So the first few chapters of this latest batch were a bit intense. Let's have a cool-down, rest and relax a little. Let's have some good dialogue, people getting to know each other, following them on their travels, if they have learned to make smart choices, or get over their own hangups. Place your bets now!
. . .
Down I-80 Haruko sped, making up for lost time. Somewhere out here Atomsk was hiding, it was just a matter of finding which grazing field filled with black-bodied beef cattle he had chosen. Or maybe it was one of the dozens of strange, twisted trunk tree forests grouped around shallow sections of the Platte River; dried up after a summer of relentless sun. So far, she had only seen in these trees legions of beef cows endlessly chewing their cud, or the occasional skittish deer with blackened tails instead of the bright white tails she had seen while in Pennsylvania. Farming and agricultural towns stuck close to the river, which the highway followed diligently. Silos ready to be filled with that year's harvest towered above all other buildings in each little map dot she passed. Their only rivals were the grain elevators at the railroads and the town's water towers. Otherwise these were simple, hardy places populated by people just the same. Even on her cursory bare minimum glances while passing through, it was obvious these were places where everyone knew each other, took great pride in the work they did, and made sure to have time together in small breaks from their labors. Tuesday nights the Lions Club were hosting bingo, Friday was the Fish Fry at the Legion, Saturday nights had movies showing at the theater, and Sunday afternoons there were potlucks at the church. All wonderful, welcoming and wholesome to anyone who wanted to stop by and drop the load of their world for a while, and all a complete waste of Haruko's time.
Having missed her exit in the evening dark, Haruko had accidentally switched from I-80 to I-76 and found herself in the intersection of Nebraska and Colorado. A small town called Julesburg to be precise, and a town tavern of the same name. The walls were wood veneer paneled, the floor looked like repurposed bowling lanes, and the drop was ceiling black and white chessboard. Small glass block windows let in the last glimmers of light, so the inside was dim around the edges away from the bar itself. The building didn't look purpose built to be a tavern, probably a farrier or stable once upon a time, and heat came mostly from the enormous firebox outside that was fed foot thick logs. But while the Hog Wings had been indeed tender and finger licking good and the beer probably was the coldest in town, neither were the reason she had picked this spot for dinner. The sign out front promised live music in the Happy Power Hours from eight 'till close. And it was seven forty-five. The band must have set up before opening that day and were now doing all the usual last-minute equipment and sound checks. Making occasional glances over her beer mug, Haruko could see all was not well in the musical kingdom. Redirecting her hearing, she could just pick up over the crowd and bustle that a member of the band was looking to be a no-show. Disappointed, Haruko looked for answers to the universe at the bottom of her draft mug. Not finding the solutions to all problems etched beneath dregs of suds, she plunked it down and nodded for a refill. As she waited, she could feel a nervous discussion taking place right behind her chair.
"No, you ask!"
"No, you ask! It was your stupid idea to come over here."
"Well it was your stupid-er idea to rely on Dane for doing anything involving being on time! If he were here like he promised, we wouldn't be having this discussion!"
"Will you two basic bitches just nut up and talk to the girl already?"
"Why don't you, if you've got such a swinging set of nuts, huh?"
"I'm just the drummer, my guy. Not my rodeo. If you can't figure something out, I'm ordering nachos and a beer, and asking to have the Broncos game put on. This's s'posed to be for fun but it's starting to sound waaay too much like work. Figure it out."
"Ahgh…alright, alright, alright…fine. Ahem. Excuse us, miss?"
"N'yeeeaahhh?" Haruko felt her eyes grow shrewd and catlike as she turned to face the trio behind her. Three scraggly and awkward early-twenty-somethings made up this run-of-the-mill garage band. "What can I do for you, boys?"
"We, we uh, our bassist isn't showing up; can't get ahold of him. And we saw your ax there." The one who looked like the front man, multiple necklaces, tied rope and string bracelets and finger rings, nodded at the Gibson; propped against the bar by Haruko's knee. "And we thought, if you were interested, you might be willing to fill in? I mean, you can play; right?"
"Of course, I can play. You think I'm some kind of poser or something?"
"No, no! Sorry, I just wanted to make sure. So, you interested?"
"You'll get his cut!" The guitarist added before she had a chance to answer.
"Kinda stuff you guys play? Elvis? Filter? Guns 'n' Roses? Red Hot Chili Peppers, Rage Against the Machine…show tunes?"
