Trouble Bored

by Matthew Ryan Lowery

  Fourteen

  “I’m on it.”

  Bungie was one of us. An original member of The O’briens, Chemical Sewer, and now Trouble Bored. The only drummer any of us had ever played with. He had never missed a show. Sure, he was directly responsible for ruining gigs in-progress. But who hadn't trashed a set or two? I got so drunk once I knocked Steve's amp off the stage. Killed it on impact. My point is, everybody is entitled to a bad day.

  I loved Bungie, too, as a friend and bandmate. But if he thought I had any patience in my body on that day of all days, he was dead-fucking-wrong.

  I didn’t waste any time.

  “Listen. We're going to Burlington to play with AngerFM at Green 90. Can you get to Steve's by two?”

  “Um...I can’t really just go out of town on no notice. I’m working the diner tonight,” Bungie stated.

  “I don't care. No one cares. Everyone else is good.”

  “Well, everyone else isn’t working, are they?” he asked.

  “Steve is calling out of the airport,” I stated.

  “Steve doesn’t work for his parents.”

  “Wolf just walked off of a job with his dad to play this fucking show, Bungie. What difference does it make? Are you gonna flip burgers with your parents for the rest of your life? Tell them to fuck off for a day and come play this fucking show, out of town, with a big band and a big crowd.”

  “How ‘bout I fucking don’t, Gray?”

  “Come on, Bungie.”

  “Nope. I’m not dealing with my parents. They are never going to let it go. I’m the one who has to live with them.”

  “Well then go fuck yourself!” I hung up.

  “Cock-fucking-sucker. He can't get the night off from his parents’ business. Holy shit. Why now?”

  “Shit, dude,” Nico said.

  Just then, my phone started ringing in my pocket.

  “What the fuck now? Oh, it’s Steve.”

  I answered the call. “Steve. I am going to fucking kill Bungie.”

  “Why?”

  “He won’t take the night off. Bullshit with his parents.”

  “What? You can’t be serious.”

  “Deadass fucking serious.”

  Steve didn’t say anything for a couple seconds.

  “Steve?”

  He came back on the line. “Fuck him. Fuck him, dude. Not on our watch. This is too fucking big. God...fuck! What an asshole.”

  “What if you play the drums tonight?” I suggested.

  We hadn't practiced with Steve on drums, but I was desperate. Maybe we could wing it.

  "I mean...maybe. But Wolf doesn't know any of my guitar solos, and AngerFM is gonna think we’re a couple Phil Collins fuck-pies when our drummer sings half the damn set.”

  “True. Is there anyone else we can call?”

  “Ahh...okay. What about Derrick Knott? He's not playing with BatDick anymore.”

  “Derrick Knott isn’t playing with BatDick anymore? Why?” I asked.

  “‘Cause they fucking suck balls, would be my guess. He knows our songs, though. I can show him the complicated shit on the drive. I’ll call him and say we're playing with AngerFM. He'll probably jump on it.”

  “Fine. Fuck it. Call Derrick. I guess tell him we need his van too. Thanks. Later.”

  Nico and Ryder were waiting for my reaction.

  “Welp,” I said, “you guys almost ready to bounce?”

  Nico and Ryder looked at each other, smiling, and both shouted, “Road trip!”

  Steve, Wolf, Nico, Ryder, and I stood in front of Steve's house, waiting for Derrick. Stress had worn a cold burning feeling into my chest. Everyone was excited and nervous except Nico and Ryder, who were only there for a good time. We all looked tired too. I realized I had probably gotten the most sleep out of everyone.

  “Ugh. I’ve pooped, like, eight times already,” Steve announced, “I think my asshole is in fight-or-flight mode.”

  His dad walked out of the house wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, white shorts, and flip-flops, drinking a Keystone Light in a beer koozie that said Two inches of dynamite can still bang. God forbid he miss his chance to bust our balls before we left.

  “Hey, if anyone needs to go number one before ya leave, try to aim for the shit-streaks Steve left in the downstairs toilet.”

  “Come on, Dad. Go inside.” Steve sighed.

