"Ah-one-two-three-GO!"
The band launched into a rocking rendition of the Ramones' "KKK Took My Baby Away". There was no more Mike, Kyle, Steve, and Tony. There was the band. Mike felt a rush of...a rush of something. It was this inexplicable feeling that he got whenever he played with the band. Exhilaration, adrenaline, freedom, the feeling of just being able to let loose. Mike was a totally different person when he was playing and singing in his band. He felt more outgoing, he felt on top of the world, he could do anything.
"Well, she went away for the holidays, said she's going to L.A., but she never got there, never got there they...say...yeah..." Mike's voice trailed off as he saw his apron-clad mother walk in and put her hands on her hips.
Steve slowly came to a stop, as did Kyle. Tony was the last to realize Mrs. Herrera standing in the garage doorway, as he jammed out on his metallic red bass until she cleared her throat.
"Ahem."
Tony looked up at Mrs. Herrera, who was glaring at him disapprovingly, and shot her his famous Italian smile.
She sighed. "What are you boys up to?"
"Band practice, Mom. What do you think?" Mike replied.
"Don't get insolent with me, Michael Jorge," Mrs. Herrera snapped. Steve stifled a snicker.
"Mom, we were just practicing! I don't understand what the big deal is...?"
"If it's to loud, Mrs. Herrera, we can turn down the volume on our amps," Kyle offered, ironically the only member of the band who didn't use an amp.
"It's not the volume, Kyle. This is just a waste of time! You boys could be using this time studying! Working on schoolwork! You won't get anywhere in a little punk rock band, you need to go to college and work for
an enriching career!"
Mike's mouth dropped open. Rage began to build inside him. "Now, that's not fair, Mom. We've been working really hard, and--"
"Ah hah. Working really hard with the energy you should be using to put into your schoolwork. And what is with these lyrics? 'The KKK put my baby away'?" No one bothered to correct her mistake. "I can not approve of my son belting out songs about racist clans--"
"But it's the Ramones!" Tony blurted.
Mrs. Herrera's face took on a crimson hue. "Out! I want all of you to go back to your homes and get to work on something more productive. I'm sorry to be a rain on your parade, boys, but I can not approve of this." With that, she walked inside and slammed the screen door behind her.
Steve laughed as soon as metal touched metal, in a very Steve-like manner. "Michael Jorge, huh?"
"Shut up, Steve," Mike retorted. "God, I'm so sorry, you guys. My mom is on crack or something. I feel awful."
"Yeah, well where are we gonna practice now?" Kyle inquired.
"Practice? I thought Aun--I thought Mike's mom said we couldn't," Tony whined.
Steve rolled his eyes. "Well, now we just practice somewhere she can't hear us."
"Oh." Tony was quiet.
"So..." Mike twiddled with his pick. The garage was silent for a moment.
"Well...I guess I could offer my house," Kyle said hesitantly. "I mean, you know my parents are really uptight and all, but we could probably set up in the rec room if we moved the ping-pong table. It's sound-proof anyway."
Mike smirked to himself. For once Kyle's rich-ass parents come in handy...
"That sounds good to me," Mike declared.
"Yeah, me too," Steve agreed.
"Me three!"
Steve and Mike glared at Tony, who widened his brown eyes innocuously.
Kyle cut the tension. "So...I'll talk to my parents and call you guys when I find out when we can do this."
The guys smiled. "Awesome."
Mike was starting to feel better.
*A/N: I actually don't know if Jorge is his real middle name. But whatever. :) Enjoy and thanks for reading.*
The band launched into a rocking rendition of the Ramones' "KKK Took My Baby Away". There was no more Mike, Kyle, Steve, and Tony. There was the band. Mike felt a rush of...a rush of something. It was this inexplicable feeling that he got whenever he played with the band. Exhilaration, adrenaline, freedom, the feeling of just being able to let loose. Mike was a totally different person when he was playing and singing in his band. He felt more outgoing, he felt on top of the world, he could do anything.
"Well, she went away for the holidays, said she's going to L.A., but she never got there, never got there they...say...yeah..." Mike's voice trailed off as he saw his apron-clad mother walk in and put her hands on her hips.
Steve slowly came to a stop, as did Kyle. Tony was the last to realize Mrs. Herrera standing in the garage doorway, as he jammed out on his metallic red bass until she cleared her throat.
"Ahem."
Tony looked up at Mrs. Herrera, who was glaring at him disapprovingly, and shot her his famous Italian smile.
She sighed. "What are you boys up to?"
"Band practice, Mom. What do you think?" Mike replied.
"Don't get insolent with me, Michael Jorge," Mrs. Herrera snapped. Steve stifled a snicker.
"Mom, we were just practicing! I don't understand what the big deal is...?"
"If it's to loud, Mrs. Herrera, we can turn down the volume on our amps," Kyle offered, ironically the only member of the band who didn't use an amp.
"It's not the volume, Kyle. This is just a waste of time! You boys could be using this time studying! Working on schoolwork! You won't get anywhere in a little punk rock band, you need to go to college and work for
an enriching career!"
Mike's mouth dropped open. Rage began to build inside him. "Now, that's not fair, Mom. We've been working really hard, and--"
"Ah hah. Working really hard with the energy you should be using to put into your schoolwork. And what is with these lyrics? 'The KKK put my baby away'?" No one bothered to correct her mistake. "I can not approve of my son belting out songs about racist clans--"
"But it's the Ramones!" Tony blurted.
Mrs. Herrera's face took on a crimson hue. "Out! I want all of you to go back to your homes and get to work on something more productive. I'm sorry to be a rain on your parade, boys, but I can not approve of this." With that, she walked inside and slammed the screen door behind her.
Steve laughed as soon as metal touched metal, in a very Steve-like manner. "Michael Jorge, huh?"
"Shut up, Steve," Mike retorted. "God, I'm so sorry, you guys. My mom is on crack or something. I feel awful."
"Yeah, well where are we gonna practice now?" Kyle inquired.
"Practice? I thought Aun--I thought Mike's mom said we couldn't," Tony whined.
Steve rolled his eyes. "Well, now we just practice somewhere she can't hear us."
"Oh." Tony was quiet.
"So..." Mike twiddled with his pick. The garage was silent for a moment.
"Well...I guess I could offer my house," Kyle said hesitantly. "I mean, you know my parents are really uptight and all, but we could probably set up in the rec room if we moved the ping-pong table. It's sound-proof anyway."
Mike smirked to himself. For once Kyle's rich-ass parents come in handy...
"That sounds good to me," Mike declared.
"Yeah, me too," Steve agreed.
"Me three!"
Steve and Mike glared at Tony, who widened his brown eyes innocuously.
Kyle cut the tension. "So...I'll talk to my parents and call you guys when I find out when we can do this."
The guys smiled. "Awesome."
Mike was starting to feel better.
*A/N: I actually don't know if Jorge is his real middle name. But whatever. :) Enjoy and thanks for reading.*