Saturday, January 20
(Gus)
When I woke up this morning, I can't say that I felt sad. It was more like something was missing. I could feel it in my chest, a heaviness. Bright Side died a year ago today. I laid there for several minutes thinking about her. Thinking about growing up with her. I replayed twenty years' worth of memories into a condensed slide show in my mind, accompanied by a violin soundtrack. And by the time I was done I was staring at the tattoo on my arm and smiling. I swear I could hear her saying, "Don't cry for me. When you think of me, be happy."
So I didn't cry. I find myself reaching for my phone and calling Keller instead.
When he answers I hear an out-of-tune piano playing in the background. "Hey, Gus." He sounds good. I'm glad, because I didn't know what to expect.
"What up, Papa Banks? It sounds like a piano's being tortured to give up all its secrets."
He laughs and the piano disappears as I hear a door shut. "I'm at Stella's ballet practice. I don't think it's the piano that's being tortured, so much as the audience. Guess that's why earbuds were invented. How are you doing today, man? I was going to call you when we got home. I know it's still early in California."
"It is early. We're in L.A. and I have to be at the studio in an hour. Working on the second album, it's almost done." I'm relieved. It's been a long couple of weeks, but we've worked hard, I've learned a lot, and I'm so damn proud of what we've created. I've grown up a lot over this past year and half since we did this last. And it shows. Everything's matured, from the music, to the lyrics, to us as a band.
"That's great, Gus. Congratulations. I can't wait to hear it. When will it be out?" He sounds genuinely happy for me. It's strange how we've bonded. It grew out of our mutual love for Bright Side, which should have made us jealous enemies, but like everything else about Bright Side, the impossible just worked and worked out for the best. His friendship means a lot to me.
"They're talking late March and setting up a tour to start in early April." And as soon as I say it out loud it becomes real. I'm actually excited. Excited to get out on the road and play in front of an audience again. Excited to do it right this time. Excited to make the most of it and live it instead of just enduring it like I did the last go around.
"Right on. Are you coming to Minnesota again? I'd love to see another show." He would. I can tell.
"Haven't seen the schedule yet, but I'll put a bug in someone's ear. I know people who know people." I'd love to play Grant again, kind of as a memorial to Bright Side.
He laughs again. "I bet you do."
"What have you been up to, dude?" I need to know he's all right.
"Busy. I graduate in June, assuming I don't crash and burn with the teaching internship I start this week." He sounds a little stressed, but stoked, too.
"Internship? That's awesome. High school, right?"
"Yeah. Teaching English here at Grant High School. I lucked out; it actually couldn't be more perfect. The school's about a mile from our place, and Stella's preschool is on the way. It should be ideal."
"The kids will love you."
"I don't know about that, but I'm ready. I'm so ready." He sounds tired.
Bright Side told me all about Keller. I know his mom wanted him to be a lawyer and she was pretty pissed when he changed his major and followed his heart down the teaching road. I still don't think they talk. Good thing he and his dad are close now. "I bet you are. You'll be done with school soon and this will all be behind you. You should bring Stella to San Diego next fall and get a teaching gig here."
"Oh man. Can you imagine Stella living in San Diego with full-time access to the beach? I'd never get her to come inside. We'd probably just pitch a tent on the beach in front of your house and live there. She'd be perfectly content to be homeless as long as she was surrounded by miles of sand and water for building sandcastles."
"Fine by me. I know Ma wouldn't mind either."
"Damn, with the way things are going with our parents lately, we might be stepbrothers by then."
I laugh because he's right. Ma's been spending a lot of weekends with Doc Banks. She's happy. Hell, I've never really seen her date before, so her relationship with him is monumental. "Did we just become best friends?" I yell at him in my best Will Ferrell voice. I'm quoting the movie, Step Brothers. I don't know if he'll get the reference.
But when he enthusiastically answers, "Yup," I continue on quoting the movie, "Do you wanna go do karate in the garage?"
