Practice
I open the door and allow Piccolo to come in. I wonder how long he's been there. It's hard to tell..it could be a few minutes up to a couple hours. You can never tell with Piccolo, he's so patient.
We go inside and begin setting up everything..the instruments, the speakers, the mics. Same ol', same ol'... We do this in silence as if it was ritual. Shift this, plug in that, tune this, arrange that..I imagine doing this in two days from now, when I'll have to go on stage and smile. Sing and smile and perform.
And smile.
I feel sick.
Piccolo raises an eyeridge at me.
I wave my hand at him as if to say, "Don't worry, I'll be fine. It's just one of those things, you know..it'll pass." He nods and continues setting up while I take a seat so my stomach will settle. After a few moments, I hear the door open and close and another few seconds reveal that my son has arrived.
"Hey Goten," I say with a faint, real smile. He beams to see me without the flashes of light, without a crowd, with no interruptions.
"Papa!" he says, leaping into my arms, hugging me tightly. After a moment he turns and says, "Hello Mr. Piccolo!"
I nearly chuckle at this because some how or another he's picked up Gohan's old name for the Namek. Piccolo nods, a smirk on his lips, "Hey, kid." I sigh silently. Band practice has yet to start.
I wish it was over already.
"Which song should we start with?" Piccolo asks me. I'm the leader figure of the band even though I'm not the leader. I guess I always hold that leader-figure position.
He shifts through a portfolio that's full of music sheets and pauses, waiting for my answer. "Surprise me," I say with that real smile faintly lingering. He nods and removes some sheets, setting them up.
"Gohan followed me here!" Goten says with a wide smile.
"Oh? It's good to see he's looking out for his little brother," I reply, ruffling his hair, and he complains, yet beams.
"We're ready to start," says Piccolo, and I stand.
I know this is going to be tough today. Goku isn't feeling well and I could list ten thousand reasons why. Well, more like ten thousand screaming, swooning, reasons that he'll have to face in two days why. It's not just the performance coming up..it's everything in his daily life. From his wife to the record company to Vegeta to the strangers... At least I can run away to Dende's and be alone. He's terrorized everywhere he goes.
Too bad you go to Hell for killing.
It sucks not being able to save your friend, much less, yourself.
We're taking our places and I adjust my mic accordingly. I look over my shoulder to see Goten climbing up onto his chair, pulling out his drum sticks. Goku lifts his guitar and puts the strap on; he finds a pick and holds it by his teeth as he quickly finishes tuning at the last minute. Goten warms up, loosely spitting out some beats while flexing his wrists. I debate on whether to play bass or keyboard. I suppose it doesn't matter, it's only practice...but somehow or another I can't decide. I better make up my mind quick or I'll be making the others wait.
Bass or keyboard?
Hmm...
Bass.
I pick up the guitar and get ready. Goten shouts, "One, two! One, two, three, four!" We start playing, just warming up, not even singing. The song sounds a little strange without a keyboard, but we can hear it in our minds because we've played the song so much. We play and play, not singing, no emotion, just sounding like we care even though we don't. We're in the middle of "Will You Marry Me?" (a song we DID NOT write because we never write our own songs) when suddenly an angel starts to sing the lyrics. We stop but the voice continues, coming closer until that prince shows his spiky little head.
Damn he can sing.
He walks up to us and abruptly stops.
He looks calm in an odd sort of way and he says:
"Hey."
I remove the guitar and silently hand it to him and I know we're all asking ourselves the same thing: Why is Vegeta here? I'm sure he's even asking himself that question... He takes the instrument, and adjusts the shoulder strap so it fits him. He digs through his pocket and removes a pick.
And there's silence.
"Play the new song," he says, "Charmed."
Goten taps his drum sticks together and I get on the keyboard. Goku's mood seems to be indifferent and he concentrates on playing rather than anything else. Vegeta starts singing and everything's going good for once that I'm rather surprised.
Just keep singing, Vegeta. Don't fuck up, Vegeta. Don't get angry, Vegeta. Just keep singing, just keeping going, Vegeta...
He's singing and singing.
And then..he's singing the wrong lyrics.
We falter slightly, but quickly recover as he goes on and on. His voice is more harsh, more like his speaking voice but with the edge of smoothness that comes when he sings. I'm impressed, for it seems he's making all this up on the spot. Pure talent. And Vegeta had to be the one to get it.
