Untitled

by Jackie Chanel

  “I know. They’re an alternative rock band based out of Virginia.”

  “Alternative rock? Like Green Day?” I’m shocked. I’ve never suspected that Aaron would be into alternative rock. Pop, maybe. I can see him in a pop group...but alternative rock? Where the hell did that come from? He’s from Chicago for God’s sake! They don’t play that shit in Chi-town, that’s for sure.

  “I know,” Paulie wrinkled his nose. “I was surprised too. But they’re actually pretty good. I heard them play the other night on campus. And check this out, they need another guitar player.”

  “So. Why are you telling me?”

  He looked at the guitar in my hands, then at me as if the answer was completely obvious.

  He can’t be serious.

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “No. This could be your big break. You haven’t made it by playing in coffee houses and frat parties.”

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not? They’re pretty close to getting signed. They’re on a college tour right now! At least think about it. I told Aaron that I’d bring you by to audition tomorrow.”

  I took the final swig from the Coke can by my feet and tossed it back on the floor. I stared at my best friend like he’d lost his mind.

  “There are a few things wrong with that statement,” I replied. “One, you don’t have a car so how are you going to take me anywhere? Two, I’m not auditioning to be in someone else’s band. Lastly, and most importantly, I don’t play that shit. You don’t go from SRV to Cobain. That shit doesn’t work.”

  Paulie scowled. “That’s bullshit. You can play anything on your guitar. I’ve heard you. You just have a preference for the blues, that’s all. Besides, the songs you’ve been writing aren’t the blues at all.”

  “That’s because I’m writing for college kids. Y’all don’t get the blues.”

  “I call bullshit on that one,” Paulie laughed. “You’re writing songs that you like. I’m just saying, you haven’t gotten a record deal from playing the blues. You haven’t had a paying gig since you quit Rabbit’s.”

  “So! I’m not a rocker!”

  “No, you’re a fuckin’ guitar player who needs a paying gig,” Paulie argued. “And PURE is getting paid and exposure. How are you going to get a record deal if the only people who ever hear you play are me and your neighbors?

  I understand where Paulie’s mind is. He’s focused on the business aspect of music, looking at the big picture. I don’t think like that. I might be a douche bag who drinks too much, parties too hard, and sleeps with too many nameless girls, but I do have some integrity, especially when it comes to my music.

  Music is my passion. I refuse to compromise on the type of music that I play. I know that everything I write or play isn’t the blues, but none of it is alternative rock. I wouldn’t even fit in with a band like that.

  “Will you at least come hear them play?” Paulie pressed.

  I agreed but I know that there is nothing short of them resurrecting Stevie Ray or Jimi Hendrix that will get me to play backup guitar for an alternative rock group, no matter how good they are.

  ****

  “Aiden, do you have any more beer?” a blue-eyed blond cuddled up next to me on the couch whispered in my ear.

  She didn’t have a choice but to whisper. Nothing else could be heard over the loud music blaring from the four huge speakers in my living room.

  My tiny apartment was filled to capacity with people I don’t even know. The only people I’d invited over after PURE’s show at The Basement were Paulie and Aaron. But the entire five-man group and half a dozen girls were crowded into my apartment, drinking beer, smoking weed, and listening to music. It’s actually the most fun I’ve had in weeks.

  “There’s more outside in the cooler. I’ll get you one,” I told her. Normally I would have let her get her own beer, but it was hot and smoky in the living room and I needed some fresh air.

  I stepped on the patio and the cool night air instantly sobered me up. I heard music coming from the apartments across the parking lot and was glad that I’m not the only one having a house party in the middle of the week. At least I won’t be the only one getting a complaint letter from the leasing office tomorrow.

  “So what did you think of the group?” I heard a voice beside me on the patio. Aaron was sitting in one of the cheap plastic chairs that I bought at Family Dollar. There was a busty brunette sitting on his lap. Both of them were high as a kite.

  “You guys are good,” I admitted.

  As far a rock bands go, PURE is good. They remind me a little of Green Day...no, a lot like Green Day. Besides, I don’t hate rock music. Unless it’s Hendrix or the Rolling Stones, I just don’t want to play it.

  ‘So, are you going to play with us or not?” he slurred.

  “I don’t think so,” I answered. “That’s not what I’m really trying to do with my music. I’m gonna do this solo.”

  “Have you been shopping your demo? What labels are checking you out?”

  I didn’t want to admit to Aaron or anyone else in PURE that I haven’t even recorded a demo, let alone approached any record labels. Some things aren’t meant to be shared.

  “Just think about it,” Aaron told me. “We’ll be in Atlanta for a few more days. Then Seth has us booked at some colleges in North Carolina and Virginia. I think you’d be a great addition to the group.”

  He got up from the chair. He and his “date” walked back into the house, leaving me alone with the idea of traveling out of state to play swimming around in my head.

  Not that I don’t have enough shit on my mind. I know I’m good, much better than Seth or anyone else in his group. I can’t get a gig and these losers are playing shows all over the country. Plus, I’d alienated myself from my family by making the decision to stay here in Atlanta and pursue a music career that’s not happening. I’m not doing anything, especially not anything that will allow me to fall back into my parents’ good graces.