  “Hey, I’m the one who has to explain those poop stains to your mother when you’re nowhere to be found later.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Which one of you is Ringo Starr tonight?”

  “He should be here soon,” Steve said.

  “Geez, Steve, I could have played drums for ya tonight, you know.”

  “Yeah?” Steve said. “I doubt it.”

  “No, seriously. I never told you guys about the time I filled in on drums for my cousin’s Irish band?”

  Steve rolled his eyes. "What are you talking about?"

  “I was probably sixteen or seventeen. All the songs were classic Irish tunes, so all I had to do was keep the beat. I was so good at it I didn’t know when to stop. They turned around to tell me the song was over, and I was still sitting there drumming going, “Yeah, pretty good right?!”.

  We all laughed.

  “Get outta here," Steve demanded. "Go inside."

  "Look." Wolf pointed at a van rounding the corner. "I think that's him."

  * * *

  Derrick pulled up in a light blue 2005 Chevy Venture minivan he later explained to us belonged to his mom.

  “Well, I guess ya don't need me,” Steve’s dad stated. “Good luck tonight, boys!”

  He gave us each a fist bump before heading back inside.

  Derrick hopped out of the van. He was as scrawny as the rest of us and covered in tattoos—more than Wolf, even—from neck to feet. His basketball jersey and shorts showed them off.

  “What up, bro!” Steve shouted from the driveway. “This is Nico and Ryder, our merch guys. They're going to drive Grayson's car with the merch and as much gear as we can fit. Me, Grayson, and Wolf will ride with you.”

  “Sweet! Sounds good. Thanks for asking me to play, guys.”

  “Thanks for showing up,” I added.

  After packing, Steve and I ran through the checklist and Nico and Ryder jumped into my car. The band got in Derrick’s mom’s van. I walked over to Nico, who was in the driver’s seat of my station wagon.

  I passed some paper through the window. “MapQuest directions. We’ll follow you guys, so try not to get lost. Or, you know, do whatever you want. Surprise us.”

  Ryder sat in the passenger seat, dreaming of the detours he and Nico could create.

  I hopped into Derrick’s passenger seat. Steve and Wolf were in the back. We rolled down all of our windows. I gave Nico a thumbs-up as he backed out of the driveway and pulled up next to us.

  Nico and Ryder shouted at us: “Road trip!”

  “Road trip!” we shouted back.

  Nico took off. Derrick followed him. I loved that feeling—the warm summer air chopping through the van. Derrick cranked the radio up.

  At the first stop sign, I could see Ryder checking the directions. Derrick halted the van behind Nico, who sat at the stop sign suspiciously long.

  “Hey, I'm taking a fuckin' road trip over-here!” Steve shouted in his fake Italian accent.

  “Why isn't he going?” Derrick asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  Wolf continued Steve’s bit from the back seat “I'm takin' a trip up ya mother's ass!”

  Nico remained at the stop sign.

  “What the fuck?” I was getting concerned. “Did my car stall?”

  “Hey, come on. I gotta go visit ya mother's asshole on the tip of Coney Island!” Steve shouted.

  At that point, Nico was waving me over.

  “Fuck. What the fuck?” I nervously got out of the van and walked over.

  “It won't start,” Nico said. “I rolled up to the stop sign a
nd once I came to a full stop, the engine bogged down then died. Listen.”

  He attempted to turn the engine over, but nothing happened.

  “Shit,” I hissed. “Shit shit. What the fuck? What the fuck are we going to do? What about your car?”

  “Can't. Registration's up.”

  “Shit. Think.”

  Nico paused for a second then perked up, “Freddy?”

  It was as good a shot as any. I pulled out my phone and looked up Freddy’s number.

  “I’m on it.”

  Fifteen

  “Check this out.”

  When he wasn't stealing helium tanks from abandoned buildings, Freddy was working his way through automotive school. Nico helped me push my car to the side of the road while we waited for him. Steve, Wolf, Derrick, and Ryder returned to Steve’s house. Freddy arrived in about twenty minutes.

