4. Sweet Creature
FOUR
SWEET CREATURE
Valentine’s Day, now
Cade
“Okay, boys, bring it in,” I call my bandmates in for a huddle. “This is a big night.” I stop to get a read of their faces and notice they all look incredibly nervous. “We know these songs like the back of our hands, we’ve got nothing to worry about, let’s go out there and have fun, yeah?” I hold my fist out and wait for my best friends to follow suit. A collective fist bump will always be more our style as a band than a chant.
“You’re on,” a stage manager barks out in our direction.
“Let’s rock.” I give them one last affirmation as we hustle up the stairs and onto the stage. I take one last deep breath in as I find my spot behind the mic, front and center. I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks—ever since we got booked to play. It’s our first time on a festival lineup, one I’ve been attending as a fan since high school—Seattle Rock LoveFest. To be on this stage feels like some sort of weird fever dream. Still trying to convince myself I’m not going to wake up in bed at any moment.
I grab hold of the mic stand and lean in. “How does everyone feel about some covers?”
The crowd erupts into a mixture of cheering and wooing, confirming my belief that a crowd will always go wild for a cover.
“Then you all better sing along with us tonight!” I encouragingly say, trying to build the hype before we officially start the set. “We’re Tryhard, we’ve got a few singles out and an EP on the way, but tonight, we’re going to play some of our and hopefully your favorite love songs,” I pause, then slyly add, “and some anti-love songs, of course.” The other guys wanted to drop the EP last month to celebrate the new year, but I feel like there’s something missing from it that I can’t pinpoint just yet.
Clear as day, I can hear, “WE LOVE YOUUUUUU!” being yelled out from the front rows of the crowd. Over the last year, we’ve managed to grow a pretty big fan base, and it’s starting to spread further than our loyal local crowd—who by the sounds of it, is here tonight. I smile to myself as I adjust the mic and get my guitar situated to start our opening song.
There are quite a few other local bands playing tonight before the bigger headliners, so we are only playing a short set with five songs. This last week at practice, I’ve been telling the guys about how putting together a set is not just an art, but also a science. We couldn’t reach an agreement on the set, so we had Halle pick one. Well… randomly pick one.
3 days ago
I rip out a page from my notebook, careful that it’s not one with songs or ideas already scribbled across it. I tear it into quarters and hand the papers out to the other three guys and keep one for myself. “LoveFest is three days away and we still haven’t locked in on a set. Let’s all write down our top five songs that we think we could do. I’m thinking we stick to cover songs?—”
“Dude, come on,” Zack interrupts.
“Bro, how are we going to get people to like us if we don’t do our own songs?” Logan’s got a point. He and I take turns being the voice of reason of Tryhard.
“I’m getting to it, just let me talk,” I snap back.
Zack’s eyes widen, his lips fold inward, and he lifts his hands up in surrender. Logan raises an eyebrow at me, most likely at my tone. Beau averts his gaze from the situation and finds something interesting with his hands.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I was just saying that I think we should do covers since most of the people there won’t know us. We can draw them in with covers and then they can discover our original stuff later.”
“So, we write down five songs that aren’t ours, and then what? How are we going to choose what set to do? We cast votes? Pull one out of a hat?” Zack rolls his eyes and lets out a huff as he crosses his arms.
I’ll admit that I haven’t actually thought that far ahead. I open my mouth to start talking through a solution when Halle walks in. The wall behind her resembles a room from 2014 Tumblr, it’s covered in neon signs, thrifted license plates, and tour posters from the bands we look up to most. And, almost like the pièce de résistance, there’s a dart board right in the middle.
“We’ll put them all up on the dartboard and Halle will throw. She’ll choose the set.” I gesture over to her with both arms, my face smug at having come up with this plan so fast.
“Halle’s doing what?” She looks at me pointedly.
“We’re each going to write a setlist for LoveFest since it’s in three days and we haven’t been able to agree on one. Then we’ll pin our lists to the dartboard and you’ll throw,” I quickly explain.
“You’re lucky I like throwing sharp things,” she mutters as she sits on the couch and pulls out her computer to do whatever it is that she’s doing. Likely merch related. When is it not merch related?
I gulp with wide eyes and turn away from her and her ominous words.
“Um, here are some pens.”
We’re all done after a strenuous ten minutes of checking through our most popular covers and various favorites. Only having the time for five songs really puts a damper on the creative spirit, but it invigorates the competitive spirit in me. This has to be the best set we’ve ever done for the biggest show we’ve ever done.
I rush over to the board and stick mine right in the center. Beau places his near the top left, Logan all the way right, and Zack opts for the bottom portion of the board. My guess is that they don’t know how good of a shot Halle has. Unfair advantage? Maybe. But I prefer to call it using my resources.
“So, I don’t get to just pick the one I like the best?” Halle whines when the realization sets in that she wouldn’t actually be choosing her favorite one, that this is just a chance for her to practice throwing a bullseye.
“Oh, sweet Valentine.” I put my arm around her shoulder, pulling her in close. “You see, that wouldn’t be fair to the other guys because we all know you’d be picking…” I look around the garage and pretend to think. “Mine. This way, it’s fair for everyone.” I hand over her first dart with my free hand and give her a few motivational pats on the shoulder before giving her space.
