Page 30 of Behind the Lights

“Oh fuck,” I bellowed, fully seating myself inside him as I filled the condom.

While that felt like fucking heaven (no pun intended, well, maybe), and even though he came too, I knew it was far from a stellar first time. But was there really such a thing?

He fell asleep almost immediately after. I disposed of the condom and curled up behind him, I woke in the middle of the night, finding the bed empty beside me. After dressing, I went out front hoping the van was still there. When I opened the side door, I was met with the sounds of Diamond’s snoring and laughed having found my three band members passed out inside.

“Up and at ‘em boys before the neighbors have our van towed.” I hopped in as Stoli tossed me the keys.

“You drive, that boy wore me out,” he shared while rolling over and going back to sleep.

The playful grin on his face told me everything was right again in our universe, for the time being.

Chapter

Eight

Summer, 2010

Things kinda took off and life got crazy busy. We found ourselves playing dive bars and random gigs from Portland to Bellingham. Seemed once we neared the legal drinking age, the bar owners cared less about our ages and focused more on our musical abilities and the crowds we drew. Lucas upped the ante on social media and helped with events as best he could electronically, though most of his time was consumed with his courses, but he’d meet up with us from time to time.

As our local following increased, the masses hanging around outside of our houses gained in popularity. Brett suggested we look for another place to hold band practices. Mary was pregnant and having random people near the house at all hours of the day and night was making her nervous, which we totally understood. Brett was still managing us, but introduced us to a friend of his that ran The Jam Box in lower Queen Anne in Seattle. It’s a local hall a lot of bands, some of which became famous practiced at. After talking to him, we rented a space and moved our equipment and practices there. We had Lucas pimp it on social media to help lure them away from our neighborhood.

The owners cleaned the room up as best they could, but it still smelled like piss and puke from the previous tenants. It was dingy as fuck and parking sucked, but we could get in anytime we wanted which worked well for our schedules. Unless you knew exactly what you were looking for, you’d miss the building entirely. The windows were painted to match the exterior, so no one could see in. The walls in our cell on the second floor were spray painted with random shit from bands who’d used it in the past. Mickey took it upon his artistic self to add Social Sinners graffiti to the mix. Once he got our logo up and we had it somewhat user friendly, it felt more like our own space. But this was the place where so many great Seattle bands practiced before getting their big break and we had high hopes that the same would happen for us.

With all of us still living at home, well Diamond at casa Hayes, our bills were pretty much band related, so we were able to scrape up enough to pay the menial monthly rent they’d asked for. There were sixty rental spaces in total, so at any given time there were a shit ton of bands jamming out and the walls were not well insulated. That alone made it difficult to hear your own thoughts. But if you were interested, you could hear just about any type of music you liked on any given day. Bands ranged from grunge to alternative, light rock to metal, hell I even heard some love sick poppy crap and country a time or two. But hey, to each his own. We cranked up our amps and rocked the shit to tune it out. But if music was your dream, this was the place to be as it seemed like bands were forever looking for replacement members. Flyers for auditions and shows flanked the walls of the passageways.

Lucas didn’t come around anymore for practices, said he didn’t feel safe down here but outside of hookers soliciting us and dealers trying to sell their goods, we didn’t have too many problems. We’d see other bands get into knock down drag out fights, but we stuck to our own and kept out of their shit. This place had a huge waiting list and we were lucky to get in and promised Brett we wouldn’t do anything to mess it up and risk getting kicked out.

Today when we finished practicing, we got a wild hair up our asses to get some new ink. The addiction started about two years ago when we the four of us went together to get our first tats – the Social Sinners logo that Mickey designed. The same one that’s plastered on the side of our van, is now in our practice space and is permanently embedded on our bodies. It’s a badass logo and yet at the same time its simplicity at its finest. The lettering of both words was in a thick black, but the “S’s” were yellow lightning bolts. Each of us had it placed on the insides of our right forearms. From there, all tattoo hell broke loose.

“Hey guys, ready for more ink?” Mash asked when we walked into his shop. On one of our previous visits we asked about his name and he told us he has a bad habit ofmashingthings with his fists, his forehead, you name it. His friends started calling him that as a teen and it stuck with him. Every time I saw him I wanted to reciteHulk Smashlike the character himself said it.

“You know it,” Diamond said, fist bumping him.

“Where are you guys playing this weekend?” he asked. Mash has been a fan since he went to a show after doing our first tats.

“Couple bars in Vancouver. At least they’re close enough we can go home afterwards,” Stoli told him.

“Right on, if I wasn’t booked solid with appointments this weekend I’d cruise down and check it out. Okay, who’s up first?” He slapped his hands together, peering anxiously at us. I don’t know who got a bigger rise out of tattoos, Mash or those on the receiving end of his artistic talents.

“I’ll go,” Stoli spoke up, “I want ‘Carpe Diem’ in one-inch old English lettering across my lower abdomen just above my pant line.”

“Dude, seriously?” I said, stunned, “You wantseize the dayjust above your dick?” Seemed no one else caught that but me because after I said it they lost it.

“Hell yeah. I’m a gift to all and they should acknowledge it,” he said as he took off his shirt and starting flexing like a wannabe bodybuilder before unbuttoning his pants and laying down on Derek’s table.

“Cocky fucker,” I mumbled, and to further prove my point he winked and blew me a kiss.

“What are you gonna get?” Mickey asked me while the three of us were checking out the portfolios in the waiting area.

“Not sure. I might bow out this time,” I told them.

“Dude, why?” Diamond asked.

“The last time I spent money on myself it ended up turning into a big argument with Lucas.”

“I didn’t think you guys were still dating,” Mickey mumbled.

“What do you mean, we’ve been serious for like three years now.” I lowered the book, glaring at him. Something about that statement bothered me.

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