"You can't say, you know me, just cuz, you wanna blow me. I'm not, the type, to go down, without a fight. You think just, cuz you see me, you're special, no - you're easy. I don't know you, I wish you harm, we just met, I'm so charmed.
"No - I don't care, what you have to say, or what happened, during your day. Or who your, friends are, or if you, drive an expensive car. We just met, impressions first, I know that, I'm the worst, but I can only wish you harm, we just met, I'm so damned charmed."
It sounds like a punk song, or something. Vegeta punk.
It's pretty damn good.
Go ahead, keep singing Vegeta..
"I can't achieve, one damn thing, I'm cursed, and sorry. I can't decide, to argue, if the efforts, worth it to you. I don't need, attention, I don't need, suspense, I don't need, this bullshit, that I'm forced, to live with; with ones, that I hate, I'm angry, and irrate. I just, want to do harm. Life has me so fucking charmed."
He stops and stares before looking down for a moment and I can sense the uneasiness around him. He breathes silently, his muscles tensed.
It's obvious: he's embarrassed.
He throws the mic onto the ground and nearly rips the guitar from his body.
He's really embarrassed. But I don't blame him, he just shared somethings he usually keeps to himself.
And then he does the switch-over. All his emotions and feelings turn to anger and he screams, "Fuck!" He throws the guitar down, smashing it apart. I growl lowly at the unnecessity of the act.
They're at it again. Again, they're going to fight. Why do they have to fight? I don't understand it... Vegeta came into band practice singing. He never comes into band practice singing, or saying anything at all, but he did today. He seemed so calm I didn't think it'd turn to this. Then he started singing words that didn't belong to the song.
I got scared.
I was feeling his emotions.
I continued playing, I kept hitting the drums. I felt his emotions washing over me. There was so much sadness, so much hate, so much despair. I swallowed hard, trying to keep him out of my mind. Then, nothing: he stopped singing, so the music stopped playing. Then anger, anger, anger...and they're fighting again. I close my eyes wishing I could block it out, but it's hopeless. They're yelling and cursing and there's no hope of escape and no way to stop it.
Piccolo screams, "Why did you have to break the guitar!?"
Vegeta replies, "Fuck the guitar and fuck you!" And they go at it...
"Fuck yourself, you arrogant prick!"
"You first, you bastard whore!"
"Shut your face, you self-centered bitch!"
"Make me, you asshole!"
Silence. "How the Hell..." Piccolo starts, "..are you able to treat Bulma like this and have her stay with you?"
Vegeta glares, his hands curling to form fists and he says in a whisper, "...Fuck you."
Piccolo blinks, unphased. There's a pause. Then Piccolo says, "You are such a bitch, Vegeta." He stares at Piccolo for a moment before turning silently, heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" my dad asks softly.
"The Hell?! I'll come back alright!? Just lay the fuck off my ass, okay!?" Vegeta snaps at him. Dad just looks down. Vegeta snorts and slams the door, and then, everything is silent and still.
I stride towards the nearest convience store. Step, step, step...I like rhythm. I need rhythm now. I need music. I need it because it's all around, it's the only thing that's steady. It's in my blood. I need music. I need real music, not that shit I'm forced to sing.
Step, step, step...pain, pain, pain.
I can't let them know.
I can't let them see.
I can't...
Piccolo's words had hurt me.
I bite my tongue, angered at my weakness. Fuck weakness. Step, step, step...anger, anger, anger.
They'd never understand.
They'd never see.
They'd never...
I push open the door and it slams against the wall. Ignoring it, I cut in line and slam a fifty on the counter. "Cigarettes," I say, barely containing everything inside of me, "Any type. Any brand. Any size. Now."
Confused, the clerk hurries with my request, but not quick enough because the people in line start bitching. I get my pack and my change. I turn, irritated beyond the point of calming down or backing down. Dare not challenge me now, or you will surely die. "Look..." I hiss, putting my cigarettes away. And then I roar, flexing my power over these pathetic creatures, my ki aura glowing a golden hue. "You can wait one goddamned minute.." I explain, nearly going Super Saijin, "..or you can just FUCK YOURSELVES!" As I scream the people seem a bit shocked and I remove the contents of my pockets...a couple hundred dollars or so, and toss it in the air so that they'll let me be.