"Kind of a mix; except for the show tunes. We don't have original material ready for prime time yet; so, we're just doing cover work for cash."
"Mm-hmm, mm-hmm, right on." She didn't have anything else to do and could always use some extra money. There was no telling if these guys were any good, but it would at least pass the time; and might even be fun. "Got a set list?"
"Right here." A folded paper was produced from a pocket. Haruko reviewed the list with a critical eye. She knew how to play all these forwards, backwards, and upside down. It was just too fun watching them squirm waiting for her answer.
"Hmmmmm…"
"Something wrong? Some of that stuff the bar owner insisted had to be on the list; otherwise she wouldn't let us play. Like the first one. It's a grandpa song, but they picked it out. Is, is that gonna be a problem?" She had them on tenterhooks and sweating. Okay, enough teasing for now.
"Nah. Just your list needs some Sabbath; any Sabbath." She tossed the list back. "Otherwise… it's acceptable." She stood, downed the rest of her beer, and snatched up the EB-0. "If you're all ready, let me get tuned up and we'll get this party started!"
"ALRIGHT! YES! Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou…" The three could hardly contain themselves and the guitarist suddenly picked her up in a crushing hug.
"Hey, don't overdo it!" The guitarist apologized and let her down. Over by the stage she saw the front man also did double duty on a keyboard; no longer just a front man, but a singer and player. She plugged in, tuned up, and after running her scales was ready to lay it down. The clock on the wall was fifteen seconds to eight. The singer tapped his mic.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen of the Julesburg Tavern. For your musical enjoyment tonight, we're Four Screwed-Up Foxes; with the guest talent of…" The singer looked over at her; realizing he had never asked her name.
"Raharu!" She leaned over to the mic. "Super hyped to be here tonight!" Crickets. Someone in the bar sniffed loudly.
"And we have a loaded lineup for you tonight that you're gonna love. So… let's start the show!" A subtle 'One, two, three, four…' went down and the guitarist slowly strummed the opening line, while Haruko started her rhythmic thumping and the drummer kept quiet, neat time in the back. The guitarist worked the opening bars while waves of bass filled the low-ceilinged bar. The singer made one last minute mic adjustment and went to work…
*She's totally committed… to major independence…
But she's a Lady through and through!
She gives 'em quite a battle, all that they can handle!
She'll bruise some, she'll hurt some too…
But oh! They love to watch her strut!
Oh! They do respect her buuuttt… they love to watch her strut!
. . .
Over 1,400 miles away in a Pennsylvanian basement, two young men were making the sliding glass doors rattle. They had just finished the opening lyrics and were grooving their way through the short bridge. One then stepped back to his mic, lowering his voice to sound just like Seger:
Sometimes they'll wanna leave her, just get up and leave…
But they will never play that scene!
In spite of all the talkin'… once she starts ah walkin'…
The lady will be all they ever dreamed!
Oh! They'll looove to watch her strut!
Oh! They'll kill to make the cuuuttt!
They love to watch her strut! Ahhggg!
Oh yeah… love to watch… Watch her strut now…
. . .
Both guitarists, near and far, known to Haruko and not, leaned into their machines and drove them to hit the sharp high notes for the brief solo of this little, rough 'n' tough tune. Then in Osceola Mills and Julesburg alike, the singer took back the focus.
Oh! They LOVE, to watch her… strut!
Oh! They do respect her buuuttt… they love to watch her strut!
Mmm! Oh right… Ahhh… love her strut…
Love to, love to… love to watch her strut! Love to watch her strut!*
While the singers serenaded fading lines, the guitarists, a bassist, a drummer, and a massive sound machine maintained perfect formation despite the distance and not knowing what the other was doing. Finally, the song was sung and both groups stood back, pleased with themselves; but to different results. While one received polite applause for a Bob Seger song performed properly as it always should be and struck up the next on their list, the other only heard a knock, knock, knocking on a glass door.
. . .
