Page 9 of Wish We Were There

Chapter Four

Parker

The week passed by far slower than Parker would have liked, but soon enough, it was the day they were set to go check out the old venue with Zed. They planned to meet downtown for coffee first, then walk over to the venue. Somehow a bundle of nerves—despite how often he told himself that it was only Taylor, and they were meeting as friends—Parker arrived at the coffee shop far too early and was already on his second latte by the time Taylor walked in.

“Hey,” he said breathlessly as Taylor joined him. “Good to see you.”

“Hi,” Taylor replied, and to Parker’s surprise, he leaned over and gave him a quick hug. It was a friendly, one-armed hug, but it still sent thrills of electricity shooting through his body. Had they always hugged when they met? Somehow, he couldn’t remember. “Hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

“Huh?” Parker replied stupidly, then shook himself. “Oh, uh, no, not at all. No worries.”

Taylor stifled a wry grin. “You couldn’t have ordered my drink for me?”

Parker laughed. “I’d probably mess up your order. I only ever order a latte. If that’s what you want, then I could’ve ordered, but...”

“It’s not that complicated,” Taylor protested, then stepped to the counter and ordered his nonfat white mocha with no whipped cream.

“Not that complicated,” Parker agreed wryly as they stepped away from the counter. His stomach fluttered when Taylor laughed in response.

“Ready?” Taylor asked once his drink was done, and Parker nodded. Together, they walked out of the coffee shop and toward the venue, which was only a few blocks away. Though he’d seemed cheerful in the coffee shop, Taylor was mostly quiet as they walked. He wore sunglasses outside, so Parker couldn’t get a clear look at his face when he snuck a few sidelong glances at the other man. He couldn’t say for sure, but he guessed Taylor was nervous. That made sense, he supposed: he would have to decide soon if he really wanted to buy the venue or not, which was a big decision.

He wasn’t sure what to say, or if he should say anything at all, so they walked side by side in silence for a block or two. Then, finally, he asked cautiously,

“How have you been holding up?”

Taylor’s nose wrinkled in a grimace, and he took a sip of his drink before he answered. “I’ve been okay. It comes and goes, you know?” Parker nodded, and Taylor continued, “I keep meaning to set another appointment to get this stupid cast off, but... I don’t know. I always remember after the office is closed, and then I hate leaving a message and playing phone tag.”

“I can help if you want,” Parker offered. “Like if you need me to make an appointment, or take you, or something… Just let me know.”

Taylor pulled a different face at that, one that left Parker couldn’t make sense of. But after a beat, he replied, “Yeah, maybe. I’ll let you know.”

The venue was in sight now as they crossed the street, and Parker could see Zed Miller leaning against the wall, waiting for them. The man must have been in his sixties now—he’d been much older than them even when Get Well Soon played their first show there a decade ago. He was a tall man with a full head of gray hair and tattoos covering his arms; without the tattoos, though, he might have looked like any old man off the street, not the owner of what had once been one of the most popular indie rock venues in San Diego.

Zed looked up from his phone as they approached and grinned.

“Good to see you, Taylor,” he said, starting to reach out to shake his hand, before seeming to catch himself and grabbing his shoulder instead. “How’re you holding up? Who’s your friend?”

“Hey, Zed,” Taylor chuckled as Zed patted his shoulder. “I’m doing alright. You know Parker Flores from Punk News Net?”

“Oh, Parker! Of course,” Zed said apologetically, extending his hand to Parker. “That’s right. Boy, it’s been years since I’ve seen you in person, hasn’t it?”

“No worries,” Parker replied, shaking his hand. “It’s been a while since I’ve covered a live event, to be honest. Tim has me mostly doing album reviews and artist interviews these days. But it’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you,” Zed repeated, then gestured for them to follow as he turned to the door of the empty venue. “Well, let me show you around. C’mon in, both of you.”

The doors creaked loudly as he pushed them open, leading into a walkway that had once been covered in cymbals and drum heads signed by bands that had performed there, but the walls were now bare and dusty. Bittersweet nostalgia filled Parker’s chest as they walked through the short hallway—skipping the bathrooms and the entrance to the box office off to the side—and out onto the main floor.

The Bridge was fairly small, but standing there in the empty room made the stage seem almost pathetically tiny. Had entire bands fit on the small raised rectangle on the far side of the room, jumping and screaming and singing? He had such vivid memories of being up at the front—inches away from lead singers and guitarists with no barricade to separate them, covered in sweat and spit and loving every second of it. The whole world could have fit in the room then; everything worth caring about right in front of him, crowded around him, and singing along.

Now the stage was empty, and a wooden panel near the front had been ripped off entirely, leaving splinters and shards of wood sticking out at all angles. Scrapes and scuffs littered the wood floor; it would need to be refinished at a bare minimum, but Parker wondered if it would be more worth it to tear it out and replace it altogether. He could just make out the small balcony opposite the stage that had once been a VIP seating area, but it looked like all the chairs and tables had been removed. Beneath it, the bar looked alright, but surely the appliances were as old and worn as everything else. And they hadn’t even seen the green room, which overlooked the main floor and was only accessible from a private staircase backstage; he was sure it had endured all sorts of abuse over the years and would also be in poor shape.

It wouldn’t be impossible, but it was a lot. Definitely more than Taylor could manage on his own, especially if his arm was still in the cast for much longer.

He glanced over at Taylor, who, to his surprise, was smiling as he surveyed the open space, blue eyes bright and shining. It made all his worry vanish at once. If Taylor was happy with it, then surely it was perfect.

“Stage’s busted, as you can see,” Zed sighed, folding his arms over his chest. “All the flooring probably needs to be replaced, too, to be honest. Everything else’s old, but still works. I tossed all the bar equipment; but there’s a fridge, freezer, convection oven, and a dishwashing setup in the back that should still all be up to code—they aren’t pretty, but they work.”

“How’s the green room?” Parker asked, glancing up at the single window dubiously.

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