I can’t help but whistle and clap when she nails the board dead center on her first throw, the dart landing straight through my paper. When I realize everyone is staring at me, I raise my hands and put on my most innocent face.
“You all should’ve put yours in the center, everyone knows little Halle is a perfect shot, right Hal?”
Her stare meets mine, and I give her a wink. She rolls her eyes and something seems off, like she’s not entertained by my comments, maybe hurt by them even. Panic rises in my chest; did I do something wrong? I go through my mental archives, overthinking everything I’ve said and done the past few days. This feeling brings me back to High School Cade, perpetually overthinking and anxious. Writing and performing have helped me overcome my anxiety for the most part, but it still manages to worm its way into my head sometimes. These moments have become fewer and farther between, but when it does happen, it usually involves Halle in some way.
“Well, because I had a perfect shot, it’s only fair that I get to make a change to the set,” Halle says, making her way to the dartboard with the setlists.
All the guys groan.
“That wasn’t part of the plan,” Beau complains from the corner of the garage, behind his drum kit.
Oh, Beau. Even after the last year of Halle being involved with the band as our merch designer, he still hasn’t learned to not disagree with her. She walks up to him slowly, with enough confidence to bring the whole garage to silence.
“Last time I checked, there were no rules.” Her eyes never leave his as she says this, and I’m caught off guard—not only by Halle’s sass but by a wheeze-laugh that escapes me and I throw a hand up over my mouth to contain it. Halle’s got a killer taste in music so I’m not worried about what she may pick. She’s basically a part of the band with how much time she spends with us and all of the stuff she does for us. I want her to make part of the set hers, there’s only one song on there that I’ll really throw a fit over if she changes.
As she walks over to the board, I make eye contact with the guys and can tell that they aren’t as familiar with her music taste. I keep my palms facing the floor as I lower my hands and mouth “relax” to them.
She pulls the list off the board and chassés her way back to her usual spot on the couch. I nod my head to signal the guys to do something else while she glances over the list.
I go to pick up my guitar and pull the strap over my head, and its familiar weight sits against my lower abdomen. My brain races through the archives of my mental library of songs my fingers know. After a moment, I begin to strum the opening chords of a new song I’ve been working on.
Halle’s stare burns into me as she looks up from the paper, confusion written all over her face—I’ve never played this in front of her. My attention is fully on the chords and the unfinished lyrics in my head, but still, my body’s temperature descends when she looks away to focus on making her change to the setlist. I hear the click of the pen cap fit back onto her sparkly gel pen. I stop my strumming just in time to see her stand and begin to walk toward me, list in hand.
She passes me the set like we’re still middle schoolers passing notes in the hallway. I unfold it and can’t hide the smile that spreads across my face as I see the new set. It’s perfect. Why wouldn’t it be? She’s perfect. She wants us to close our set with my favorite song by The Band Camino. She’s been with us since the beginning, she knows our sound and where we’re going almost before we do. If she thinks we should play a song, we’re going to play it.
bloody valentine
still into you
sweet creature (acoustic - Cade)
valentine
I don’t wanna be in love daphne blue
Present
I’ve become immune to the stage lights even if my body hasn’t. They prickle my skin and I have to squint my eyes to see the crowd in front of me. The feeling of being on a stage is a comfort I never knew until I finally met it. We’re already through the first two songs of the set and it feels like the night is moving too fast. I wish I could slow time—I can feel the post-show blues creeping up on me and it’s not even over yet.
I just traded my electric guitar for the acoustic one that’s been propped next to the drum kit. The other guys are heading off the stage to give me the center of attention for the acoustic song. I take a few deep breaths before feeling ready to step back up to the mic. I look back a couple of rows to where I already know Halle has been standing tonight, but don’t see her there anymore.
“This next one is for someone special.” Left to right, I’m scanning the crowd, hoping to catch where she might’ve moved to, but I still can’t find her. “Um, so,” I sputter. I didn’t plan on saying anything to introduce the song, and with each second I stand here speechless, I feel a new bead of sweat drip down my temple.
There’s something so raw about performing acoustic at a show, the vulnerability reminds me I’m most comfortable when I have the whole band playing with me.
Don’t think, just play.
“It’s your favorite song,” I draw out as I start playing the staccato notes of the song’s intro. I remember that even though I can’t see her, she can hear me, and that thought reignites the confidence I started the night off with. “You know who you are,” I breathe out into the mic before taking a deep breath in to start the first verse. Thank goodness playing this song is like muscle memory for me, I don’t have to think about what my hands are doing, only staying focused on my singing.
It takes me until I reach the chorus to locate her in the crowd, her blonde hair illuminating a halo above her under the stage lights that she somehow attracts all the way at the back of the venue. We lock eyes and I start directing the energy of my words at her—she is my muse after all, and I love seeing her smile come alive as I sing to her. She breaks our eye contact as her attention is pulled elsewhere. I follow the whip of her hair and trace my gaze over her lips and up to her green eyes. My heart fractures a little when I see some guy is the new holder of her attention. He’s wearing a backwards baseball hat that I recognize as the same one my roommate wears. Of course one of her brother’s teammates is hitting on her at my show. She bats her blue mascara-coated lashes at him, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. She’s here for me , not him .