"Yup," he answers, and we both start laughing.
I haven't laughed this hard in a long time and it feels good. "Thanks for that, dude. I needed it."
He's still laughing. "Me too." The laughter settles into a chuckle, but he still sounds happy. "Well, man, I just heard the piano give up the ghost; that means practice is over. I'd better go get Stella. Thanks again for calling today. I miss Katie, Gus. And I'll always love her. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her. But it's different now than it was a few months ago. It's not pain now; it's joy. I'm living my life for her, too. I'm living with purpose, but Stella and I are still having fun along the way. None of this would've been possible if it weren't for her. She taught me how to live. And how to love. I have no intention of wasting it."
I'm nodding my head like he can see. "I'm glad. And ditto. Have a fantastic Saturday, dude. And tell Miss Stella hi for me."
"Will do. Take care, Gus."
"You too. Later."
"Bye."
As soon as I hang up I immediately call Ma. She's on her way to the cemetery with tulips and a Twix bar. And just like Keller, she sounds good. She's handling this anniversary with grace and remembering Bright Side with happiness, which is really the only way Bright Side should be honored. I tell her I just talked to Keller and even share the stepbrother portion of the discussion, to which she laughs but does nothing to discourage rumors. Maybe they are serious; stranger things have happened.
By the time I wrap up my phone calls, there's just enough time to shower and text Scout. Good morning Girl Scout.
Three sets of concerned eyes are on me when I walk into the living room to leave for the day. Franco speaks up first. "Morning. You okay, big man?" He looks worried about me.
I nod. "I'm okay, dude." I know they're wondering if I'm torn up about Bright Side. "I'm always gonna miss her, but she's right here." I pat my chest. "Which has me thinking, I know we're supposed to finish up 'Judgment Day' today, but I think in Bright Side's memory we should just jam. We should just play. See what we come up with. You know that she's been watching us in the studio." I feel her in there with us every day. "So today, let's do something she loved." Bright Side loved to just play. She was so creative. It was like she had all this music bound up within her and every time she wrote something new, she only let a fraction of it out. She was bursting at the seams with new songs.
They're all smiling and nodding their heads. Franco's already at the door. "Let's do this. I'm officially declaring it Kate Day." He's holding the door open as we all walk through it to the parking lot. "It's funny that you mention being able to feel Kate in the studio with us. I thought I was the only one. Sometimes when I'm in a groove and everything's just flowing, I swear I hear her whispering in my ear, telling me what a sexy beast I am when I play and how I was always her favorite."
I shake my head and smile because he threw all that out there to make me laugh. "Shut the fuck up, dude. You are a sexy beast when you play, but you were never her favorite."
There's a look of mock hurt on his face as he unlocks his truck and we all pile in. He turns and looks at me in the backseat. "That hurts, fuck nugget. That really fucking hurts." He's grinning by the time he's done trying to make me feel bad. "Who wants coffee?" he says as he backs out of the space. "I say we start Kate Day off right with some coffee for Kate."
After we go through the Starbucks drive-thru and spend approximately two hundred dollars on four cups of coffee, we head to the studio. And when we tell MFDM our plans for the day I can tell it's against his better judgment to let us take the day off, but he agrees. He had a place in his heart for Bright Side, too.
I start playing first, just my acoustic guitar, and I notice that MFDM's got tape rolling on me. He's recording. Not all the time, but when he likes what he hears he's capturing it. The wheels are turning, and I really do feel like she's in this room with me. I can hear the intro of a song coming together in my head and trade out my acoustic for my electric. It takes me a minute to adjust my effects pedals and get the delay just right. In my mind, the notes are looping over and over until my fingers catch up and bring them to life.
The intro, even with the delay, is crisp. Each note distinct, but almost lazy. I work through it a few times, and everyone's bobbing their heads; we're all into it. I nod at Franco. "Hey, dude. Rim me out a beat to this. It needs to be rushed though. Downbeat. Don't keep time with me. Push me. I'll lag, but you keep going. It'll work, trust me. Just the rim, no snare."
