Page 37 of Born Into Trouble (Occupy Yourself)
“First, tell me about Andy.”Fuck, she’s persistent.
“He prefers Slate.” Turning left, he pulled smoothly into traffic, watching as the cars moved around them. Flowing like a river around rocks piled on the bed, fast and quiet.Life moves fast, till I can’t see things clearly. Bends and curves, they obscure me. Find me, and pull me from the river. Save me, from myself. “Grab my phone.” She knew the drill now, having argued successfully against him being the one to work the phone while driving. When she had it up near his face, he recited the lyric possibilities into the phone, knowing she would have already launched the notes app he used. “Not great.”
“Doesn’t suck,” she offered, and he knew from the lightness of her tone she was smiling. “It doesn’t suck, Bibi.” A little pause, then in a voice hardened with resolve, she asked, “Why doesn’t your brother know he’s your hero?”
“Because I never had occasion to tell him. You know the story, Mercedes. He was gone, well before I would have been comfortable sharing.”Two more blocks. “And pretty much since I dropped back into his life unannounced, he’s been subject to me fucking up in one way or another. Not a lotta time for heart-to-hearts.” Pulling into the parking lot, he slotted the car into a spot near the back door, already considering he might need to make a quick retreat if he couldn’t hack it.Environmental trigger, he thought.
“First time I saw him—after years, mind you—the first time I saw him, within six hours I was seizing in the ER from alcohol poisoning.” He twisted, reaching over the back of the seat to grab the guitar. “I nearly died. They had to shock my heart to get it beating right.” She ducked to the side to avoid being hit by the instrument.
“While I was gone, he got a girlfriend, and they got serious. Then he had to rescue her from a terrible situation, all while dealing with cleaning up the massive pile of shit I left behind when I skipped away to rehab.” Voice rising an octave, he finished with, “La-di-dah, fix it for me, big bro. You got this, right?Jesus.” Pausing a moment with the case held awkwardly in his lap, he looked at Mercedes, who was watching him, silent and undemanding, her nonjudgmental demeanor exactly what he’d come to depend on.
“I get out. I’m in his way but useful for the first time in my life. He left on a trip, was supposed to be gone three weeks. Turned into months and months. He got back, got married, got a honeymoon trip out of the way, and then got to be a father. His life has been moving forwards at light speed, and me wanting a minute more than is absolutely needed is wrong.” He shook his head. “That’s one of the things fucking with my head. Knowing he’s giving so much to me when he should be focused on Ruby and their babies. He makes room for all my shit, and I just let him.”
He pushed his door open, watching as she did the same on her side. They stood facing across the top of the car for a moment, and he said, “I’ll talk to him soon.” She didn’t move, her expression didn’t change, nothing gave him indication she was anything other than mildly interested, but he felt her disapproval as clearly as if she were shouting it. “I will. I’ll talk to him tonight.”
She lifted an eyebrow, and he laughed. “Promise.” With a slow nod, she granted him a reprieve before taking it away along with all the air in his chest when she quietly asked, “What is the name of the beautiful woman who is looking as if you hung the moon, Bibi?”
***
Fingers working on the strings, Benny quietly warmed up, trying to be unobtrusive in the corner near the stage. God, he’d missed this. Every moment he spent not playing, he missed the music without realizing why he felt crippled. Half the man he needed to be; without music it was as if someone had ripped away one of his senses, and left him alone. Music had been such a constant in his life for so long, all the way back to when he met the old man. “Harddrive.”
“What?” The question came from behind him, and he jumped, shifting position to see an older biker standing behind him. “What’d you say, boy?”