Kitsurubami had the rest of her evening off once all duties were completed. Unfortunately, there was not much to do as the mountaintop was surrounded and all venues in town locked up tight or under guard of their enemies. With nothing on offer she took to wandering around the Carson property, skirting the edge of the Auxiliary camp. It was a scenic walk and on it she found field flowers growing along the edge of the woods: Blackeyed Susan, Oxeye Daisy, Bachelor's Buttons, Dandelion, and small forests of Queen Anne's Lace. It was a pleasant evening still warm from summer's residual heat but the crisp edge of fall hinting on the winds. And on one of those breezes was carried something decidedly not of nature. No bird chirping or leaves rustling, but a rhythmic thumping and thudding that went: Thmp-Thmp! Thmp-ah-Thamp-ah-Thmp! Thmp-Thmp! Thmp-ah-Thamp-ah-Thmp! Thmp-Thmp… Then it would cut off for about twenty seconds and then start again. A little walking later and now she could roughly guess the sound's source: the Carson house. The only light on was shining from under and behind it, from the basement. Within a hundred yards now she could tell it was a pair of dueling guitars playing a back-and-forth version of the opening for Behind The Wall of Sleep. One guitar played the two hard blasts, then the other would answer with the more intricate part, then two, then back, for a total of four pairs. Then there was a pause and it would start again.
'That must be Carson and Nandaba playing.' She made her way around the house to look through the back end. Through the basement sliding glass doors, she could indeed see the two playing guitars while hooked into a massive, floor-to-ceiling stereo. The same one they had used for their concert the other day, that could separate out individual instruments from a regular music medium; be it album, tape, or CD. There was one kind of machine that could do such a feat, but none of them existed on Earth; at least not naturally. She had gotten a glancing look at it when meeting Carson and Nandaba and had been unable to get her wondering about it out of her head. Now might be an opportunity for a thorough inspection. Up the hill she strode, and the music grew steadily louder and more distinct. She could now see and hear that Naota was playing the shorter part of the call and response, with Carson working on the longer bit; but wasn't quite mastering it yet. Hence why the same part kept repeating. But it did look like they were having fun, stomping their feet and moving during the two-stroke part. And some excitement was exactly what she needed right now. She waited for one of the brief lulls of silence and rapped hard with her knuckles on the glass door.
. . .
"Lieutenant! What a surprise at this hour." I answered the knocking on my basement door to find Kitsurubami, in the dark and her off-duty wear: track pants, slip on shoes, and t-shirt. Okay, be cool, be cool, don't be a try-hard, you got this. "What can I do you for?" Paging Doctor Freud, Doctor Freud call your office. "Dah-bah-whaddah-yaddah, words, Jeff. What can I do for you?"
"Tell me what you're doing in this…cave of yours, Carson." She smiled and leaned to the side. Looking past me, she pointed at the stereo Naota and I were plugged into. "And tell me how in Heavens you managed to get one of those in your basement?!"
"I've been meaning to ask the same, now that you've mentioned it." Naota fixed the stereo with a scrutinizing eye. "I've never heard of another machine that can do what it can. How does it isolate individual instruments or the singer's voice from a record?"
"It just does, because it's not from Earth." I started to explain, then realized Kitsurubami was still on the porch. "Apologies, Lieutenant. Do come in."
"Kitsurubami is fine, since we're off duty." She went straight to the stereo and began inspecting its every feature. "I had wanted to get a better look the first day I arrived but didn't have the chance. It's in great shape for its age."
Naota joined her in looking at the finer details and for him specifically a manufacturer's information plate. "So not of Earth, eh? Where from, and how?"
"My grandfather brought it back from one of his travels through Overwatch; when Earth's involvement with it was just getting started."
"This's the real deal then?" Mana looked at me, the stereo, me again, stereo. "Really a real one?!"
"A real one what?" Naota was out of our loop.
"A Liberas'...uhm, what's the word I'm looking for..." Mana tapped her lips, struggling to remember. "Their word for it is 'Rebee' but it means..." She looked at me. "Anything?"
"My Liberas is as proficient as my Vinculum, that is to say, terrible at best."
"Catalyst" Mana tapped a palm with her fist. "That's what it's called. A Liberas Catalyst." She then put a finger to her temple and grinned. "Knew it was up here, just buried under a few hundred other things."
"A stereo named Catalyst." Naota looked it over with a different eye. "So, where Haruko's originally from, they built this? And your Grandfather got ahold of one?"
"The story my Dad told me was that Grandad was part of a diplomatic team that got to visit the Liberas and the last planet they had, Portum. The Red Star calls it something else now. Anyway, it was to be a kinda culture exchange trip. Earth was just getting into our current probation period for entry into the Republic, and the Liberas were going to be our kind of mentor, big, older brother. That wound up not happening, but in the meantime, we traded a whole bunch of stuff back and forth; but there was one thing they wouldn't let go, and that was this."
"So how'd your Grandad get it then?"