He does. The first time through we're fighting each other. He's trying to match my tempo, but I don't want him to. He's the timekeeper, but he's leaning on me because he can't hear it yet. We play it a few more times and I talk him through and by the end he's pressing forward and letting me fall behind and it works. It fucking works.
Over the next half hour Jamie and I come up with a wicked bassline that would make Bright Side proud. She was always a sucker for a strong, kickass bassline. I've always been guitar driven, but sometimes bass driven is the way to go. Bass resonates; it plays to the core of your physical being, bone deep, like a sonic heartbeat.
With the bassline down, Robbie agrees that he just needs to follow Jamie and let the bass take the lead for the chorus.
Franco's chomping at the bit just to be let loose and go ballistic. He'll get his chance.
I nod at Franco. "You ready?"
He's twirling his drumstick in his hand and stomps his kick bass pedal a few times. He's antsy. He just wants to play, to be unleashed. Franco's a phenomenal drummer and musician, but the best part is his enthusiasm. He motherfucking loves to play. He'd play all day, every day, if he could. "I was born ready, man." He was. No lie.
"Jamie, play that bassline again. Franco, you follow him, all snare and kick bass, no tom. Light cymbal crash at the end of each measure. Robbie you play under Jamie, with him. I'm gonna play over the top. Just ignore me and let me do my thing." I kick the delay down and the distortion up and we play through a few times.
MFDM is leaning back in his chair with a smirk on his face. A smirk is good. A smirk means he likes what's going on. Really likes it. He's been quiet, too. That's always a good sign.
"Okay, let's do this, beginning to end. MFDM, will you record? I wanna hear it played back so I can work on some lyrics."
He pairs the smirk with a lazy thumbs up. We're golden. That pairing in producer-speak is I fucking love it.
"I'm gonna lead in, give me some space for a few measures Franco, then jump in. Downbeat, rim only. Give us a few measures alone, then everyone joins in on my signal for the chorus. Repeat until I nod you out. That leaves Jamie's bassline and Franco for the second verse. I'll give the transition and we'll repeat the chorus again. Then we'll end with the third verse, which will be a repeat of the second, Jamie and Franco only. We good?"
They all nod. I look at Jamie. "No pressure, but you know how much Bright Side liked a solid bassline. Do her proud, dude."
He raises his forearm tattoo to me and smiles. "I only do epic." He winks. "I've got this."
After I adjust my effects pedals, I strum my guitar twice. It's habit. I do it before I start every song. I look to MFDM. He's got his headphones on and he gives me a thumbs up and hits a button to start recording.
We play through once and it's decent, but the transitions aren't clean. The second time we run through, everyone knows what to expect and it's tight.
When we listen to the recording I get chills. That rarely happens. I love it. Only a few songs have ever done that to me. And I already have lyrics forming in my mind. I look at the clock on the wall. It's just after noon. "Why don't you guys take an hour? Go get some lunch. Give me some time to hammer out these lyrics. I've got most of them. I just need to listen to this a few times and jot them down."
MFDM stands. "You want me to stay?"
I know he's giving me a chance to ask for help if I need it, but that he also trusts me to do it on my own. "I've got this. Do me a favor and bring me back something meatless to eat. I need some fuel. I want to record this and I have a feeling it's gonna be a long day."
He nods, barely containing his smile. "Will do. You're onto something here. Something great. Follow your instincts, Gus. They haven't failed you yet." He leaves before I can answer him.
None of us leave until two o'clock in the morning, and by that time, we're completely spent. But the song's done. Recorded. Lyrics and all. It's called "Redemption." And the guys don't know it yet, but we just got our album title, too.
Redemption. That's what happened today. Not in the religious sense, but in an I'm-a-better-person-than-I-was-before sense. And it feels so fucking good.