Page 54 of To Go
I grew up surrounded by money. Nessa and I never wanted for anything, unless you count parental love and affection. We went to the best schools, played sports, had hobbies. Instead of using that wealth to help people, we’re using it to evict them from their homes.
I slam my laptop shut, nauseated at the lengths my family will go to in the name of profit.
Unable to sit still, I grab my bag and head to the gym down the street. I’m used to working out in dingy hotel gyms that smell like at least three people died there recently, so the bright, shiny machines fit for downtown Toronto are still slightly jarring to me. I bought the biggest headphones I could find, knowing it would be a deterrent for people trying to talk to me. I need some time in my own head to sort this all out.
I start on the treadmill, my thoughts running as my feet pound away. Each footfall brings a new problem.
I’m taking over the family company.
I don’t want to take over the family company.
I don’t have any reason not to, aside from a disdain for everything they do and basic empathy.
I promised my parents I would in exchange for them not sending Nessa away or cutting me off.
Nessa is a grown adult now; they can’t send her away. I don’t need the money, necessarily, but it would make things easier.
Do I want to lose my family?
Maybe I could turn the company around?
It would take so long to replace the board members with people who aren’t snakes.
It’s going to make me a miserable bastard.
A rich, miserable bastard.
Who would ever want to be with a miserable bastard?
A small voice reminds me that I might already be a miserable bastard. I crank up the music in my headphones, trying to drown out dirge curling its way through my brain. Unfortunately for me, that’s when my alarm goes off, deafening me. I rip my phone out of my bag on the floor to turn it off before I lose any more of my hearing.
I guess there was no avoiding it, even if the ache behind my sternum yawns wider. Anxiety builds, rattling my hardened exterior as my palms clam up.
I take the world’s fastest shower and the world’s slowest drive over to Laur’s. Their house is small and sits right on the outer parts of the city. I know they bought it years ago and have been renting it out ever since. I guess since we’re not touring anymore they can finally live in it.
I pull up to the worn, whitewashed house and take some deep breaths, letting my car idle in the driveway.
Just because there’s band business to discuss, doesn’t mean it’s necessarily bad.I try to give myself a pep talk as I walk up the rickety steps and let myself in. I can hear chatter coming from the back of the house where the kitchen is and shout what could pass as a greeting. The voices halt abruptly and it’s eerily quiet as I walk up to join them. Jill, Nick, and Laur all sit around the table, staring at me as I make myself comfortable.
“Sup?” I ask, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge. I know they’re staring at me, their eyes boring a hole into my back.
“Not much,” Jill says, breaking the tension. Her long, dark hair, which she usually wears up and out of the way while she plays, is hanging in loose curls down her back. “We thought we should start with band business before we practice?” She says it like a question, twirling a strand nervously around her pointer finger.
I sit warily in the empty seat near me. The grimace on my face solidifies as I watch them try to decide who’s going to speak first.
Jill bites the bullet and clears her throat. “So, we’re not sure how to bring this up to you…” Her eyes flick between Nick and Laur nervously. “But we’re considering looking for a new drummer.”
The floor falls out from under me. A new drummer?
My confusion must show on my face, because she continues. “It’s not that you’re not a great drummer, you are!” Heads shake affirmatively around the table. “It’s just that you don’t seem to… how do I say this? You don’t seem to like this very much.”
It’s like I’m having an out of body experience. None of this feels tethered to reality. This was not how I was expecting this to go. I thought they would bug me about the wrist and elbow pain, or not hanging out with them enough. This is about my enjoyment?
“I like this,” I growl out, trying to keep a lid on my frustration.
“We know you like playing drums, big guy,” Nick jumps in. “It’s the being-in-a-band part that you seem to not like. We all saw how relieved you were when we stopped touring.” His hand combs through his cerulean strands.
They’ve been talking about this for a while.I realize. I don’t know what to say. So I say nothing. I stare at them, waiting for someone to say anything. Jill’s eyes are fixed on a stain on the table. Nick is acting like he swallowed his own tongue, trying to say something and then stopping, choking on the words.