"Well, you see, Nandaba..." Mana must have heard something or part of this story. The community of Humans fumbling around the universe off-Earth is both huge but tight-knit. Everybody off planet either knows everyone else, or at least no secrets stay kept for long. "While Carson's grandfather's team did many wonderful things during their time on Portum, they also taught the Liberas how to play poker."
"Ahhh... there it is." Naota gave me the smuggest 'you thought you were being cool' look I've gotten yet. Mana meanwhile sidled over to the stereo's storage cabinets and started going through the record bins. "Was poker a big hit with the Liberas?"
"They were hooked. Lots of souvenirs and items that would have stayed, came back through the heart of the cards." It's not the most exciting or honorable story, of how the stereo came to be in my basement, but there it was; and no give-sies back-sies.
"Your story definitely needs embellishing..." Naota critiqued, but then allowed: "But I am glad the stereo's here. Lots and lots of good sounds out of it..."
"So ah, Lieutenant..." Mana was now sat on the carpet and had stacks of albums, tapes, and CDs around her; totally throwing off my organizational Feng Shui. "You lookin' for something? Find anything down there you like?"
"Hmm? Oh! Uh, it's, there's a lot, that's..." It looked like she had been categorizing in prep to maybe, possibly, perchance, if I were of mood, to mayhaps, borrow one, or two, or twenty albums. And she was still doing it now, more focused on picking out her favorites than us. "You have quite the extensive and, thorough collection."
"Thank you kindly. Life ought not be spent in dreary silence."
"I was wondering..." She held up a vinyl album and displayed its cover: black, back-lit with stars, bright blue the band's name and dark blue below that the album title, and ominously prominent in the middle of the cover: a great red symbol that to us gave us chills of our worst enemy. "If I might borrow this?"
"Hmm... my Twenty-One-Twelve by Rush. That is a great choice, and shows you have excellent taste." Mana and I both smiled. And then I let her have it as I went stone-faced. "Absolutely not."
"WHAT?"
"Not in two thousand, one hundred, and twelve years may you, nor anyone else, borrow that album."
Naota tried to make Mana understand. "It's his most favorite in the whole entire world."
"Universe. Naota, you meant, universe."
"Oh, my most humble apologies." I didn't see it but could feel the eye roll. "His most favorite in the whole entire universe."
"How about that?" Mana flipped the album over and was reading the back. "It's one of my favorites too."
"We should play some of it then." I suggested, thinking we'd just toss it on and listen. Mana took it to a different meaning.
"I don't have my sticks-I-mean-that'd be great!" Now, I know I'm going to be deaf before my time from machinery, motorcycles, heavy vehicles, gunfire, and having a stereo cranked way too loud, in much too small of a space, but even I heard that; and remembered the music that had come out of Bagatini's the other day. In that moment, in the briefest of instants, time for me stopped. And I held two things in my mind. First the amazement someone like Mana Kitsurubami, a dedicated and capable leader that never once flinched before any responsibility, bullet or bomb while garnering the respect from those under her command and put me rightly on the best path in redeeming myself to my fellow Pennsylvanians, was sitting in my basement living room and going through my albums; driving my mind to wild places with smooth, sun-kissed skin around a tight, toned body obvious under even a raggedy shirt and track pants, and a blushed face framed by playfully short cut blonde hair and a set of deep amber eyes looking right through me and into my heart. Second, I've almost forgotten just by going over the first memory; it's one of my favorites to get lost in... Second was a feeling Naota had experienced and confided to me, and I felt first hand for the one and only time in my life: that in my mind's inner workings was a revolver's cylinder, and an unseen hand pulled back the hammer and brought a round to battery with a great mechanical Cli-Cla-Clack! This was going to be my make-or-break moment for any chance with Mana: I had been unfairly gifted an opportunity far and above my deserving, and I could not mess this up.
"Miss Kitsurubami... I promise this conversation will not leave this room if you're embarrassed by its subject, but in return you will be honest with me. You were the one playing Painkiller at Bagatini's store the other day… weren't you?"
"…Yes, it was me. And I did trip over the drums, but because your radio call scared me."
"I see. So, I have to ask then. Are you... a drummer?"
"It's such a silly hobby for an I.I.B. officer, and people on Castra bring an entire new meaning to uptight. I worry if people knew that they wouldn't take anything I say or do seriously. So, on your honor as a gentleman, yes. I am." Her cheeks colored up saying something so innocuous so seriously. "I am a drummer."
"Then you are one lucky lady, and have come to the right basement, at the right time, with the right guy in it."
