Holy fuck, I haven't updated in for-fucking-ever. And please, my wonderful beautiful readers, don't get me wrong. I won't ever abandon Highway Chile—my baby, haha. I've just been really busy with school…phaha, who am I kidding, I've just been doing a lot lately. I've actually had most of this chapter written for a really long time…but…I always feel like I don't do the story justice. Every chapter I post I meticulously re-read and realize I could have added something moving here and there. So, that's why waits between updates are usually so lengthly…because I'm afraid it's not perfection, so I keep adding. And maybe I'm ruining the essential beauty by doing that…I'm not sure. Anyways, I hope you're all still reading because there's no way I've given up on HC. Again, watch Brothers of the Head ;D You won't regret it. Please leave a review, they're what keeps me writing—along with the drive to tell Phin's story.
~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~
~~Mick~~!
Disclaimer: P&F aren't mine, neither is the song 'Sitting in a Car' by The Bang Bang from Brothers of the Head.
October 2007
Sitting in a Car
"Looking through the window there's three people in this car,
Don't know where we're going, could be f-"
"Ferb, Ferb" Paul rapped on the glass pane of the recording studio window. "Ferb, stop"
Through a thick sigh Ferb set down his Telecaster "Fuck!" he screamed into the microphone, Paul and Mason—both in their padded headphones—cringed. "What the fuck is it now Paul?" He'd dropped his polite act with our impresario awhile ago and there was no chance of it coming back now.
"You've just—you've gotta feel the song Fletcher, sing with some emotion. You did Two-Way Romeo and Rosemary perfectly, gimme some more of that gold kid" Mr. Sedgwick smiled warmly—and with his scraggly beard and massive height he just seemed all the more caring. "Come on"
"No" Ferb kinked and unkinked his long, skeletal fingers angrily, throwing aside his overgrown emerald bangs now and then. "Fuck it. I'm sorry Paul, I'm fucking done."
"Do you want to release an album or not!" Paul let down his I'm-your-best-friend guard coldly. "I'm paying for this; do you want Geffen to be your record label? Tell me Ferb. Is that a no?"
Taunting Ferb Fletcher was never a good idea. He defiantly threw his ivory chin skywards. "Oi Paul. Go fuck yourself!" He picked up his guitar, fuming.
"You ready Ferb?" Paul asked slowly.
"FUCK YOU"
Sedgwick took this as a yes. "The Highlighters, Sitting in a Car, take five"
Ferb ran those finely boned fingers down the neck of the instrument he so loved and then leaned his parted lips against the mic;
"Looking through the window there's three people in this car,
Don't know where we're going, could be far
There's trees and lampposts and people out in the streets
People in trousers, skirts and the shoes on their feet"
He snarled rather than sung the words, shredding the Tele's strings mercilessly. And then I got it. This was exactly what Paul wanted-hence the smug smile on his bearded face as he listened in on the recording—that's why he'd driven Ferb to this, he wanted the emotion—whether it be anger or frustration or joy or pain—to come through. Getting Ferb mad wasn't difficult either, he had zero patience and even if he knew being pissed off was exactly what somebody wanted from him he'd never cease to disappoint—no matter how hard he tried to be unpredictable there was always one constant; his hair-trigger temper. Say one thing and he would flip on you or burst into tears or laugh hysterically or kiss you or—or what? There was no level footing, no middle grounds. Anything that involved Ferb Fletcher was bound to be complicated, maybe in appearance things would be deceiving but sooner or later you'd find yourself digging through layers and layers trying to figure this scrawny, green haired boy out. And why? Was it because he was beautiful and wild and driven and captivating, with such a presence that he was totally unignorable? Or…or was it something else…something that ran far deeper than just that?
"This day's getting longer every turn that we take
There's lights, shops, lollipops and people eating cakes
The pavement is full of it, it's all going on
But we don't give a shit 'cos"
And here Ferb whipped to his left, until he was giving Baljeet and I a smirking, daring stare.
"We're sitting in a car
We're sitting in a car"
Of course the look he gave us was because only we had been with him when he thought up the first few prose of 'Sitting in a Car'. Hyped up on cocaine, tongue kissing Baljeet, hastily taking his clothes off and then sprawling out on a sandy Californian beach at God only knows when in the morning. We were beginning to live a life of agony and complete and utter excess…and we didn't even have one album out yet.
