an awesome array of guest talent over the years,” I said. "How do you get so many guys to volunteer their time like that?”
“I just asked.”
Even as I nodded, I still had a hard time believing it had been that easy.
It made me think about the dad I’d met at the pub whose kid was a drummer and how many other kids dreamed big but didn’t have the means to make lessons possible.
Even if they never made it to the level Ozzy had, at least they’d have a chance to learn an instrument they loved.
With the way music programs in public schools constantly had their funding cut or were defunded completely, he was filling a gap that few ever gave much consideration to.
“If I ever reach the level where I can contribute, I’d love the chance to make a guest appearance.”
“Dude, you’re already there; you just need to embrace it and believe in yourself. There’s nothing more I can teach you, not on a drum kit anyway. Now play that beat again.”
I did as I was told, doing my best to recreate the gravelly rattle-crash of the tin can I’d watched tumble down a fire escape earlier in the afternoon, the wind keeping its momentum going, even when it seemed like it was going to get stuck on one of the rungs.
When I finished, Ozzy sat tapping his fingers on the table, and I realized he was duplicating the beat, with a small adjustment that drew out the pause I’d been going for, so I played it again, mimicking the movements of his fingers.
“Holy shit, that’s badass right there!”
At least this time I didn’t send a stick flying when Dash’s words startled me, but I damn near jumped out of my seat when he stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle shrill enough that Johnny and Rebel stopped blasting one another with bubble cannons and hurried over.
Two foamy messes sat on either side of Ozzy while Dash took the seat next to me.
“What’s up?” Johnny asked as a bubble slid down the side of his face until Ozzy popped it, making Johnny giggle.
“You guys need to hear this beat,” Dash declared, while Ozzy shot me a knowing look across the table.
I was too afraid to look at them, so I stared down at the electric drum kit while I played.
As I neared the end, I got caught up in the rhythm and improvised a whole new line as a bridge between the one Ozzy had helped me refine and the section I hadn’t played for him yet, and something just clicked as it all came together.
Afraid of forgetting the bridge, I played it one more time before letting the final beats trail off.
“I’m getting my bass,” Dash declared. “Don’t any of you move an inch.”
Rebel’s chuckle drew my attention, and I was finally able to raise my head to meet their gazes; Ozzy's was proud, Johnny's was excited, and Rebel’s, well, there was so much heat in it that for a moment I wished we were alone so I could explore what it meant.
“See,” Rebel said. “Told ya you had nothing to worry about.”
“What was he worried about?” Ozzy asked.
“Not being ready to share the things he’d been working on with the rest of the band,” Rebel explained. “I told him that once he did, he’d see just how all our songs were born, and now it’s happening. I just wish I wasn’t covered in bubble slime, or I’d grab my acoustic.”
“Better not move or Dash might have your hide,” Johnny reminded him. “As excited as he is, he’s not going to want to wait to show us what he’s got in mind.”
“Fine, but the moment there is a lull, I’m grabbing a quick shower so I can break it out.”
“It’s not even half a song yet,” I protested, feeling my face flush.
My insides were doing cartwheels while I waited for Dash to come back, because holy shit, they clearly liked it enough to pause what they’d been doing to join Ozzy and me at the table.
“So?” Rebel said. “It’s enough of a song for us to build on. That’s what creating is all about. Remember what I said about not having to have something perfectly polished before you show it to anyone?”
“But the song you played, that sounded pretty fucking polished to me,” I reminded him.
"Because he’s a do as I say, not as I do kind of guy,” Ozzy pointed out.
“Naa, I’m just shit at taking my own advice,” Rebel replied. “I hate giving orders, even to myself.”
“Which is exactly why you need a keeper,” Ozzy replied in a way that left me feeling like I was missing part of the conversation.
Judging from the startled look on Rebel’s face and the way he ducked his head, Ozzy had hit on something that Rebel might not be ready to own up to.
I started to say that he wasn’t the only one, but fear of how that would be taken kept my lips firmly shut.
If Rebel and I were looking for the same thing in a partner, that might make things even more complicated between us than they already were.
A beautiful memory flashed through my mind, of the way the light from the television had glittered in his eyes as he’d been kissing me on the couch.
He hadn’t cared that I was disheveled and he was hurt; he’d just leaned in, and when I met him halfway, it was game on.
We didn’t come up for air until the closing credits, and even then it was only for long enough to put another movie on.
We hadn’t gone further than the skim of fingers beneath each other’s shirts and hands tangled in one another’s hair, but even without getting naked, things had gotten downright heated.
“Good, you guys listened,” Dash said when he returned, bass in hand, to plop his ass on the tabletop instead of the bench beside me. “Now play it again.”
“Bossy bitch,” Johnny declared.
“You know it,” Dash shot back, but the jokes stopped the moment I started playing.
By the time I reached the bridge, Dash had joined in with a bassline that gave a hint of moodiness to the piece, which was exactly what it needed.
“Think somber. Grittier,” Johnny said when we finished playing. “It’s already got edge; now it needs a dose of hunger, pain, and regret.”
Pain I could do. I carried enough of it with me, alongside a healthy dose of regret.
Old memories resurfaced; the image of a friend I’d tried my best to save only to watch spiral until there was nothing left but a headstone and a grave I’d visited far too often welled up in my mind and spilled out through the sticks.
So much wasted potential. An ocean of dreams left unfulfilled.
Wait.
I stopped and grabbed the notebook Rebel had in front of him, pen and all, and dragged them across the table so I could scribble down that line.
When I went to slide it back, he shook his head and made a shooing motion at me, encouraging me to keep going, so I snatched up my sticks and started back at the beginning, Dash steadily playing along.
The start-stop was rough and messy as more words came, but once they started flowing as I started to pour Josh’s story onto that page, I couldn’t stop, and not a single one of them interrupted me.
That’s when it dawned on me that I was actually contributing something new to the band who’d brought me in and embraced me.
Their smiles and silent encouragement became my motivator, filling me with a sense of pride and accomplishment that rivaled only the moment they’d chosen me over Claude to fill in for Ozzy.
I’d known it wasn’t because I was better; it was just because Claude was an asshole.
Now I owed him a thank you for being a raging dick, because I wouldn’t have this moment, or these men in my life right now.
“I need my guitar,” Rebel declared the next time Dash and I stopped playing so I could add more to the lyrics. “Like now.”
He didn’t wait for anyone to agree; he just took off with dried bubble foam all over the back of his t-shirt.
I wondered if it itched and was making him uncomfortable, not that I’d noticed any squirming from him as Dash and I had worked on our parts.
He’d been completely dialed in on me and the music.
Which is when it dawned on me that I’d never seen him glance over at Dash, not even once.
This time, the pleasure that flooded me wasn’t entirely about the song.
There was no denying now that the connection forming between us was just a hair different from the bonds that were growing between me and the band, and like with the music we were crafting, I couldn’t wait to see how far we could run with it.