"How do you figure?"
"Walk with me." I started across the basement towards the door right of the bathroom and laundry. "Kitsurubami, we're on a great journey! Where are we going, Naota?!"
"To The BIN!" Such a good sport.
"To The Bin indeed, yes." I stopped at the door to what had once upon a time been Tommy's room. Mana looked mildly amused and confused. "Are you ready?"
"W-what's in there?"
"Something only you will be able to appreciate." Without further fanfare, I threw open the door and popped on the lights. In the center of the room, surrounded by boxes and crates of every odd and end your Catch-All-Bin, hence "The Bin", could hold, was a set of old sheets; suspended atop something. "For your musical enjoyment and personal entertainment, behold." Away the old sheets were swept and their hidden secrets laid bare.
"Ohthat'sfuckingcool..." It slipped out before she could stop it, and none of us dared mention it. "Is that a five-piece kit?! May I?!"
"I insist."
"I haven't been able to play properly for weeks..." She sat herself behind the drums and spun 'round on the stool. "Hah! Feels just like home! Let's see, let's see... thirteen, thirteen, fourteen toms, yes... sixteen floor tom... two twenty-two inch bass drums, right... five by fourteen snare, of course... eight inch splash, thirteen hi-hat pair, a sixteen, eighteen, and twenty medium crash, and twenty-two inch ping ride cymbal, naturally... and look! Even a pair of sticks!" She found the sleeve hanging on the back of the throne and slipped the sticks out. "Are you sure it's..."
"My cousin Tommy hasn't hit a single beat on those in years; I think he's as good as given it up. And I don't think he'd mind anyway. Just know that as long as you're in this basement, the only standing rule is to play as loud and crazy as you feel the need to. Let's see if you can break a window." We three rolled the kit out and then Naota and I watched fascinated as Mana busied herself putting every piece perfectly just so. All the while she gushed about the kit she had put together piece by piece at home, how she had soundproofed her apartment so no stray sounds could leak out, and the setup of her dreams.
"So, it's got everything in this, and what all else?" I asked as she moved pedals around, twisting and reaching from one of the kit to the other to make sure she always had good contact with her feet.
"There would be four concert toms to my left... another crash and splash over those. Farther left, I'm having to really turn now, two wood timbales, orchestra bells farther out, bell tree, and some wind chimes I think... yes. Front, would be another concert twelve tom, make the basses twenty-four instead of twenty-two, a crotale off my left knee, and a cowbell tree because we all need more cowbell. Now we're on my right, here... so a rack over all this, of a Burma Bell, temple blocks and wind chimes, yes more chimes, and at the far end of that a set of large chimes. Under all that will be an extra thin crash mounted over the ping ride, a Wuhan Chinese mounted above the swish, an eighteen-inch Pang, a twenty-two gong bass, a twenty inch gong bass... annnnd..."
"Now wait a minute..." I had been sketching this entire laundry list on scrap paper. "You've got your left side, all across your front, and aaaallll down your right side completely covered. Whatever shall you put behind you, so you'll have to be lifted in and out of this death trap with an overhead crane?!"
"Don't worry, I have that covered." She appeared satisfied with her arrangement and finally sat still. Her hair was beginning to pop out of the clips, pins, and bun she'd put it in, and it looked so damn cute. "That's where the tubular bells and Crotales, above the tubulars, will all go."
"Well what the hell, Rig?" Naota's face read 'is she really being serious? I think she might just be crazy' as he looked at my rough sketch. Tapping the empty spot Mana had just filled in, he said. "Isn't it obvious? Of course, there will be more bells and chimes there. What else would she put there; aside from yet, more... chimes?"
"That is an... oddly significant number of chimes. Just who are you basing this kit off of?"
"Oh, come on. I can't be revealing all my secrets in one evening. Now, are you boys going to play something, or just leave a girl waiting?"
"Naota, good sir, the time for our talents... has arrived."
"Mmm-hmm, yes Rig, 'tis the hour; or something like that! Although, it doesn't look like, and I'm no expert by any stretch, like Kitsurubami's got the necessary tools for Twenty-One-Twelve yet."
"But we definitely can play anything of Rush before that!" I assured Mana, not wanting her to get discouraged. "I, I kinda know all their songs back to front." Get ahold of yourself Jeff. You're starting to sperg out. "I'll bet you probably do too, seeing's how you're so into drums and everything..." My guy, you were doing so well, what the fuck are you doing? You're starting to get strange, you're gonna weird her out. Why are you like this? "So which drummer was it again that you said...?"