  “You’re lucky you called me when you did.” Freddy hunched over the engine of my Ford Escort piece of shit. “Usually I work on Saturdays, but my girlfriend is trying to fucking murder me today, so I called out. Gotta lay low so she won't find me.”

  “Damn. What the fuck did you do?” I asked.

  “Fucking bullshit, dude. Can’t get any goddamn privacy, is what it is. I’m ready for a new girl anyway. I’m just going to wait for her to calm down enough for me to get my stuff out of her house. That vacuum we stole is over there. That’s a nice fucking vacuum. Those things never break. Over my dead body is she keeping that vacuum, bro.”

  “She got mad that you broke into the Family Times?” Nico asked.

  “She doesn’t give a fuck about that. Already drank half of one of the Crown Royal bottles I brought back. Try it again?”

  Nico sat in the driver’s seat and attempted to turn the car over.

  “Nope. Still nothing.”

  “Huh.”

  Freddy continued tinkering under the hood.

  “So every night, she goes to bed before me because I’m always doing homework and she has to be up at five thirty for work. So that’s usually when I get my jerk-a-jerk-a-nut-nut-nut time in.”

  Freddy made a jerk-off motion with the ratchet in his hand.

  “So I use her computer to watch porn. And I always, always, remember to open a private window so none of the history is recorded.”

  “Oh boy.” I glanced over at Nico, who could not wait to hear more.

  “Except this time—I don't know how I fucking forgot, dude, but I did. And normally it wouldn't matter that much, but this time—the one fucking time I forget to go private—out of all the times I've jerked off to big titty porn and Asian porn and Black porn and what-the-fuck-ever—out of all the porn I could have watched, it had to be fucking tranny night.”

  “Oh my fucking god.” Nico and I were both cackling uncontrollably.

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Keep laughing. You know I’m no fag.”

  “None of us would care if you were, dude. We love you. Ryder is gay and no one cares,” said Nico.

  “Yeah, but I’m gay for fucking dudes, bro,” Ryder laughed. “Not dudes with tits.”

  “Eat shit,” Freddy laughed. “It was just tranny night. Okay. Whatever. So. She wakes up this morning and goes on the computer. To check the weather of all things—instead of sticking her head out the motherfucking window like any normal bitch with a brain between her two fuckin’ ears would do. And she flips the fuck out—like I was actually paying for tranny hookers or some shit! Like I’m a pervert or something!”

  “God damn, dude. She sounds like a homophobe to me,” Nico said.

  “Fuck that bitch. I’m probably gonna hideout at Chris’s after this.”

  I slapped the side of the station wagon. “What's it looking like? Any idea?”

  “Here's an idea: stop fucking rushing me, son.”

  “Damn. Sorry. We're an hour behind schedule. If I miss this show, I will legit cry.”

  “That's cause you’s a little bitch, son. I heard you was still cryin' about that little-ass dick you was born with, too.”

  “Ugh, I know,” I said. “It's so fuckin' tiny, bro. That's why I drive this expensive-ass car to compensate.”

  We laughed.

  “Alright. Try it now.”

  Nico turned the key and the car started right up.

  “Yeahhh! You did it!” I yelled. “What was wrong with it?”

  Freddy held up a small electrical fuse. “This one little fuse blew and was fucking your whole shit up. All I did was replace it.”

  “Wow, you fixed something for once!” Nico slow-clapped.

  “Well, if you knew what you was doin’, you wouldn't have had to call me. So I guess you're fuckin’ welcome,” Freddy fired back.

  Nico passed him a bag of nuggets. Looked like two grams, almost. Least we could do—he'd saved our asses.

  People talk about “the open road,” but our trips were nothing like that. Our destination was locked, and we followed an explicit path with as few stops as possible. Our road was a little less open but just as poetic.

  Ten miles out of town, the possibilities were already endless. We could do anything. Meet anyone. We were starved for adventure. We were desperate for meaning.

  Rotterdam was a prison to us. Even for our parents, the town was less a choice than it was a consequence. We were sick of our hometown being imposed on us, and we fell in love with the first thing to get us away from it, even for one day.