“I was thinking about back when I learned how to play.” Benny strummed across the strings, flexing his fingers for a moment before clamping down on the frets, sliding to the first chord in one of the first songs Harddrive had taught him. It was a terrible tune called “An Irish Ballad,” one specifically designed to capture the attention of a totally fucked-up desperate-for-attention kid first learning to play. He softly crooned the lyrics, downplaying them because the topic matter was harsh, satirical, about a girl who murdered her entire family, never seeing what she’d done as wrong. Interrupting himself, he told the biker, “An old man in Wyoming taught me. Took me under his wing. I went to his bike shop every Saturday for more than a year. Good guy. Harddrive.”
“Fucking shit. You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” Shaking his head, the old biker twisted his torso and yelled across the room. “Bingo, get your ass over here.” He waved a hand over his head, then called, “Dixie, you too, darlin’.” He turned back to Benny, “I grew up with Harddrive, we served together overseas. Bingo’s his blood brother.”
Within a minute, Benny was surrounded by Harddrive’s family, and found himself sharing every story he could dredge out of his memory and pass along. They were eager for news, thrilled with this new connection with their brother and father, however tenuous it was through Benny. More Rebel members came over, joined in the conversation, and they shared their stories, too. Turned out the man was a legend, which meant with Benny knowing Harddrive and these men knowing them both, Benny found himself drawn a little deeper into the fold. Harddrive’s daughter, Dixie, gave Benny the sweetest, tightest hug before she went back over to sit with her husband, whispering in his ear she couldn’t wait to hear him play tonight.
Bingo slapped his shoulder with a hard palm, told him to break a leg, then turned and walked away to meet Bear, who was approaching their little group. Reaching out, Bingo clasped Bear’s upper arm in a tight grip, pulling him close. Benny couldn’t hear what words passed between the two men, but Bear’s look his direction was searching as he nodded sharply once. Bingo shook Bear, then pulled him close again for a moment; whatever he said this time caused a wave of grief to pass through the man. The sorrow a nearly physical thing you could watch move over his face, and he nodded again, more slowly.
Dropping his eyes immediately to the toes of his boots, Benny didn’t watch his friend finish walking his direction. Didn’t want to see whatever new look Bear wore like an ill-fitting skin. Simply tipped his head towards the stage, waiting. Waiting for Bear to deny him the opportunity to take those few steps up to the platform, waiting for this to be stripped away as a mistake. “Benny.” Bear’s voice was rough, hoarse with an emotion Benny couldn’t place, but didn’t dare look to see. “Son, look at me.” Benny let his head rock back and forth twice, trying to stall, still wanting to wait and find out what Bear intended for tonight.
“Son.” Benny lifted his head slightly, only until the headstock of Bear’s guitar came into focus. Seeing the wood, worn from years of constant playing in uncertain conditions. A used instrument, but still capable of bringing forth music beautiful enough to break your heart into pieces. Tatty and tired, but infused with a fierce strength through the artistry that created it, with durability enough to carry on for years more. Like Bear. Like Slate.I hope like me.
“I was wrong.”
Bear’s words caused Benny’s gaze to jerk up, eyes locking to his friend’s face, seeing sorrow and regret there, not the blame and disappointment he had expected. “Slate, man. He’s got the right of it. Came and talked to me last week. Told me what you’ve been doing. You and I, we know why you’re doing it, even if he doesn’t. But he knew other things. Asked me how in the hell I got to be the one to decide how many chances at redemption were enough. Asked me how did I know exactly when to pull the plug.” Bear reached out, wrapped an arm around Benny’s shoulders, tugged him to face the stage and pushed him up the steps. The hesitant sounds of his sneakers so different from the bold slaps of Bear’s leather boots. “I realized I don’t. Can’t. If people had given up on me…well, let’s just say I’m glad they didn’t.”
Benny’s mouth wasn’t working, but he thought,That doesn’t make any sense, what would Bear have to forgive?
