No Holding Back

by Dresden, Amanda

  “And yet it still won’t be enough…”

  “It’s Sunday,” Chris pointed out for the hundredth time. “Nothing. Is. Open.”

  Wade ignored her and continued to drag her down off the bus to the only music store left they could find.

  This was their last option. It was the only place left within miles that they would be able to acquire a new set of sticks before their next performance. And they only had a few hours left.

  He forgot that hardly anything was open on Sundays - except for the venue in which they’d be appearing. After her injury, he was more concerned with ensuring that she iced it down every chance she got, so he didn’t even concern himself with a few pieces of wood.

  Now, he was kicking himself in the ass for throwing all of Hess’ personal items into the dumpster after he was thrown in jail. He remembered tossing an entire pack of unopened Vic Firths, but he got rid of them without a second thought.

  “Then I guess it won’t matter if I tried knocking to see if anyone’s home.”

  Wade stopped just short of the two-story building and pressed his faced to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes as he strained to see the inside of the store and through darkened rows of music equipment.

  Chris skidded to a halt in the gravel and crossed her arms like a disappointed child while Wade pounded on the glass doors with all his strength.

  BOOM. BOOM. BOOM!

  “Hey!” he yelled. “Anyone in there!?”

  Chris rolled her eyes under her hoodie. Wade had made her dress up like a guy in the event that they were actually lucky enough to find a store that was open. And he wanted to avoid the public as much as possible. But after their fifth stop, even Chris was beginning to see that their efforts were fruitless.

  “HEY!” Wade screamed again.

  BOOM! BOOM!

  “Wake your ass up and get down here!”

  Chris stared up at the sky and at the rain-soaked clouds that took form overhead. The sky looked gray and sickly and as thunder rattled off in the distance, her gut sank.

  They never admitted it to each other, but neither Chris nor Wade slept after their innocent tryst in her room. And now they were exhausted. Chris had never tried coffee before in her life, but she could have used one just then. And as a lonesome drop hit the tip of her nose, she sighed.

  Frustrated that no one had yet to answer Wade’s cries, he pounded his fist one last time on the door before he spun around in defeat.

  He ran his hands through his hair and leaned back against the glass doors of the building. He balled his fists and screamed, “FUCK!” before his head fell back, creating a dense thud.

  Then, the rain began to fall in sheets.

  They stood in complete silence while the rain came down on them both. They knew that if Chris couldn’t find a set of sticks strong enough to take a beating, they couldn’t perform. But neither was willing to say so.

  Chris dropped her gaze to the gravel road and kicked at a few loose rocks when suddenly, another loud bang from behind the glass doors.

  “Hey! What the fuck, man! I was dead asleep! Can’t you read the sign?!”

  While pointing at the stores’ hours, a heavyset guy appeared from behind the doors startling them both. He didn’t look any older than thirty, and judging by his badly wrinkled and disheveled clothing, he looked like he had just rolled out of bed.

  Wade melted with relief before he pointed to the inside of the dark building.

  “Hey, let us in, man! We need some sticks!”

  The employee appeared put off and reached into his front pocket as if he was trying to find his wallet.

  “We’re closed, ass-hat! Get the hell off my property before I-!” The employee screamed while he squinted, but after he pulled out a pair of eyeglasses and put them on, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “Holy sssshhit!” He screamed and pointed at Wade through the glass, leaving greasy fingerprints behind. “You’re Wade Griffin – from Heretic! Fuck me, man! I love you guys! I-I-I wouldda come to your concert tonight, but they were all sold out and-!”

  The employee’s excitement level mounted and as he continued his verbal infatuation, Wade tried to get his attention.

  “Hey – hey, man! What’s your name?!”

  “I-I just…I just can’t believe this! Heretic’s front man is at my store-!”

  “Dude, hey-!”

  “Huh, what?”

  “Your name, man! What’s your name?” Wade repeated.

  “Huh? Oh! Uh-uh…Ed! My name’s Ed!”

  “Ed! Ed? Does this mean you’re open?” he urged gently.