My mouth agape, my gaze is transfixed on them, and I’m so distracted, that I forget the words and start the second verse late.
Halle’s smiling at him.
He leans in close to speak directly in her ear.
She laughs at whatever he just said.
They are completely…and utterly…unaware of my attention.
No one even knows that I’m singing about Halle right now. If I actually said her name when introducing the song instead of just saying ‘you know who you are’ like a coward, maybe she wouldn’t be hitting it off with this guy right now.
I try my best to finish the song strong, but my voice breaks on the last note, marking the song a heartbroken ballad. I’m brought out of my trance and take in the cheers from the crowd. I see some girls in the front row swiping at their eyes, not allowing their tears to grace their cheeks. I shouldn’t even be upset, I have a girlfriend—who isn’t even here—and I don’t think I’d want her to be.
I use the final chorus of the song to lock back in on the present moment. Strumming the final chords, I scan over the crowd, soaking up the feeling of performing by myself on a stage I had only ever been on in my dreams. I catch my breath and turn around to swap my guitars again. No more thinking about Halle tonight—at least not while I’m up here.
The guys join me back on stage to finish out the set and I couldn’t be happier. Instead of keeping my eyes locked on Halle’s every move, I start interacting with the guys more and putting on an entertaining performance for the ever-growing crowd. I love the feeling of giving a show my all—leaving everything on the stage as if it’s going to be my last. Having fun with my best friends comes first, and leaving the show with more fans is just a plus.
We strike the final chord of the song and I feel Beau’s last hit on the bass drum reverberating in my chest. I feel more electric than I’ve ever felt at the end of a set. We’ve never played a show this big, and it’s hard to believe that we just did. It doesn’t feel real, almost like I’m going to wake up in my bed the second we walk off stage, but I feel so alive at the same time. And now we get to watch the rest of the bands playing today from the crowd, which will make it feel even more surreal seeing what it looked like to watch us be on that stage.
We find our way to where our friends are waiting for us to join them in the crowd.
“There he is.” Abbott grabs my shoulders and shakes me around while everyone else manages to get a calm greeting from the rest of the group. I do love his enthusiastic support though, we’ve come a long way over the years, learning how to not let our busy music and sports schedules keep us apart. My eyes jump from person to person, and I have to hide my falling smile when I realize Halle isn’t with the group.
“I brought you something.” A familiar voice creeps up behind me and my smile returns.
I turn on my heels and drown in Halle’s sea green eyes before I can even see what she has for me. If her bringing me something was code for being graced with her presence, I’d say thank you.
Halle slips a water bottle into my hand. Before I can finish twisting the cap off, she’s wrapped her arms around my waist, and I try not to show how her touch makes me feel.
“Best I’ve ever seen you guys play, I’m so proud of you.” She lets go and takes a step back, flashing me that same smile of hers that is ingrained so deep in my memory.
“Thanks for always being my number one fan.”
I’m met with rolling eyes, she must think I’m trying to tease her, but I’m not. Nobody supports the whole band thing as much as she does, and I’m trying to not take that for granted.
“Are you still going to be my Valentine tonight and celebrate with us after the show or do you have plans with Mr. Prince Charming over there?” Feeling bold, I point at the guy I saw her talking to during my set.
Her jaw drops as she turns to who I’m gesturing to. But just as fast, she turns back on her heel to look at me with a sarcastic “boo hoo” face.
“Mmmm, I think I actually have a date with my bed in about…” she looks down at her nonexistent watch, “thirty minutes. I don’t think I could stay awake for another hour if I tried. But since you seem to be curious about Sean , we have a date next week.”
Of course. I knew this day would come. That it’d be too late to try and swoon Halle again and inevitably someone else would beat me to it. So, yay for Sean! Boo for Cade.
“Sounds fun,” I mutter, running my hands through my hair, trying to play it cool and not let up that my thoughts are starting to spiral.
To my knowledge, she hasn’t even been interested in anyone since moving to Seattle and has even rejected a few weirdos who have asked her out while she’s working the merch table at our shows. I really thought I had more time to work up the nerve to try again but I should have known this was a ticking time bomb. Now I feel like an idiot.
Stop being such a pessimist, Cade. It’s only a date, it doesn’t mean she’s going to like him.
“I never said what we’re going to do,” she quips, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, groaning, scratching my head, trying to find something—anything—to say. “Well, whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll have fun.” I hope I don’t sound as bitter as I feel. “I’m gonna go try to catch the rest of the show from the front, I’ll see you later.” I pat her shoulder as I pass by, pushing myself back into the tight crowd.
Even though the air is getting stuffier the further I go toward the front, I start to feel like I can catch my breath. Strobe lights start flashing, lighting up the band that’s taken the stage, and as the cheers filling the crowd around me ring in my ears, I feel the storm of negative thoughts clear from my head.