I storm out of there before they can truly react and I race back to that shitty little alley. I rip off the plastic wrapping and open the small container, excitement pitted in my stomach. I pull out a cigarette and place it to my lips...
And then I remember:
I have no lighter.
Fuck.
It.
All.
I will smoke!
I hold my finger tip to the end of the cigarette, and with a brief flicker of ki, I am able to light it. Ah...finally...
I inhale.
And then I cough.
I pause.
Then I inhale again.
And this time I do not cough.
Inhaling deeply, I smoke the thing for all it's worth and in a matter of seconds it's gone to nothing but ashes. I grab another and puff it just as quickly. I take one after the other, just smoking, smoking, smoking...until there's only two left in the box. And then I realize something.
I feel better.
I've calmed down considerably and so, hesitantly, I toss the remains of my last cigarette (for now) down onto the ground to join the others there. I slowly, lazilly, head back into band practice and I examine them from a distance. Piccolo is off in the corner, meditating. Kakkarot is lounged across the couch, playing a song I've never heard before, it's slow and sad and unlike anything we've played before. Goten is lying on the floor with his eyes closed, obviously relaxing, or sleeping, as his father plays his song. They don't notice me. Good. I take a few breaths before silently padding into the room. Kakkarot doesn't notice me until I sit on the couch next to him. He stops playing and I shake my head and make a gesture for him to continue, and so he does. I lean back, letting my head rest on the back of the couch. I crave another cigarette already, and so I remove one, lighting up, letting this one linger. I take a puff and then hold the cig in my hand between my index and middle fingers. "What song is that?" I ask in a surprisingly quiet voice.
He glances at me, not seeing the cigarette or he would surely have commented. "I..made it up," he says with honesty, "To..." He swallows, unsure, and I know he's nervous for some reason but I'm not sure exactly why. He plays a little more before continuing, "I..I made it up to go along with the lyrics you sang..today..." He stares at his guitar before looking up at me. I turn my head towards him and take another puff of my cigarette. His eyes widen in surprise as he sees me with it.
I exhale, smoke filling the air, "Is practice over?"
He stares, not saying a word. Then he nods slowly, "Yeah." I nod and get up and leave without looking back.
...I wonder if I'll go home tonight.
I open the door and allow Piccolo to come in. I wonder how long he's been there. It's hard to tell..it could be a few minutes up to a couple hours. You can never tell with Piccolo, he's so patient.
We go inside and begin setting up everything..the instruments, the speakers, the mics. Same ol', same ol'... We do this in silence as if it was ritual. Shift this, plug in that, tune this, arrange that..I imagine doing this in two days from now, when I'll have to go on stage and smile. Sing and smile and perform.
And smile.
I feel sick.
Piccolo raises an eyeridge at me.
I wave my hand at him as if to say, "Don't worry, I'll be fine. It's just one of those things, you know..it'll pass." He nods and continues setting up while I take a seat so my stomach will settle. After a few moments, I hear the door open and close and another few seconds reveal that my son has arrived.
"Hey Goten," I say with a faint, real smile. He beams to see me without the flashes of light, without a crowd, with no interruptions.
"Papa!" he says, leaping into my arms, hugging me tightly. After a moment he turns and says, "Hello Mr. Piccolo!"
I nearly chuckle at this because some how or another he's picked up Gohan's old name for the Namek. Piccolo nods, a smirk on his lips, "Hey, kid." I sigh silently. Band practice has yet to start.
I wish it was over already.
"Which song should we start with?" Piccolo asks me. I'm the leader figure of the band even though I'm not the leader. I guess I always hold that leader-figure position.
He shifts through a portfolio that's full of music sheets and pauses, waiting for my answer. "Surprise me," I say with that real smile faintly lingering. He nods and removes some sheets, setting them up.
"Gohan followed me here!" Goten says with a wide smile.
"Oh? It's good to see he's looking out for his little brother," I reply, ruffling his hair, and he complains, yet beams.
"We're ready to start," says Piccolo, and I stand.
I know this is going to be tough today. Goku isn't feeling well and I could list ten thousand reasons why. Well, more like ten thousand screaming, swooning, reasons that he'll have to face in two days why. It's not just the performance coming up..it's everything in his daily life. From his wife to the record company to Vegeta to the strangers... At least I can run away to Dende's and be alone. He's terrorized everywhere he goes.
Too bad you go to Hell for killing.