"HEH-hem. Rig, Jeff..." Naota could see I was in mortal danger of another mental blue screen crash. I can only keep my Normal going for so long before the Bizzare starts to leak out. "How about I pick something out?"
"That-would-be-wonderful, thank-you-very-much." Seriously Naota, you're a godsend some days. Naota had that same smug smile, but this time with an added 'you owe me big time' lilt to it. He flipped through albums and picked out a single.
"How's about this? Quick, brisk, punchy, lots of good drum work. I'll pick up lead, and Rig, you can work on your bass if you want. Kitsurubami, what do you think?"
"I do like that one!" Mana happily agreed and positioned her hands. Naota looked at me for confirmation.
"Marvelous choice, do it up." I slipped off Backbreaker and into Haruko's left behind Rickenbacker; which I had slowly been learning to play. The wrong way. But beggars can't be choosers when it comes to a free bass guitar that occasionally needed some love. Naota readied up the needle and as it dropped, we counted each other down.
"And a one, two, three..." Immediately we took off with a great crash from Mana that set my ears ringing. We'd never had that drum kit out in the basement before and I was NOT ready for how much power she put into her performance. The first cracks came down exactly on time; off by maybe, maybe a sixteenth. But I had no time to admire or think about it, having double-duty to pull and had to get to right now!
**I'm runnin' here, I'm runnin' there... I'm lookin' for a girl!
'Cause there's nothin' I need, there's nothin' I want more... in the whole wide world!
Well I need it quick, and I need it now! Before I start to fade away!
That's why I'm searchin', that's why I'm lookin'... each and ev'ry day!
Oooooh, I... need some love! I said, I need some... love!
Oohh yes, I said I need some love! This feelin' I can't rise above!
Yeah-yay!
There was a short, sharp break where Mana tip-tapped on through. I snuck a longer look and was surprised to see a completely different person on the throne. With sticks in her hand she was someone who was completely focused on their one sole task, to where the world could be on fire and it would not distract them one whit. And a few moments later we were back at it again.
Well I've been hustlin' here, I've been hustlin' there...
I've been searchin' for about a week!
And I've started feelin' this strange sensation...
My knees are startin' gettin' weak...
Well I need what keeps a young man alive!
I'm sayin' I need it now!
I'm gonna get my message across to you, some way, somehow!
Ooo, I need some love! I said, I need some... LOVE!
Ooo yes, I need some love! This feelin' I can't rise above!
W'hooo, yeah-yea!
And now Naota took center stage, showing how much he was beginning to understand about that Flying-V of his; truly a bond between Man and Machine. Mana you could set a watch to, keeping perfect time and making the windows shake whenever she rattled off a thundering roll. I thumped my way along best I could, adding the necessary depth and substance to the song so it wouldn't sound like we were playing in a tin can. Then this little instrumental was over and it was time to step up once more...
. . .
'I guess none of them are half bad...and the singer's okay...' Haruko thought as she and the Four Screwed-Up Foxes, three foxes really, tried their best to blow the roof off the Julesburg Tavern. 'But a Rig Carson he is not.' To prove her point, they ended their little instrumental and the singer went back to his mic:
Ooo, I need some lov-uh-ve! I said, I need some... LOVE!
Ooo yes, I need some love! This feelin' I can't rise above!
Whoo, yeah-yeah-yeah!**
With thudding, rolling wrapping up, Haruko's suspicions that the drummer here was the real talent, were confirmed. The song ended as it began, with a sharp stinger. Only this time there was an enthusiastic applause and somehow the bar had swelled to overcapacity since they had started playing. People were now outside the door in the cold and waiting to get in. Haruko looked down at the EB-0 hanging off her shoulders and marveled at its power. Was this an effect of wielding the instrument of The Pirate King himself? The evening had flown by and Haruko was in danger of enjoying herself. It felt just like being back in the basement with Rig and Naota on those sweltering summer nights, when the air smelled so sweet and tingled with humidity and electricity from thunderstorms, and just as this low-ceiling bar did now, the closeness of the basement had filled her ears and soul with sound. If things had stayed in that basement, those times caught in a bottle, maybe things might have been different...
"...I think we can do it. What about you? Yo, Raharu!"
"Heh? I'm sorry, what?" The guitarist tugged on her shirt sleeve and pulled her to an impromptu conference over the bass drums. "I spazzed out for a second."