  The idea, no matter how wrong I thought he was...the very idea that my father is so extremely disappointed in me that he doesn’t even want to speak to me weighs heavily on my heart. Surprisingly.

  Sure, I’ve spent the last three years trying to gain some freedom from his controlling ways. Yes, he can be an asshole, but that’s something that is never going to change. He is my father and I am his only son. I can’t make him understand my choices but I need to do something to show him that he can trust my decision, that I will be a success that he can be proud of. I learned that by sitting home every day watching day time talk shows. Oprah really knows what she’s talking about.

  Maybe this group thing is the way to go. I won’t be playing my music, but at least I’ll be playing music. Paulie is right. I can play pretty much any kind of music and this could possibly jump start my solo career.

  For two whole days, this thought ate at me. I went back and forth, trying to make a decision. Exasperated, I reached out to the most objective person I know...Sara.

  But when I dialed her phone number, I got a message saying that the number had been disconnected. That’s strange. My parents dish out extra money for Sara to have a private phone line in her dorm room. It’s very odd that it’s been disconnected.

  I really need to talk to my sister. I sucked in my gut, swallowed my pride, and dialed the number to my parents’ house, hoping that Delilah would answer and give me Sara’s new number.

  “The number you have dialed has been changed to an unlisted number. Please hang up and try your call again.”

  I dialed my home number three more times, each time I got the same message. I hung up the phone and stared at it for a few minutes as reality set in.

  My parents had changed their phone number. They hadn’t even called me to give me the new number.

  There was only one reason they’d do this. They don’t want me calling them.

  My heart pounded in my chest and my breath came in r
ough gasps as I realized what this really means. My mother, my sisters, my dad...my family doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. They don’t want to be contacted by me. My dad had made it perfectly clear. He warned me that if I stuck with this decision, I would be alone. I hadn’t expected that he was telling the truth.

  Why would they do this to me? How could my mother allow this? Was she just as disappointed as my father? Had she reached a point where she’d had enough of my willfulness? What about Delilah? And Sara? Were they in on this? Were they disappointed too?

  The reality of the situation is that I won’t be able to get any answers sitting on my ass in Atlanta. With one small gesture, my dad had proven one thing, the most important thing of all...

  I cannot make it without my family.

  I don’t want to.

  I have to go home.

  I have about eight hundred dollars in the bank, enough to get back to Mt. Vernon and that’s all I need to do.

  I called Paulie to let him know that I’m going home. When his roommate answered, I hung up. Plus someone was at the door. I figured it was the maintenance man coming to fix my clogged toilet. It wasn’t.

  “What’s up Sunny? You need something?”

  The melancholy tone of my voice alarmed her. Sunny lowered her signature sunglasses and peered at me over the rim.

  “Whoa! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing. What’s wrong with you? I’ve never seen you so happy before.”

  Sunny’s eyes were bright and there was an excited calm about her as she smiled at me.

  “Today’s my birthday. My aunt’s throwing me a party. Come down to Rabbit’s and have a drink with me. You know you want to.”

  “Happy Birthday,” I said automatically. “But I don’t want to have a drink. I don’t feel like going down there.”

  Sunny raised her eyebrows. “What? Since when did you start turning down free drinks? What happened?”

  “Sunny, I don’t feel like going, okay? Tell everyone I said hello.”

  I shut the door and walked back over to the couch. A few seconds later Sunny walked into the apartment. She shut the door behind her. Without a word, she sat next to me on the couch.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t answer. Why should I tell her anything? It’s not like she’s my friend or anything. She’ll probably get up and start singing if I tell her that I’m leaving Atlanta.

  Neither of us spoke for a few minutes as the sun started to set, casting warm yellow shadows across the living room. I laid back on the sofa with my arm covering my eyes, listening to the apartment complex come alive as darkness settled in.

  I felt Sunny get up from the sofa and heard her fumbling around my apartment in the dark. There’s something so intrusive about Sunny but it’s not worth the argument to tell her to stop touching my shit. I know she’s not stealing anything. I didn’t ask what she was looking for, nor did I open my eyes. She’ll leave soon if I ignore her.

  She walked back into the living room and sat something by the door, probably the ironing board and iron I’d borrowed from her two days ago. She sat on the floor next to the couch, close to my head.

  “Aiden.” She was whispering but there was something not so soft about it.

  “What?”

  “Get up.”

  “No, Sunny.”

  “Yes, Aiden. Get up now.”

  “Sunny, get out of my apartment. Go enjoy your birthday. Please,” I added for good measure.

  “And leave you here, all pathetic and shit?” She was no longer whispering. “I don’t think so. Get up.”

  “Sunny, I’m fine. Leave.”

  “Do I look like an idiot to you? Because I’m not,” she said. “I know something’s not right with you. You don’t have to tell me but don’t try to play me by lying about it. I’m not dumb.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “All I’m saying is whatever happened...happened. You’re not dead so it’s not the end of the world for you. The last thing you need to do is throw yourself a pity party. Even if you don’t feel like it, you need to get up, throw on a clean shirt, and come down to Rabbit’s. It’s my birthday and I don’t want to spend it here in your dark ass apartment on suicide watch. Get up!”

