Page 87 of Daisies & Devin
“Ilove you too,” I replied, kissing her once more. She grinned, taking one, twosteps away from me, watching my every move, until she turned around and hurriedto secure her spot up front.
Imissed her instantly.
Sebastiansmiled at me, twirling one of his drumsticks between his fingers like a baton.“Dude, please don’t take this the wrong way, but your girl issmokin’ hot. You’re one lucky son of a bitch.”
SebastianMoore was a nice guy and a gifted drummer, with a habit of saying things thatteetered on the cusp of douche-baggery. But unlikeRobbie, I knew better than to take the shit he said as anything more thanpoorly worded compliments.
Ilaughed. “Believe me, I fucking know it.”
Robbiesnorted. “Yeah, I’d fuck her.”
Typressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Robbie, do you have filters,dude? Or do you just choose to not use them?”
Heresponded with a loose shrug. “I’m an honest motherfucker. If I want O’Leary toknow I’ve rubbed one out to the thought of his girlfriend sucking my cock, I’mgonnatell him. The two ofyouassholes could learn a thing or two from me, instead of kissing his ass becausehe’s the reason for your paycheck.”
Isneered at him, shaking my head. “Jesus Christ, man. Shut the fuck up.”
Richardstuck his head in. “What are you guys doing? Let’s go.”
Robbietook off first, sauntering away in a staggering sort of way to grab his Strat.Sebastian followed, flipping one stick in the air and then the other, jugglingto expel his own nervous jitters before walking on stage. With one last heavygust of air, I bent over, pressing my hands to my knees.
Tytook one long look at me and asked, “Hey man, you okay?”
“Justnervous as fuck,” I confessed, looking up at him. “I’ve never performed for acrowd larger than like, fifteen people.”
Henodded and scratched the back of his head. “It’s different for you; you’re thehead honcho. I don’t have a whole lot of advice for you, other than to focus onsomething that calms you down. But honestly, the worst part is right before youstart playing. The rest comes a lot easier.”
Istood up and exhaled deeply, nodding. “Thanks, dude,” I said, before followinghim out toward the crowd, roaring with anticipation.
Forme.
?
Thesound the record label had decided on, was a little more upbeat than what cameto me naturally. They said it would get the crowd moving and that it would addbalance to my act. When they had initially toldmeIneeded to make some changes, I had scoffed and, in kinder words, told them togo fuck themselves.
Butkicking the show off with the refurbished “Edge of a Blue Existence”didget the crowd of roughly two-hundred and fifty men and women on their feet,leaving them hungry and ready for the next.
Andall ofthose dead poets,
Theysit quietly on their shelves,
Waitingto be discovered,
Bysomebody else.
Deadbut far from sleeping,
Theirtalking has been keeping us,
Fromforgetting all the shit,
Thatwe bring upon ourselves.
When Istrummed the last chord in aparticular favoriteof mine,“Sleeping Poets,” I was not only free of all nerves and anxiety, but alsopumped full of electricity and life.
“Thankyou, Connecticut,” I said into the mic, over the roar of applause. “Thank youfor being the perfect first gig for this guy, and this band. You guys arefucking beautiful.”
Injest, I took that opportunity to jump into the first notes of One Direction’s“What Makes You Beautiful,” and when Sebastian chimed in with the cowbell, Isnorted, catching Kylie’s eyes. They sparkled, sharing the excitement thatraced through my veins, and with that encouragement, I tested the waters. Ipiped the first couple of lyrics to one of the boy band’s biggest hits, and thecrowd lost their minds. I laughed through the chorus, going with it, getting highon the thrill of singing in unison with nearly three-hundred people.