"You said we needed some Sabbath, any Sabbath? We know how to play this one, and think it'll be good to close on. What say you?"
"Lemme see..." Haruko spun the set list, covered in scribbles and scratches, to face her. "You want to... yes. Yes. YES. Yes. YES. All of the yes, right now, let's do this, holy shit, yes!"
"N'y'all right then." The singer was surprised at the sudden enthusiasm. "Meeting adjourned, let's go. Thank you, thank you all ladies and gentlemen of this fine, fine establishment, for being here and being such a lovely crowd. It's past our bedtimes, but we're going to give you one more this evening; because you're awesome and you deserve it. And a one, two... three... four..." They started quietly in, crashing drums building their crescendo, guitar in cool, smokey tones that oozed metallic blues, and Haruko provided the passionate, bumping heart that reached out and grabbed everyone in theirs as the singer spun their story...
***In these days of confusion... You've turned angry and cold...
You saaay it's an illusion, there's no fire in your soul...
You say you don't love me; you say you don't care...
But don't leave me standing here...
Don't leave me STAAAAAAND-ing here...
A total hush had fallen over the bar, only the music could be heard through the smoke and haze filled room. The patrons listened transfixed, nodding or gently tapping along to the deep thudding bass that synced with the own song in their hearts; drawing them deeper into the music to where they thought of nothing else for this wonderful short while.
Your heart's like a wheel! Just waitinnnggg to rollll!
It's longing for freedom... to get out on the road!
You're hoping for something, that you will never find...
So many reasons... your love has made you blind!
You say you don't love me; you say you don't care...
So, don't leave me standing here...
Don't leave me STAAAAAAND-ing here, no-no, no-no, oh-NO-no...
. . .
Mana had chosen the last song to close out the night. They had been having a blast, the three of them. Their aim of breaking a window had not been met quite yet, but maybe they might one day. After an evening of merry music making and hearing each other in a wide range that tested their abilities, Mana had given the last song longer thought than any others she had picked. While Rig waited in what looked to anyone else a cool, loose and nonchalant demeanor, Naota knew his friend well enough to know he was barely holding it together. He made a point to ask later if this was the longest time Rig had spent in a room with a girl that wasn't school. What had not helped for a tense moment was when Mana had looked Rig over while holding the last two albums in her hand; as if she were sizing him up. For what that sizing up would have been for, Naota was not given to wild speculation. Just the facts, and the fact was, Mana had chosen a song that was going to push Rig vocally. However, it would sound utterly incredible if he pulled it off. And so, they played, and so Rig sang...
You say you don't love me; you say you don't care...
DOON'T LET ME, don't leave me standin' here, ah no, no-no-no...
Don't you! Leeeave me standin' here...
Life ain't been easy! Full of passion! And pain!
Told me no reason, why I was to blame...
Plying his strings, Naota felt a pang of hurt prick at his heart. This all felt so familiar from before, but strangely alien. While the sound would never convince someone else otherwise, as perfectly played it was, there was a hole in the room Naota couldn't place but could feel. It needled at his memory, bringing up recollections of summer nights with Rig, him, and Haruko in this same room, playing many of the same songs just as he did now. And with a live drummer they sounded just as good... but different. Like something was off in his mind, something that plucked one of his own heartstrings. Maybe it was the lyrics getting to him, making him think of wishing for another alternate world, where things had gone differently; perhaps a world where this trio was a member larger...
Don't leave me standing! Don't leave me staaanding!
Don't leave me standing on my own!
On my own...***
. . .
The singing over, both groups let their instruments do the rest of the work. Slowly, deliberately and yet softly, they let the song down easy and it finally faded into the ether. Even though over a thousand miles apart, both groups reacted in much the same way: with pumping fists, jumping like persons possessed, and hollering cheers; one slightly more subdued than the other. For both now the work was done, and it was time for taking down and packing up, congratulations on an evening well done, and for one of each group to feel a strange tug on their heart, an impossible feeling that someone out there was still hearing the same song and lyrics as them; and both furious they had even thought with mild fondness of the other.
. . .
"I have to be going, best be off." Mana stood and stretched for the ceiling, her shirt pulling up to reveal a set of hardened abs I'd eat whipped cream off like a starving...huh? What's that? Oh, the story, right, yeah, sorry. Bad Jeff. Bad Rig. Bad... The story. Where was I? Abs. Yes, right. "Morning formation and all. But thank you very much for the entertainment!"