  I rolled my eyes and sat up. The last thing I want or need is Sunny lurking around my apartment but I know she will sit here and bug the hell out of me all night if I don’t do what she wants. She’s stubborn like that.

  “Fine,” I sighed. “But I’m not changing. And I’m driving. You’re not killing me that death trap you call a car.”

  “I don’t care.” She hopped up from the floor in one fluid motion. “Let’s go.” She handed me my guitar case, which is what she had set by the door.

  “You know, just in case, the feeling moves you.”

  We rode in silence to Rabbit’s but once we walked in both Sunny and I came alive. As soon as I entered the club that I had grown to love, I felt at home. Man, I’ve missed this place!

  In the midst of the “happy birthday” shouts towards Sunny, I heard my name being called. I looked around at the bouncers, bartenders, waitresses, all people who had been my friends that I abandoned because of my irrational temper.

  “Aiden!” Kat called. “Boy, if you don’t bring your skinny ass over here, you better!”

  I grinned. For a second I forgot that I was depressed. I was home! I walked over to Kat and gave her a huge bear hug.

  “Look at you, all skinny and shit” she cried. “Somebody get this boy some food. Have a seat, baby,” she ordered.

  The house band – Wild Mike, Eddie, Tony, and a couple of new guys I’ve never seen before – were performing but I knew that they wouldn’t be on stage for much longer. Joey Clausen and his band were in town. I actually got excited when Joey took the stage. I enjoy his music tremendously and it’s the blues...exactly what I’m feeling right now.

  “Will you look at this,” Joey said into the microphone after playing his third song. “The prodigal son has returned home! Aiden man, where ya been?”

  I looked up from my plate of food in shock. Joey Clausen was talking to me! The only interaction I’ve ever had with him was a casual head nod as I exited his stage whenever I opened for him. But here he was, on stage, acknowledging my presence during his set. I grinned.

  “I see you brought your Standard.” Joey said. “Why don’t you come on up here and give the people a taste of what they’ve been missing?”

  When Joey Clausen invites you on stage to play during his set, you go. Without a moment of hesitation, I snapped open my case, grabbed my guitar, and rushed to the stage, moved by the crowd’s clapping and cheering.

  “For real, where have you been hiding?” Joey asked as I plugged in my guitar. “Kat’s been worried about you.”

  “Just going through some stuff,” I replied casually, too excited about actually getting a chance to play with Joey to worry about the bullshit that I’m going through.

  “We all go through shit,” he replied wisely. “Hell, we’re blues men. If we didn’t go through hard times, what would we sing about?”

  The four-man band sharing the stage with Joey all laughed. I looked around and grinned sheepishly. Joey had included me when he said “we’re blues men”.

  Joey is a natural on stage. A few seconds of witty banter with the crowd brought them in and kept them on his side the entire night. His stage presence is impressive and he’s fun to watch. When he’s really feeling a song or even if it’s just a moment in the song, he’s like a general rallying his troops. His band, including me, thrives off the energy he gives.

  The great thing about Joey, is that he spent the earlier part of his career playing blues covers, throwing in maybe one or two of his original songs into his set...exactly what I’m doing now. However, he’s been doing this for so long, and he’s worked with some of the best artists that now when he takes the stage, he can play his own music. That’s the level I’m trying to hit. />
  I played with them for three songs, backing up Joey. I made sure to keep my guitar at a reasonable volume, and resisted the urge to do my own thing, out of respect for him. But playing with Joey, as his sideman, solidified the idea that had been on my mind for a minute. I can probably be someone’s number two for a short period of time. But I’m not meant to play second guitar. The urge to overshadow the band leader would be too great. Obviously, playing with PURE is off the table.

  After the set, I stepped outside and lit a cigarette. I turned around and smiled when I heard Kat’s familiar gait, clicking on the pavement. She’d finally replaced the gravel, thank God.

  “Hey baby, what you doin out here by yourself?”

  “Smoking.”

  “That’s a filthy habit and I wish you’d stop it,” she admonished.

  I ground out my cigarette on the pavement and smiled. “Happy?”

  “Very...but not about that. I’m happy that you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  “Don’t ever do that again, Aiden.” Kat was angry. I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “Don’t do what again?”

  “Don’t disappear for weeks and not call me or nothing. Do you know how many times I was tempted to come over there and knock you upside your head? But Mike and Eddie kept telling me to let you be.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You better be,” she replied.

  Standing in the parking lot, I told Kat what happened between me and my parents. It felt good to tell somebody...finally.

  “I knew something bad must have gone down,” she said sadly. “I could tell from the way you were playing and singing. Your voice has changed. I can hear the pain you’re in. I’m sorry honey.”

  Kat pulled me into a tight hug and briefly I wished that my own parents, especially the woman who had birthed me, loved me as much as Kat does.

  “Look baby, I know all about musicians. Y’all are a fickle bunch, I tell ya. And I don’t know what it is about you, but I love you like you’re my own child, ya hear. No matter what happens or where that guitar takes you, this is your home. I’m always gon be here for you. We’re family.”