  “Open? Oh! Open, yeah – yeah, hell yeah, man, just gimme a minute!”

  Wade didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but after he brought his keys out from another pocket and opened the door for the two of them, he was just glad to be out of the rain.

  As they filed in behind, Ed remained slack-jawed at the sight of Heretic’s bus. But when he laid eyes on Chris, he looked on the verge of a heart attack.

  “No way, man. Tell me I’m fuckin’ dreamin’, right? Chris…Rebman!?”

  Ed practically lunged forward to shake Chris’ hand, but Wade immediately stepped in and gave him his own hand instead.

  “Hey-hey! We really appreciate this, man. Look, all we need are some sticks and we’ll get outta here.”

  As Ed and Wade exchanged hearty handshakes, Ed’s eyes widened in growing excitement.

  “Sticks? Oh hell yeah, man! I got all kinds,” he said, striding to the glass check-out counter. “What’ll it be? Vic’s, Vators, Pro-Marks? You name it: I got it!”

  Wade looked behind him and at Chris, whose face remained hidden in darkness, but he wanted her to speak as less as possible.

  “Line ‘em up on the counter. Let’s see what you got.”

  “You got it, man.”

  As Ed went to turn on several store lights, Wade motioned for him to stop.

  “Wait - wait! Stop!”

  Confused, Ed stopped mid-switch and spun around. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

  Panicked, Wade tried to come up with an excuse while he shielded Chris from view.

  “Uh…uh n-nothing! Nothing, it’s just that…he’s hung-over as fuck, man,” Wade laughed while gesturing to Heretic’s drummer.

  Ed snickered. “Heh, I know the feelin’!”

  Turning on only the counter lights, the three of them huddled over the numerous brands of drumsticks behind the glass. Ed unlocked the counter doors and took out several slender boxes and laid them side by side. Afterwards, Wade gestured to Chris.

  “Alright,” he said with a slight nod. “You’re up.”

  Chris sighed and approached the counter, but kept her head carefully averted from Ed’s ogling stare.

  Wade watched as Chris picked up a single stick from a Vater brand box and held it at a delicate angle in between her fingers. She weighed it in her hand, tossed it about a foot up in the air, and watched it come back down again in her palm.

  “Well?” Wade asked impatiently.

  “The wood’s no good,” she said, throwing her voice perfectly.

  Ed scoffed. “Whadd’ya mean it’s no good?! That’s solid-fucking-oak!”

  Chris turned her head and while she peered at Ed, she took the other drumstick out of the box and began to free play on the side of the glass counter - all while never taking her eyes off of him.

  Wade studied her little demonstration and noticed that on her final stroke, she bore down as hard as she could, cracking the very tip of the stick, and sending it flying directly into Ed’s forehead.

  Stunned, Ed barely reacted to the flying piece of wood until he bent over and picked it up.

  “Holy shit,” he whispered, studying the splintered piece of wood like a priceless diamond.

  “Like I said,” she sneered. “No. Good.”

  Wade sighed aloud while Ed stuck the broken piece of wood into his pants pocket as casually as he could pull off, eager to keep the ‘s
ouvenir’ to himself.

  Meanwhile, it was all Wade could do to keep his temper. He palmed his face, but then redirected Chris to a pair of Vic Firth drumsticks. And using her same weighing methods, she balanced one of the sticks in her hand but then promptly placed it back into the box.

  “What’s wrong with that one?” Wade protested.

  Without looking back at him, Chris was already handling the next pair. “It didn’t sit right.”

  Wade rolled his eyes and tried to argue but she was already going down the entire line of drumsticks giving vague reasons about why they wouldn’t be right for her.

  Too heavy, too light, not the right kind of wood, wrong texture, ‘I don’t do nylon tips’, and towards the end of the line, Ed held up a pair of sticks that glowed when he struck them together.

  “Do I look like the fucking Blue Man Group to you?” she growled. Finally, she threw down the last pair and made straight for the door. “This isn’t gonna work-!”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

  Wade ran and stepped right in front of the doors, essentially blocking Chris from escaping.

