Page 2 of Shame Me
The very next night,we had our last show of November. I hadn’t remembered Zack booking it, nor did I care. But it was great being up on stage again. Even though I’d only been gone a week, it felt like eons, because I’d been in another world, one of love and comfort and small-town living, and I’d done more soul searching than I’d admit to anyone else.
And now, here, banging on the skins felt so damn good. Like I’d been born to do it.
But there was more to it than that. Live performance was nothing like drumming during practice. Here in front of dozens and sometimes hundreds of people I felt an energy, almost like electricity, in the air, charging my performance as if a battery were plugged into me.
I decided, right then and there, that I loved making music and the rewards of the crowd, and so, if I’d had any residual doubts, they dissipated with that show.
None of us ever talked about my “disappearance.” Braden welcomed me back with literally open arms and Cy gave me a “Hey,” which was probably as good as it got with him—and thecrowd watching us that night never indicated that they knew anything else. And, if I hadn’t already made up my mind, what happened after the show would have solidified it.
We were backstage where we’d moved our equipment after the show and were slowly hauling it out the back door to the van, which was half a block away. A light snow was starting to fall, as if the clouds were upset that evidence from the previous snowstorm had disappeared so quickly. As we walked with as much as we could comfortably carry, Zack asked, “Are you guys okay with sticking around for the second show?”
We all said it was fine, but Cyrus said, “You wanna drive home in snow?”
“It’s hardly doing shit. See?” Zack shuffled his boot against the ground while walking. “It’s not even sticking.”
Braden moved his arm to adjust the strap hanging from his shoulder because his arms were full. “We have some Jack in the van, right?”
“Is the internet free?” When Braden shook his head not getting Zack’s reference, Zack clarified, “You bet your ass there’s Jack in there.”
I hated being the voice of reason and so I kept my mouth shut, but at least Cy had some wisdom to offer. “Guys, they’re watching us because we’re underage. It would be stupid and irresponsible to go in there wasted. We’ll never be invited back.”
If anything would make an impression on Zack, our future as a band would hit the mark.
When we reached the van, we began putting equipment inside the cargo area in the back as Zack pondered Cy’s words. “You know, you’re right. I’d never forgive myself if I fucked us over for a repeat visit just because we wanted a little taste.” He looked at Braden as he took a drum out of his arms. “You okay with waiting till we leave?”
“Yeah, sure.” I couldn’t tell if Braden really thought he was okay, but he never argued with our leader.
Never.
When we were finally done, we re-entered the bar and tried to find a good place to see the stage. It was a small venue, a place regulars called “cozy” and “intimate.”
Intimate enough that the bartender recognized us immediately. When he saw us, he asked what we’d like to drink. Spying the excited look in Braden’s eyes, he said, “Nonalcoholic beverages, of course.”
“Of course.”
The guys all had Coke or Dr. Pepper on the rocks, I assumed because it would at least appear in the dim light like a mixed drink. But I asked for water. I was super thirsty and didn’t mind anyone figuring out what I was really drinking.
I moved closer to the stage, though, because after all that sitting, it was easier to expel all my excess energy if I was moving and standing. In between the third and fourth song, a guy I estimated to be in his mid-twenties moved a little closer to me and asked, “You ever see these guys in concert before?”
“No. It’s my first time.”
“Ah, so you haven’t even heard their best songs yet.”
“If you say so. If this is theirlamemusic, I can’t wait.” I couldn’t wait until people felt that way about our work as well.
Right before they started playing the next song, the guy asked, “Hey, could I maybe get your autograph later?”
A silly grin appeared on my face, so wide it caused my eyes to squint, and I realized this might become a regular thing. “Yeah, sure.” What was cool was the guy and I wound up hanging together the rest of the time, even though he was there with a couple of friends and I, of course, had my bandmates. Braden would come over and chat for a bit before wandering aroundsomewhere else, but I had no idea where Cy and Zack had wound up—and I didn’t plan to care about it.
As I glanced around the crowd, I tried to figure out how many people were there. Fifty? A hundred? Without actually counting, all I could do was guess, but my final thought was between one and two hundred. I kept telling myself the size of the crowd didn’t matter. Earning new fans did. As Zack had already told us, once we got a good following, we could start selling to them, and that opened up another income stream—not that we were seeing any real money yet. Zack had set up a separate account to put our earnings in. That account paid for gas and any other incidentals that popped up at our shows, and Zack made sure to give each of us some money so we felt like we hadn’t worked for nothing—but twenty percent went into that account without fail.
When the show was over and the audience was trying to talk the band onstage into playing an encore, my new friend grabbed me by the hand and led me to the bar. Over the noise of the crowd, he asked the bartender, “You got a pen and paper I can use?”
The guy behind the bar cocked an eyebrow. “I have a napkin and a pen—but I need the pen back.”
“Yeah, of course.” Here in better light, I saw for sure that this guy was older than I was—by probably about ten years. He had to be thirty or at least pushing it. He was good looking, no doubt about it, but the age difference kind of creeped me out.
It wouldn’t have if he hadn’t hit on me.