  For the life of me, I honestly cannot remember every time I hit the road with Trouble Bored. I can’t remember every venue or town we played in. I can’t remember the names of everyone I met. Too many trips over too many years.

  I can see clips in my mind, though. Stages, basements, faces. People who welcomed us into small pockets of the world where their own scenes were thriving. These people were kind. They accommodated us with food and gas money. They danced and sang along.

  These people were outsiders like us, yet when the universe worked its magic and we somehow crossed paths, we all felt like a family for a night, friends we'd never see again. It happened so many times. These were people I wish I never lost touch with. People whose names I can’t remember. Demo CDs I can’t find. Stickers I’ve lost.

  We were rockin’ out to Steve’s CD collection in Derrick’s van. Not just punk bands. Queen, Guns N’ Roses, Nirvana, Led Zeppelin, CCR, The Beatles, Elvis Costello, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen. I got really into Bruce Springsteen around nineteen. I remember thinking, “Yeah, I am fucking born to run,” as most teenagers find themselves feeling. I had never cried to more songs by any other artist than Springsteen. They were all too sad, and so was I.

  The world outside of Rotterdam intrigued us. Seeing mountains, horses, rock walls, cities, billboards for places we’d never heard of—it was all alien. We were gentlemen of the road, liberated by the freedom of stopping at any rest stop we wanted to. Lawless nomads living on the frontier for just one day before the inevitable return to our routines. We needed this more than oxygen.

  As each passing mile enlightened us, our conversations on the road deepened.

  “He fucking threatened to fire me again.” Wolf leaned back, staring out the window.

  “Doesn’t he realize your mom will just make him hire you back?” I asked. “I mean, it’s not like there’s any paperwork involved.”

  “As if he has anyone else to hire anyway. The only other guy he ever worked with, he caught smoking crack underneath one of the trucks. No one wants to do tree work. He’s just pissed because I took two days off in a row. Last night was one thing, but this fucking random bullshit that pops up causes me so many problems. You guys don’t realize.”

  “Natalie’s losing her mind over me missing her sister’s baby shower. She only needed me for, like, the last half hour to clean up and load gifts into her mom’s SUV. And she wanted me to be there the entire day? Fuck that. Not when fate is knocking on my door.”

  “My dad’s been up my ass to quit the band since high school ended,” Wolf added. “‘W
aste of time!’ Fucking dickhead. Told me to start paying rent or get the fuck out the minute I turned 18. You guys have it made, living at home for free.”

  Steve waved his hands as if to clear the air. “Quit it with the negative energy.”

  Wolf and I disagreed all the time on everything even though we had been friends for so long. Sometimes, all we could agree on was how shitty our lives had been.

  “I mostly live with Natalie now. My clothes and shit are at my mom’s, but I’m never there unless I need to grab something. All my mom does is call me lazy. I’m working my ass off to get shows and find us a label. Apparently, it’s a crime to sleep during the afternoon, even when you’ve been up twenty-four hours working a job and playing shows. When she heard our first album, she literally told me it was trash and she would never be proud of me if I ‘kept making horrible music like that.’”

  “Jesus christ, dude. If it makes you feel any better, my dad got drunk and called me a faggot last week.”

  Steve had heard enough. “Yeah, well, my dad told me, if you’re ever blasting a chick’s ass out and it’s the first time she’s ever taken a hard throbber in her stink, make sure you jump out of the way when you pull your cock out. There’s a good chance she’ll spray shit out of her quivering butthole since she won’t be used to such rigorous anal pleasure, and you don't want to have to clean up poop when you're just trying to fuck her and leave her.”

  We cracked up. That was Steve. He didn’t complain much even though he had plenty of opportunities.

  Steve popped in one of our CDs and turned up the stereo to demonstrate an important part for Derrick.

  “Check this out.”

  As we moved along the two-lane highway, an old lady in front of us, who could barely see over her dash, was driving way too slow. Nico had passed her about ten minutes prior. An 18-wheeler was cruising ahead of her, but there was plenty of passing room in between.

  “Fuck this old bitch.” Steve craned his neck for a better view. “Dotted line, bro. You're good.”