Fuck. My. Life.
My only hope was my old man hadn’t heard of my return, not that he’d ever looked for me before. He’d likely demand money for booze if he knew. Ironic, considering I was about to drain a glass of the amber nectar myself. Guess this apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that sense, but at least I wasn’t an abusive, alcoholic fuck who only knew how to talk with my fists.
“You all right over there?” Reagan gestured to my glass. Generally, I downed the first one as quickly as he set it down yet today, lost inside my head, I hadn’t touched it.
“Yeah, sorry.” I shot it down and gestured for another.
The audition really was shit. A three-hundred-dollar amp down the toilet, and now instead of manning up and spending what little I had to purchase a new one, I instead chose to drown my sorrows and wallet in the bottom of a bottle. Again.
Will I ever be any better than my piece of shit sperm donor?
Second drink drained, I decided to call it a night. Tossed down cash for the bill on the bar top and with a nod to Reagan, I was out the door. Ten minutes later, I stepped inside the shithole I’d called home since I’d returned to the Pacific Northwest. I opened the fridge and grabbed a half-empty take-out container. Smelled fine so dinner was served.
I plopped down on the threadbare couch that came with the rental and groaned as I caught a glance of my reflection in the mirror. Haggard as fuck. I resembled the loser that I was. Overgrown beard, hair a greasy, unwashed mess. WTF, Josh? “This was what my life has become. This, Josh, is what happens when you get too full of yourself.”
Even Reagan knew not to waste his time on me. Hell, looking like this I wouldn’t touch me, let alone consider a date. No wonder he turned me down—repeatedly.
Date? Where did that thought come from? You can’t afford to feed yourself, how in the hell do you think you could afford another human mouth to fill.
I’d sold all but three of my guitars when I moved back and left myself with two electric and one acoustic. Small lot for a professional guitarist to have. Honestly, I’d lucked out working for Maiden but by the same token, never really made a name for myself with a band of my own. I was nothing more the man who kept Ryder Hampton in tune. Shout-outs inside CD jackets but never a mention outside of that. Maybe the tides were changing, and I had a chance to right all the wrongs and prove my worth in this short life I’d have. With hard work and perseverance, I could become a real man. One I could be proud of.
We are only as good as our greatest dream.
More like, delusions of grandeur. Guys like me didn’t get breaks, unless bones counted.
If this gig was for real, I would have to pull my own weight and who knows, maybe get a friend or two out of the deal. Would be the first time for sure. Those who acted like my friends when I had money suddenly disappeared when the well ran dry. Super fucked up, though given what a douche bag I was I couldn’t lay all the blame on them.
I was tired of feeling, tired of running from the past and from myself. I should’ve been excited at having a new band yet there I was, alone, sulking in a deep river of self-loathing. What’s the meaning behind all of this, could someone please explain or was that asking too much?
I tossed the empty container aside, grabbed my acoustic and strummed the opening chords to Slipknot’s song “Snuff.” Melancholy lyrics to end the shittastic evening with. One moment I was up, the next I was down. I had more issues than meds could fix.
Chapter Two
Reagan
What was Josh’s deal? My first thought was yeah, great, here he comes again. Armed with lame ass sexual advances for me to dodge. Why the hell hadn’t I banned him yet? Though today, the sadness in his eyes stopped me cold.
He’d been coming here for a few years now. I checked with the other bartenders, and they said he was only here on the days I worked. What was his story? How many times could the guy be turned down before he finally gave up? Though I must admit, today was the first time he made zero advances toward me and that coupled with his short visit wasn’t the norm.
No clue what his last name was or what he did for a living. He always paid in cash. No credit cards, nothing. So why did this sudden change in the acts I associated with him bother me?
The rest of the evening was uneventful, thankfully, since my mind was elsewhere. Thursdays weren’t usually jampacked to begin with, but tonight it was downright dead. I had to talk to the boss about getting bands and events in here again. I got it, we weren’t in the best area but at the rate sales had dropped, we’d be closed in six months.
“Reagan speaking.” It surprised me when the phone behind the bar rang. We didn’t get many calls. Most were funneled through and handled by the front desk.
“Hey, Reagan, it’s Jason from Chaotic Abyss, formerly known as Playing With Fire, but we’re changing it up. Is Harvey in by any chance?” Jason and his band had played an acoustic set here a couple of times and brought in a hell of a crowd when they did. Some were a little rowdier than we liked, but overall, we broke sales records each time.
“Nah, man, he’s off tonight. You guys looking to book a gig?” Bingo! rang through my head, this was just the boost we needed.
“Yeah, we got a new guitarist today. Dude’s a total badass with a giant chip on his shoulder the size of Mars, but he’s learning our songs so an acoustic set would be a great way to break him in. You guys got any open slots?” Do we ever, I wanted to scream but being cool was a better way to go. Desperate would make Jason second guess playing here again.
“I think we can work something out. Let me give Harvey a shout and I’ll call you back.” Knowing Harvey, he was still up working in his home office. I don’t think the guy ever slept. He owned a chain of franchised units of hotels from Seattle to Portland. Busy as hell, and still hands on.
“Right on, thanks, man. Talk soon.” Jason hung up and I immediately dialed Harvey.
“Reagan, how’s it going?” he answered in his usual way. I could hear the keys on his keyboard clicking away.
“Dead as hell, man. Ironically, I just got a call that could change that.” Harvey promoted me to manager a couple of years ago with good reason. I always had a finger on the pulse and ideas to make things better. They weren’t always implemented but in Harvey’s words, he liked my initiative. The irony in this call was I had just thought of adding entertainment when Jason called.