Page 112 of Deliverance

We get through the song once, attempting to imitate the sounds, then Leo says, “Let’s do it again!”

So we do it again.

And again.

And again.

Until he hardly looks at the lyrics anymore. He knows the chorus by heart and remembers a good portion of both verses. Toby adds a little bit of spunk to the solo.

And just like that. It clicks. We’re so fucking in tune, we grin from ear to ear at the end of what must be take number eight.

“Who are these guys, dude?” Leo pokes my chest with the corner of the sleeve, and fire flashes across his sharp features. If he hadn’t spent the last four hours here with us, belting out the same words over and over, I bet my right arm he was on something.

My T-shirt is drenched and my hair sticks to my neck as I grab a fresh towel from the rack behind me. “Unsigned indie band.”

“Unsigned, my ass. This is some dope shit.”

“It’s a good song,” Toby agrees, plucking at the strings on his guitar.

“Are they local?” Leo sets the sleeve on the couch.

“Yeah.”

“Dude.” He claps his hands. “We need to meet this bunch.”

Something pricks at my heart. “They’re not performing anymore.” I clear my throat. “The guy who wrote the song died a little while ago.”

My words shock everyone into a moment of absolute silence.

Looking aghast, Leo brings his hand behind his head and cups the nape of his neck. “Fuck. That’s sad.”

Sinking into a chair, Toby nods. His own head seems to have disappeared into his shoulders. The quiet stretches like a rubber band, ready to snap any second.

Leo drags his palm over his sweaty face and says, “Gotta take a piss.”

“Take a left. Last door at the end of the hallway,” I explain as he heads out.

As soon as Toby and I are alone, I ask, “Has he been using?”

“He’s keeping himself in check.”

Somehow, I don’t believe him. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“What about you?” Toby scowls. “You keeping yourself in check?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shakes his head. “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.”

I’m wired and feel like exchanging some harsh words with him, but my pain comes back tenfold. In the end, I simply walk out of the studio and pace down the hallway until the edges of my vision begin to blur and my pulse hitches.

Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

Nausea swirls in my stomach. I stop and pull in a lungful of air through my teeth.Calm down, beast.My insides rebel against my attempt to get more oxygen. I slam my palm into the wall for support and still myself.

You’re overdoing it, the voice in my head insists.You shouldn’t be playing just yet.

In response, I grit my teeth but don’t dare to move. I need this dizziness to go away first.

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