"There's flowers and dirt and fat slobbering old men
Young girl, mothers, walking with their friends
Pushing prams, kicking cans and passing the time of day
Someone pushed someone 'cos someone didn't get out their way
This day's getting longer every turn that we take
There's lights, shops, lollipops and people eating cakes
The pavement is full of it, it's all going off
But we don't give a shit 'cos
We're sitting in a car
We're sitting in a car
We're sitting in a car
We're sitting in a car"
He belted the words out with this causality that sounded so good, so right. I suppose because the whole song—after the initial cocaine-high first few lines—was about what we'd saw on the way back to our apartment the next morning, hung-over, covered in sand and drenched in perspiration. The lyrics were the observations of two burnt-out wannabe-rockstars and a legend in the making. The look in his optics—he got it every time he performed—revealed so much…revealed the scared little boy buried deep within. He wasn't half as strong as everyone said, and only I knew it. But that—that breakability…that fragility—it didn't stop Ferb from being this vibrant, moving person.
"We're driving down the road in between the white lines
There's police cars coming solving all the crimes
Faces on posters towering over our heads
People going dancing, off their heads back to their beds"
So yeah maybe he was some deity from another planet, but that didn't prevent the manic depression that haunted the orbs of his eyes—so unmatched with the full smirking mouth and the skilled guitarists' fingers. I wish I knew what he was thinking as he sung, cos there was always that thing there…I don't quite know what it was…but it was in the way he looked so forlornly to the ceiling and the way his voice hitched beautifully almost like he was gonna cry or break into a sudden scream. He made me shiver with anticipation, his musky scent my kryptonite.
"This day's getting longer every turn that we take
There's lights, shops, lollipops and people eating cakes
The pavement is full of it, it's all going on
But we don't give a shit 'cos
We're sitting in a car
We're sitting in a car
We're sitting in a car
We're sitting in a car"
Buford slammed down viciously on his drum set to finish off the song. Ferb placed—placed not smashed this time—his guitar against the wall. "Is that bloody good enough Paul!"
The man's bushy eyebrows were rose almost in—awe. "Bravo Fletcher. You've got yourself an anthem."
Ferb let out a breath that nobody would've known he'd been holding had he not let it out so loudly. And all the temperamental creature could bring himself to say was; "It's about fucking time."
Halloween Night 2007
Heavy breathing. Lights. Camera. Action. Posters. Media. Sex. Fire. Panting. Sweat. Tears. Blood. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK" His exasperated, fed-up sigh broke my thoughts. "FUCKING SHIT!"
"What?" I murmured, smoking my cigarette quietly. I could remember a time where I would've been the one so pent up with overflowing emotion…but now…now I stayed silent—And hell, I never thought there'd be different sorts of quiet…but comparing myself to Ferb…I quickly realized there were. Ferb's silence…was a stand…it was filled with confidence and intelligence and wander. My silence…it was the self conscious, I've-got-nothing-important-to-say, angsty teenage-bullshit type.
"I SCREWED UP" Ferb screamed, punching the dressing room door. "Fuck" He hissed, sucking on his knuckles—which had split all the way across on impact with the door. "Fuck…" And his voice…he just sounded so genuine…the boy really thought he'd fucked up.
"Ferb…you were great" I knew I shouldn't have said it; the blaze that went up in his irises further backed me up.
He grabbed me by the shoulders and slammed my back against the wall. "Why do you insist upon lying Phin?" He plead. "Just tell me the truth, just fucking…UGH"
The mood swings were getting harder and harder to deal with. I was pinned to the drywall, with his sweaty hands clamoring over my shoulders to keep me in place. "Ferb" I breathed wispily, the perspiration dripping from our foreheads and chests…our heat, our…essence, had melted together. It always did during those storms of ridiculously uncalled for emotion. "There's no one in the world like you."
He loosened his vice like grip on me and pushed away slowly. "Yes there are Phineas. For fucks sake. Who out there isn't like me? We got lucky once. Who's to say I'm better than the old man on Sunset Boulevard singing his heart out for pocket change? Who's to say I'm any better than all those worn-out cadavers playing their music with so much soul? I'm just another fad. Some stupid, pretty-boy who'll get fawned over for a moment and then be gone. A one-maybe two-hit wonder."
Only a few weeks ago he'd been preaching to me on the roof of Geffen Recording Studio about how we'd made it, about how right we were where we were. And now…he was falling apart. I hated him. But to lose Ferb…would be to lose everything. Our lives had become so chaotically intertwined that even if I wanted to—and fuck I didn't-get out I'd be left with nothing.
Baljeet was there for the sex, for the drugs, for the power.
Buford was the sole other there for the same reason I was; simply because he had nothing else except for those snippets of left-over life he picked up after Baljeet was done with them…maybe he loved Jeet…I always thought he did.
And Ferb? I think Ferb was the only one who was really in it for The Highlighters.
"No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did he would cease to be an artist." -Oscar Wilde