It sucks not being able to save your friend, much less, yourself.
We're taking our places and I adjust my mic accordingly. I look over my shoulder to see Goten climbing up onto his chair, pulling out his drum sticks. Goku lifts his guitar and puts the strap on; he finds a pick and holds it by his teeth as he quickly finishes tuning at the last minute. Goten warms up, loosely spitting out some beats while flexing his wrists. I debate on whether to play bass or keyboard. I suppose it doesn't matter, it's only practice...but somehow or another I can't decide. I better make up my mind quick or I'll be making the others wait.
Bass or keyboard?
Hmm...
Bass.
I pick up the guitar and get ready. Goten shouts, "One, two! One, two, three, four!" We start playing, just warming up, not even singing. The song sounds a little strange without a keyboard, but we can hear it in our minds because we've played the song so much. We play and play, not singing, no emotion, just sounding like we care even though we don't. We're in the middle of "Will You Marry Me?" (a song we DID NOT write because we never write our own songs) when suddenly an angel starts to sing the lyrics. We stop but the voice continues, coming closer until that prince shows his spiky little head.
Damn he can sing.
He walks up to us and abruptly stops.
He looks calm in an odd sort of way and he says:
"Hey."
I remove the guitar and silently hand it to him and I know we're all asking ourselves the same thing: Why is Vegeta here? I'm sure he's even asking himself that question... He takes the instrument, and adjusts the shoulder strap so it fits him. He digs through his pocket and removes a pick.
And there's silence.
"Play the new song," he says, "Charmed."
Goten taps his drum sticks together and I get on the keyboard. Goku's mood seems to be indifferent and he concentrates on playing rather than anything else. Vegeta starts singing and everything's going good for once that I'm rather surprised.
Just keep singing, Vegeta. Don't fuck up, Vegeta. Don't get angry, Vegeta. Just keep singing, just keeping going, Vegeta...
He's singing and singing.
And then..he's singing the wrong lyrics.
We falter slightly, but quickly recover as he goes on and on. His voice is more harsh, more like his speaking voice but with the edge of smoothness that comes when he sings. I'm impressed, for it seems he's making all this up on the spot. Pure talent. And Vegeta had to be the one to get it.
"You can't say, you know me, just cuz, you wanna blow me. I'm not, the type, to go down, without a fight. You think just, cuz you see me, you're special, no - you're easy. I don't know you, I wish you harm, we just met, I'm so charmed.
"No - I don't care, what you have to say, or what happened, during your day. Or who your, friends are, or if you, drive an expensive car. We just met, impressions first, I know that, I'm the worst, but I can only wish you harm, we just met, I'm so damned charmed."
It sounds like a punk song, or something. Vegeta punk.
It's pretty damn good.
Go ahead, keep singing Vegeta..
"I can't achieve, one damn thing, I'm cursed, and sorry. I can't decide, to argue, if the efforts, worth it to you. I don't need, attention, I don't need, suspense, I don't need, this bullshit, that I'm forced, to live with; with ones, that I hate, I'm angry, and irrate. I just, want to do harm. Life has me so fucking charmed."
He stops and stares before looking down for a moment and I can sense the uneasiness around him. He breathes silently, his muscles tensed.
It's obvious: he's embarrassed.
He throws the mic onto the ground and nearly rips the guitar from his body.
He's really embarrassed. But I don't blame him, he just shared somethings he usually keeps to himself.
And then he does the switch-over. All his emotions and feelings turn to anger and he screams, "Fuck!" He throws the guitar down, smashing it apart. I growl lowly at the unnecessity of the act.
They're at it again. Again, they're going to fight. Why do they have to fight? I don't understand it... Vegeta came into band practice singing. He never comes into band practice singing, or saying anything at all, but he did today. He seemed so calm I didn't think it'd turn to this. Then he started singing words that didn't belong to the song.
I got scared.
I was feeling his emotions.
I continued playing, I kept hitting the drums. I felt his emotions washing over me. There was so much sadness, so much hate, so much despair. I swallowed hard, trying to keep him out of my mind. Then, nothing: he stopped singing, so the music stopped playing. Then anger, anger, anger...and they're fighting again. I close my eyes wishing I could block it out, but it's hopeless. They're yelling and cursing and there's no hope of escape and no way to stop it.
Piccolo screams, "Why did you have to break the guitar!?"