A shadow crossed the stage in front of Benny, and he looked up to see Mason putting a stool in front of a microphone, dragging it slightly to one side before he seemed happy with the placement. Bear was crowding behind Benny, forcing him forward one step at a time. Looking up, Mason stared at him, and Benny felt caught, pinned in place. As it had before, a weight began to gather on his chest, pushing hard against his lungs, keeping them from bringing in enough air, gluing his feet to the floor. Then one corner of Mason’s mouth tipped up, and he gestured towards the stool, saying in a low, gruff voice, “You’ve put the work in. Proud of you, son. This is your time, Benny. Your time to show us what you can be. Show us what you dream of, brother.”
Mason’s words hit him hard. If he was going to show anyone, he wanted his brother—
A slow clapping started near the front of the stage, and he turned to see Slate standing there with Ruby in the crook of one arm. She was grinning mischievously at Benny over the bands of muscles and ink surrounding her and he remembered her quiet faith in him, her adoption of him as a family she wanted…maybe even needed. A touch on his arm pulled his attention away, and he looked to see Chase standing there, shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Benny shifted to find Bear had taken a step back, flanking him on the other side.
Overwhelmed, he tipped his head down a moment, listening to the growing applause in the room, fear and relief warring for space in his chest. Throat tight, he swallowed hard, pulling in a breath that shuddered its way into his lungs, beating back the fear.They’re here for me.
Clearing his throat, he lifted his head to stare at Bear.Go time. In a barely audible whisper, he asked the familiar phrase, one they had used to start every practice session, back before he fucked it all up. “So, how do you see this going tonight?” He stayed fixed on Bear’s face, waiting for the response. Surprised when it came worded as it did.
“Your call, son.” Bear motioned to someone in the audience, and Benny saw Vic climbing the stairs, but he hadn’t seen a kit and wondered at the two guitars in his drummer’s hands. Benny was shocked to see Mitty walk onto the stage behind Vic, holding out his hand to take the five-string he preferred.
He came back from Michigan. For me. They’re all here for me. With a grin, Benny said, “We’re gonna need a bigger stage, man.” Bear’s mouth stretched in a grin, then he strummed his guitar once, twice, urging Benny without words to get things moving. “Okay, let’s do a couple of OY songs we all know, then we’ll…wing it, yeah?” Twisting, he saw nods coming at him from every person on the stage so he moved to the stool, knowing it for the honor it was, placed there by the hands of the man his brother loved most in the world.Just maybe, except me, he thought, seeing Slate’s proud face watching him.He loves me.
Leaning forward, he put his mouth near the microphone and in what he desperately hoped was a low, steady voice, filled with the confidence of knowing he was finally—God, finally—surrounded by people who gave a shit about him, he asked the crowd, “Are you ready to hear some rock and roll?”
The answering whistles and shouts made him grin. Mouth to the microphone again, he said, “Sorry to disappoint, we only have folk songs on tap tonight.” Boos and hisses, good-natured catcalls sounded, and he grinned again, mouth still to the mic. “Bluegrass, I mean. We got bluegrass.”
Mason’s voice rang out in a loud and raucous shout. “Fuckyeah, love me some Kentucky down-home music.”Crap, now I gotta remember what fucking bluegrass songs I know.
“Well, that’s for later. Guess we’ll have to play some rock and roll after all. Y’all ready? Ready for some music right here and right now?” He settled himself on the stool with his heel propped on one rung, guitar balanced on his leg, other foot planted on the stage as he waited out the applause. “Here we go.” Without additional preamble, heel bumping against the stage floor, keeping time, he swung into the first song he could think of, “Born Into Trouble,” and as the men on stage with him found their places in the melody he looked straight at Slate, willing him to understand the meaning behind the lyrics were so different now. Promising himself he would tell his brother outright, make him understand.
Mouth working automatically, words flowing easily, singing a song he had performed so many times he had literally done it in his sleep, Benny’s heart skipped as he watched Mercedes make her way to the table he’d been trying to ignore, the woman seated there looking at him, watching him. Waiting for him to claim her. Lucia’s face swung to the side, her attention taken from the stage when Mercedes planted herself in the chair next to her.Shit.
