Chapter 10 - Derek
The stage hand grabs my guitar from me and hands me a towel. I wipe my brow off and listen to the wild cheering going on behind me.
“You killed it out there Derek!”
I look over at my manager and nod. I don’t respond, instead I turn towards the dressing room and close the door behind me. I sigh and slump into the low leather couch that’s pushed against the far wall.
Everything seems so pointless. I’m going through the motions, singing the same songs and making the same jokes on stage and then I come off stage and wonder why I’m doing this. The rest of the band have noticed as well, I’m sure of it. I lean back on the couch and close my eyes.
A few moments later the door opens and my drummer walks in. He closes the door behind him and stands directly in front of me, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are locked on me.
“Derek, what’s up with you?” he asks. He’s always been a no bullshit type of guy. I open my eyes and look at him. He’s thin, with a wiry frame and his hair pulled back into a high bun. Or, a high man-bun I should say.
“What do you mean, Jake?” I know what he means.
“I mean, ever since you got back from your mom’s birthday you’ve been sulking all over the place. We haven’t written any new music in three weeks! You were flat tonight.”
“We’ve just finished a huge tour, man, give me a break.”
“We finished the tour a month ago. It’s never taken you this long to bounce back.”
I sit up and put my head in my hands, not wanting to meet his gaze. He’s right. I’ve been avoiding the band and avoiding what always brought me joy: writing music.
“Look man, all I’m saying is you can tell me about whatever’s bothering you. And if you don’t want to tell me about it then just write it.”
He turns towards the fridge and pulls out two cold cans of beer, walking across the room to hand me one. I take it from him and nod in thanks, and then watch him sit down in the chair across from me.
He concentrates on his beer and I can’t help but grin. He’s been my best friend for years and he knows me inside and out. He’s purposefully being quiet and unassuming in the hope that I’ll talk to him. And it’s working. I take a deep breath.
“Do you remember that girl I told you about? The one that it never worked out with? In… In high school?”
It feels almost silly to say it. Jake’s eyes flash up towards me but he keeps his voice casual.
“Yeah, what about her?” He looks back at his can of beer but I know he’s waiting for me to talk.
“I saw her again. Fuck, Jake, she looks good.” I glance up and Jake is looking at me as he sips his drink. His eyes are bright and focused on me, trying to read my expression. He takes a long drink and then sets his beer down on his knee, leaning back in the chair.
“You saw her,” he repeats slowly.
“Yeah. Nothing happened! I mean, you know. We talked, I apologised.” I stop talking, not knowing where I’m going. I have no idea what I’m trying to say.
“So what is it about this chick then?”
“I don’t know!” I exclaim. Suddenly the frustration becomes too much. “I don’t fucking know, man. It’s like I forget about her but I can never find anyone good enough. All these girls around us are so...bland. And… and she’s so real.”
Jake nods and I take a deep breath. I look over at him and I know my eyes are blazing as I talk about her.
“You know what she’s doing right now?” Jake shakes his head slowly, waiting for me to continue. “She’s gone to fucking North Korea to investigate their nuclear program. North Korea! She’s actually doing things with her life, Jake. We’re here, singing the same fucking bullshit to the same fans and just collecting a paycheck.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the blood pumping through my veins. I rub the nape of my neck and I can feel the heat of my outburst sizzling on my skin. It takes a few moments for Jake to respond. His voice is quiet, but powerful.
“We’re making music, Derek. We’re giving people joy and art. We’re not sellouts.”
“Aren’t we? When was the last time we wrote something without thinking about what the label wanted? When was the last time we took a chance?”
“So fucking write something then!” Jake exclaims. Suddenly he’s the one with his voice raised. “Fucking do something! If you’re feeling so unhappy, why don’t you put your fucking pen to paper and write a song. Write a lick. Anything. Write about her. Don’t sit here feeling sorry for yourself and wondering why nothing is changing.”
Jake crumples his empty beer can in one hand and throws it towards the garbage. It bounces off the wall and falls in with a soft thud. He looks back at me, his eyes sharp and his breath shallow. He lifts his shoulders ever so slightly and lets them fall down again.
His words hit me like a freight train. He’s right. I’ve been caught up in my own thoughts, my own worries. I can’t keep feeling sorry for myself. I look up at him slowly, processing the thoughts that are flying through my head.
“Alright,” I say. “Pass me that guitar.”
Jake smiles and grabs my old acoustic from the stand in the corner. My good luck guitar. The guitar that I’ve had since high school. I don’t play shows with it anymore but I bring it everywhere with me. He hands it to me and nods once, then sits down and pulls two drumsticks out of his back pocket. He starts tapping on the coffee table and I close my eyes, letting the rhythm guide me as I start to strum.