Vegeta replies, "Fuck the guitar and fuck you!" And they go at it...
"Fuck yourself, you arrogant prick!"
"You first, you bastard whore!"
"Shut your face, you self-centered bitch!"
"Make me, you asshole!"
Silence. "How the Hell..." Piccolo starts, "..are you able to treat Bulma like this and have her stay with you?"
Vegeta glares, his hands curling to form fists and he says in a whisper, "...Fuck you."
Piccolo blinks, unphased. There's a pause. Then Piccolo says, "You are such a bitch, Vegeta." He stares at Piccolo for a moment before turning silently, heading for the door.
"Where are you going?" my dad asks softly.
"The Hell?! I'll come back alright!? Just lay the fuck off my ass, okay!?" Vegeta snaps at him. Dad just looks down. Vegeta snorts and slams the door, and then, everything is silent and still.
I stride towards the nearest convience store. Step, step, step...I like rhythm. I need rhythm now. I need music. I need it because it's all around, it's the only thing that's steady. It's in my blood. I need music. I need real music, not that shit I'm forced to sing.
Step, step, step...pain, pain, pain.
I can't let them know.
I can't let them see.
I can't...
Piccolo's words had hurt me.
I bite my tongue, angered at my weakness. Fuck weakness. Step, step, step...anger, anger, anger.
They'd never understand.
They'd never see.
They'd never...
I push open the door and it slams against the wall. Ignoring it, I cut in line and slam a fifty on the counter. "Cigarettes," I say, barely containing everything inside of me, "Any type. Any brand. Any size. Now."
Confused, the clerk hurries with my request, but not quick enough because the people in line start bitching. I get my pack and my change. I turn, irritated beyond the point of calming down or backing down. Dare not challenge me now, or you will surely die. "Look..." I hiss, putting my cigarettes away. And then I roar, flexing my power over these pathetic creatures, my ki aura glowing a golden hue. "You can wait one goddamned minute.." I explain, nearly going Super Saijin, "..or you can just FUCK YOURSELVES!" As I scream the people seem a bit shocked and I remove the contents of my pockets...a couple hundred dollars or so, and toss it in the air so that they'll let me be.
I storm out of there before they can truly react and I race back to that shitty little alley. I rip off the plastic wrapping and open the small container, excitement pitted in my stomach. I pull out a cigarette and place it to my lips...
And then I remember:
I have no lighter.
Fuck.
It.
All.
I will smoke!
I hold my finger tip to the end of the cigarette, and with a brief flicker of ki, I am able to light it. Ah...finally...
I inhale.
And then I cough.
I pause.
Then I inhale again.
And this time I do not cough.
Inhaling deeply, I smoke the thing for all it's worth and in a matter of seconds it's gone to nothing but ashes. I grab another and puff it just as quickly. I take one after the other, just smoking, smoking, smoking...until there's only two left in the box. And then I realize something.
I feel better.
I've calmed down considerably and so, hesitantly, I toss the remains of my last cigarette (for now) down onto the ground to join the others there. I slowly, lazilly, head back into band practice and I examine them from a distance. Piccolo is off in the corner, meditating. Kakkarot is lounged across the couch, playing a song I've never heard before, it's slow and sad and unlike anything we've played before. Goten is lying on the floor with his eyes closed, obviously relaxing, or sleeping, as his father plays his song. They don't notice me. Good. I take a few breaths before silently padding into the room. Kakkarot doesn't notice me until I sit on the couch next to him. He stops playing and I shake my head and make a gesture for him to continue, and so he does. I lean back, letting my head rest on the back of the couch. I crave another cigarette already, and so I remove one, lighting up, letting this one linger. I take a puff and then hold the cig in my hand between my index and middle fingers. "What song is that?" I ask in a surprisingly quiet voice.
He glances at me, not seeing the cigarette or he would surely have commented. "I..made it up," he says with honesty, "To..." He swallows, unsure, and I know he's nervous for some reason but I'm not sure exactly why. He plays a little more before continuing, "I..I made it up to go along with the lyrics you sang..today..." He stares at his guitar before looking up at me. I turn my head towards him and take another puff of my cigarette. His eyes widen in surprise as he sees me with it.
I exhale, smoke filling the air, "Is practice over?"
He stares, not saying a word. Then he nods slowly, "Yeah." I nod and get up and leave without looking back.
...I wonder if I'll go home tonight.