  “What’er you doing?! Move!” she hissed just out of Ed’s earshot.

  “What’er you doing??” Wade retorted. “Just pick a pair of sticks and let’s get the hell outta here!”

  “I-Is everything okay, man?” Ed’s meek voice interrupted.

  "”Yeah! Yeah - everything’s cool, man. Just give us a second!” Wade said with his best fake smile, but even away from the light glow from the counter lights, he could clearly see Chris’ eyes began to water.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked. “Get it together!”

  “I-I can’t!” she whispered.

  “Why the hell not? What was so damn important about the ones you had?!”

  Chris let out a long, drawn-out sigh and her shoulders slumped. She faced away from Wade and crossed her arms, standing in silence for the longest time. Despite their dwindling time table, Wade remained patient.

  “Three years ago, I spent my entire months’ salary to buy ‘em off a guy who got them at a concert. They were so damn expensive.”

  Wade took one careful step in her direction. He was almost afraid to ask but he heard his own low voice penetrate the encompassing darkness of the store.

  “Whose were they?”

  Chris’ head dropped, and she wiped her eyes. “They belonged to Hess. He even signed ‘em.”

  Wade closed his eyes and breathed forever through his nose. He never knew they were special to her - never once entertained the idea that they belonged to Hess - especially on the rare occasion he hurled them out to hungry fans. She always kept them so close, so well protected. But despite her obvious attachment to them, he still couldn’t bring himself to understand why she couldn’t move on.

  “Hess never played with anything other than Vic Firth’s. They’re no different than the ones on the counter,” he pointed out.

  Wade was amazed at the softness in his own voice. He was always yelling and screaming, whether at his brother or at his concert. But this was an entirely different situation - infinitely more delicate. He wanted to shake some sense into her, but this was a hurdle Chris had to overcome on her own.

  “You don’t understand,” Chris shook her head and sniffed. “They’re the only reason I got into Heretic-.”

  Wade shook his head and snatched Chris by the shoulders, but kept the energy of his words to a dull roar.

  “Bullshit! You’re the reason you’re in Heretic - not some lousy paperweights you blew your money on!” he seethed. “You and I both know you’d sound beast on a set of drums with any of those sticks up there!”

  Chris shook her head, “You’re wrong. I’m nothing without them.”

  “No,” Wade corrected. “They’re nothing without you. Without you, all they can do it sit there in a damn box!” he said, nodding towards the counter.

  “Chris - look at me,” he commanded, but almost wished he hadn’t. Her blue eyes sparkled up at him through a glossy coat of moisture and for some reason, all he could do was picture himself kissing her full, pouty lips.

  “You’re crazy if you think that you’re only as good as your sticks or some other make-believe shit that makes you think Hess is better than you,” he explained. But it was his next words that he hoped would get through to her. “You know? For a while, I didn’t think we even could find something better than what Hess gave us. I’ve never been so glad…to be so wrong.”

  Chris barely shook her head and bit her bottom lip.

  “And believe me when I tell you,” Wade continued. “You don’t need someone like Hess holding you back. Besides, the only person who’s really holding you back…is you.”

  Wade watched his words have an almost immediate effect on her. Right away, her lips began to tremble and she tried desperately to sniff the upset out of her eyes with her long sleeves. Wade very nearly brought her into him in an embrace, but Ed’s small voice chimed in again.

  “Uh…s-scuse me? I have one last pair of sticks he could try.”

  Wade’s eyes widened at the small bit of good news, but when he looked back at Chris, he was even more relieved to see her nod in consent.

  Wade nodded back at Ed. “Show us what you got.”

  As they both walked back over to the counter, Wade noticed Ed’s unusual shift in demeanor when he reluctantly retrieved a gray box from under the counter with about an inch of dust on it. When he blew it off, Chris and Wade coughed and fanned the dust away from them.

  “I…gotta warn you though,” he said. “These aren’t your typical drumsticks.”

  With that, he opened the box reveling two slender, matte finish sticks that appeared dark and glossy and resembled the lizard-like scales of a reptile.

