Page 23 of Strike A Chord

“Couldn’t wait even an hour?” I nudged him with my bag.

“Nah, man, want to hide the good shit from you fuckers.”

I tossed my bag on the last remaining upper bunk then looked around and wondered what Reagan would think of this place. It was way nicer than my shitty ass apartment and it had everything we’d need. A sweet leather sectional couch and dining table, small desk area, four bunks, and a bedroom with a king-sized bed at the back. I imagined that belonged to the Hulk-ish figure who gave us the bench-pressing speech. Even the bathroom was decked out and there was a separate one for the bedroom. The kitchen had granite countertops and a full-size fridge. Man, this place was stacked, but I already missed Reagan even though he was the one who dropped me off this morning. He let me park my car at his house. I was paranoid it would get stolen though we’d only be gone for a few days. Still, anything near SeaTac had a short life span before it magically disappeared, and I wasn't about to lose one of the few assets I still possessed.

I ended up bringing all my guitars with me, both electric and acoustic, along with my amps and pedals. If my apartment got broken into there wasn't anything of value in there for them to take. If they wanted that raggedy ass shit furniture that came with the place, more power to them. Not sure the street value would be enough for them to score a dime bag, but that was on them.

I figured now was probably the best time to share my notebook with my band, maybe chip away the last chunk of ice. Jason and Marley had extended an olive branch this week when they showed up at the bar and we'd been talking more since. Nigel was still standoffish, but we'd find our way eventually, I imagined. Or not. “Hey, guys, I've got some songs I wanted to show you if you're down for checking them out?” Here goes nothing. I didn’t know what was harder, admitting to Reagan that I was in love with him or bearing my soul by way of lyrics.

“Oh, hell yeah, man. If all this goes well and we get a contract, they're most likely gonna send us straight into the studio because they need to earn their money back. The only way to do that is if we put out a new CD that rocks the charts.” Jason took a seat at the table and so did Marley. Nigel grabbed a drink out of the fridge and stood in the kitchen side-eying us.

Silently I watched as they sifted through years of my life. Every lyric in there came from an event, something I saw, something I did, something I longed for. Either way, every song I had written had a piece of me in it. Were they good enough to publish? To me, yes, but to them maybe not, but we'd see. I mean, hopefully out of the three hundred plus pages in that overstuffed notebook we could find a dozen or so to make a go with. Many I had already written the music to or at least how I envisioned the guitar solos and whatnot. I was more than open for each of us to take our part and tweak it how we saw fit. That’s what a band did, they came together and made music and I desperately wanted to be a part of that with these guys.

“Man, some of these lyrics cut like a knife.” Jason shook his head. “This shit's pretty deep, some of it’s heavy but I see where you've got it written that the perfect way to sing it is to scream it. That always draws a crowd and shows the true emotion behind the words. Metal heads love angry songs, getting out your frustrations and moshing it away in the pit with your brethren. These are fantastic, man, seriously.”

“I can visualize the bass lines, the heavier portions where you want it to be dark. That’s what drew me to the bass in the first place. Like, you can always tell in a horror movie when someone's about to die, the music gives it away, heavy, dark bass. It tugs at your heartstrings when you play it.” I got what Marley said because I felt the same way with guitar solos. They said so much without any words.

“I don't know what's going on here but it's like you guys just fucking get me. I've never shown any of this to anyone else. This is literally the first and yeah, my anxiety is kicked up a few notches and my heart’s racing, but I'm open to feedback. The music's not written for all of them, just some, and again, that's just me writing it. I'm open to whatever you guys see or hear. You know your instruments and your parts better than I do. I only know mine. But I'm in this a hundred and ten percent in. I want us to succeed, and I'll do everything I can to see to it that we do.”

“Now that, mother fucker, is what I've been waiting to hear.” Nigel emerged from the shadows with his infinite words of wisdom. “You strolled in like your shit didn't stink and then when we figured out who you were you were even more standoffish. Now you're finally opening up and accepting us and it's about fucking time.” That was ironic given I saw Nigel in much the same light. Like he thought he was better than me. Another time in my life where not communicating only built barriers between me and someone I could’ve done better with.

“You want to take a look?” I nodded toward the table where Jason and Marley had my life spread out.

“Yeah, I wanna take a look. I don't need your sorry ass telling me my part.” His words were harsh, but the faint smile wasn’t.

I threw my head back and laughed. “Touché.”

I grabbed my acoustic, glad I refused to put it underneath the bus with the rest of my gear, and the guys and I got to jamming. Our first jam session. Sure, we'd practiced many times but with their existing songs. Songs that they allowed me to alter slightly, but these were my songs that we were gonna turn into music and record together. I loved having everyone's input and they were positive, not a negative comment was made. Which unfortunately was what I expected to get, though I'd hoped for the best. As I plucked out a few chords it triggered them to write down notes to the music for each song, where they saw and how it fit. This was nice. I wouldn't venture to say that Nigel and I were besties, but we were definitely on a new path, a better path. A brotherhood of sorts formed today, and it was like the pieces of my life finally came together.

All it took was my sharing intimate parts of my soul.

We lost track of time when Deuce popped his head around the divider, he'd sat up front with Gabe and there was a sliding partition that separated them from us. “There’s food in the oven waiting for us.”

“Dang, man, this is the life. I could get used to this.” Marley kicked back like he was waiting for one of us to serve him.

“Boy, you better get your lazy ass up and serve yourself because there ain't nobody here that works for you.” Nigel growled and Marley waved him off. I could see this turning into a pissing match between those two and my money was on Nigel for the win.

Gabe pulled over at the next rest stop so he and Deuce could take a break and eat with us. After the dishes were cleaned up, I glanced at my phone and hadn’t realized how late it was. There was a text from Reagan waiting.

Reagan: How's it going, Rockstar?

I smiled and absolutely loved hearing that.

Me: Surprisingly well. I shared my songs with them.

Reagan: Oh yeah? How'd that go?

Me: Well, we just spent the last six hours writing music to a bunch of them and it felt pretty damn good.

Reagan: I'm happy to hear that. How much longer till you guys get there?

Me: No clue. The guys just hopped into their bunks. I'll probably go lay in mine and do some more work. Hate to break the streak when it’s hot.

Reagan: Gotcha. Gotta go. Just got another rush of customers. I'll text you later if that's okay?

Me: Totally. Talk to you later.

“No! Stop! I hate you! I wish I was never born!”

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