  Chris reached for one and held it over the light from the glowing countertop. It had a high luster and a beautiful silky-smooth finish that nearly made her eyes water again.

  “Snakeskin wood,” she whispered.

  Wade was intrigued and he too marveled at the drumstick. “The wood grain is beautiful,” he said, and just then, he noticed the brand name in red acrylic paint on the side. “Xero? I’ve never heard of that brand.”

  Ed frowned. “No one has. Company went under about five years ago thinking they’d fly off the shelves. I thought I they would too.”

  “What’s wrong with ‘em?” Wade asked.

  “Other than being really damn expensive and virtually indestructible - nothing. Unfortunately, they’re really-.”

  “Dense,” Chris finished, tapping the side of one on the glass with a hard echo that sounded as if each one could break the glass.

  “Bingo,” Ed said. “Turns out, drummers don’t like it if they feel too much of the drums in their hands. They’re lousy at absorbing vibrations. Begins to sting after a while. But uh, certain people,” he paused, gesturing to Heretic’s drummer. “…could use it to their advantage.”

  While Chris weighed the object in her hand like she did to the others, Wade continued to press Ed for more information.

  “How so?”

  “Well, with that much energy from the drums going into your body instead of the sticks, the theory is that a drummer knows how soft or hard their throws are. If they’re disciplined enough, they can be in complete control of the beat and the music at all times.”

  “Bottom line?” Wade begged.

  “Basically - whoever has those can make any drum set sound like it’s on steroids.”

  Wade forehead came together as he weighed all of this in his mind. He looked at Chris who had been twirling one of the drumsticks in the air during their conversation and studied her more intensely than he ever had. He even heard the whistling cut of the stick as it sliced through the air - all while Chris held it dangerously close to her ear, as if testing the very molecules of the wood itself. Ultimately, it didn’t matter to Wade what she chose, but he was hoping that this Cinderella had finally found her missing shoe.

  �
��S’up to you,” he said, waiting for any ‘yes’ or ‘no’.

  But he got neither.

  “I need to test ‘em,” she said in a low voice.

  Wade couldn’t agree more. “You have something set up in here, don’t you, Ed?”

  Right away, Ed’s eyes lit up as if his day wasn’t going any better.

  “Fuck - yeah, man!”

  Ed jogged as best he could from around the counter and disappeared into the darkness. Suddenly, a single light came on over a once hidden corner of the building that shelved CD’s, guitars, wires, and best of all - a top of the line, pristine, fire-red Tama drum set.

  Unafraid, Chris approached the drums and sat down at the black cushioned seat. Ed parked himself next to Wade off a short distance, when all at once; she unleashed the sticks on the drums.

  Surprised, both Wade and Ed jumped at the sudden noise and watched in silent awe as Chris went up and down the drum line with ease. Wade was no drummer, but the musician inside him caught the subtle differences between the snakeskin sticks and the other sticks he was accustomed to hearing.

  The snakeskins carried a deep, rich tone, yet the purity that came from them was pristine, clear, and utterly set apart from other types of wood like oak or maple. He looked for any sign of distress coming from Chris and the pounding effects the Ed warned about or even a sign of her wrist injury that was still healing. But if her hands stung, she did a good job of hiding it.

  He became lost in her free play and watched her ability to command the snares and drums so eloquently, it almost made his eyes water. The bellowing echo drove Wade’s eardrums to madness, but he stayed absolutely still, watching Chris make magic before his eyes.

  The sheer vibration of the drum set made Wade feel as though the entire building was being torn apart at the foundation, yet the fierce battle of sticks versus drums gripped Wade’s very soul and for the third time in his life, goose bumps rose on his skin.

  When Chris’ haunting melody finally came to a close, he felt glued to his spot and unable to look away from the drums even as the dying sound of the snare disappeared entirely.

  Chris got up from her seat, still twirling the drumsticks in her fingers, seemingly desperate to find a single flaw in the wood’s integrity - the funnel and symbol of her talent.