"And thank you for stopping by." I walked her to the doors, bringing the drumsticks with me. "An unexpected surprise, but one you'll never hear me complaining about. Did you enjoy yourself?"
"I did, very much. I'm glad I followed my curiosity today. I had been wondering about that stereo and couldn't get it out of my head."
"Well, now that your curiosity has been sated..." Okay, careful, careful, careful here. Naota had somehow completely disappeared without sound, trace or excuse; leaving me and Mana alone. Bless that man. Get that man a medal! "Will I ever see you back in, as you said, the cave, again?" That got a slight eyebrow raise, but a smile too.
"The cave, huh? As much as I enjoyed my time here tonight..." Oh, here it comes. Well folks, it's been fun. Pack it in, we're done, go home. "Remember that I'm an officer and you're enlisted. We cannot be seen as being too familiar or intimate, it's unprofessional to say the least. And I have no plans for court martial. I don't think we can make this a regular habit."
"I understand." I felt the moment slipping away, I can't leave it like this! Think, damn you! There's gotta be something... "Perhaps an, irregular habit then? Once every full moon, you transform from proper officer, to smashing skin-basher."
"Haha! I've never heard of a drummer being called a skin-basher before. That must be an Earth term." She looked off to her right shoulder, at the lights of the freighter, and seemed to think something over; chewing at her bottom lip. At least mostly decided, she looked back to me. "Do you always sing like that?"
"For the right sets of ears."
"Okay... yes. I think an irregular habit might be doable. An indulgence in guilty pleasure."
"I look forward to it. In the meantime..." I held out the sticks in their sleeve. "Please take these, for practice. I can't have you be rusty next time."
"Thank you, very much." She took them slowly, seeming to study my face; maybe expecting me to show some sort of tell or nervous tic. I must not have shown any because she accepted the drumsticks and gave a genuine smile, crinkling up at the corners of her eyes; shining with a strange gleam from the dome light over the doors. "I'll be sure to practice. I will promise you that. Goodnight... Jeff."
"Goodnight, Mana."
. . .
It was finally last call at the Julesburg Tavern and time to settle accounts. Haruko and the three of the Four Screwed-Up Foxes lined up at the bar with the owner. To each went fifty dollars cash, but then Haruko's turn in line came up. Between the Hog Wings dinner and beers with that, and then during their intermission she had ordered several drinks more, her net profit for the night shook out to a mere ten dollars. Still considering it a win she said farewell to the Screwed-Up Foxes and crossed the road to her motel. Dead tired she showered, worried at the widening red zone around her wound, re-bandaged it, and took two 10mg Vicodin for sleeping through any pain trying to wake her up. It had been a fun evening after all, but tomorrow she would have to be on the road again. For a moment she felt apprehensive about riding down the blacktop solo. She had always considered herself the ultimate rugged individual and only interacted with others to leverage her current position. Otherwise she thought she had no want or need for friends or partners, something that would only be slowing her down; or being another loss that she would have to strive to forget.
'You thought you were a loner…' She put out the lights and got into bed. 'But the first sign of being in a group, even just for a few hours, and you jumped right in. You're never going to get anything done if you keep being this damn weak.' Trying to find a comfortable spot on this lumpy mattress was difficult. She rolled, growing more frustrated with herself and the bed. What if they had been from the I.I.B.? She had just given up herself and name without even thinking. Was she that desperate for social contact? What if they had been working for the G.S.P.B.? Or maybe were with M.M.? Now she was truly good and screwed. They knew her face, where she was staying, there was a long list of people who wanted her dead or in prison. And there she had been, just casually hanging out in a bar for the live music; like a damn tourist! Stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking stupid, idiot! When was she going to learn?! At what point did the fuse in her brain for making good decisions blow out?
"Goddamn, fucking, piece of shit mattress…" Nothing was comfortable and she desperately wanted, needed to sleep. The pills were doing their thing, but now she was too disappointed in herself to settle and rest. It had to be something else, she wasn't sleeping enough, or the drugs weren't working right; maybe she didn't have the right dosage, too much stress was cramping her style? It wasn't that she missed that dumpy little shithole filled with dirt people scratching in the rocks for money and calling it a living. There had been dozens of places across several planets just like it, Pennsylvania hadn't been anything special to her at all. Just another pothole on her journey. Still no comfortable spot on the mattress and now she sat up. Maybe she was just frustrated she hadn't found Atomsk as soon as she thought she would; she'd set her expectations too high? That could be it, but it still didn't explain why she felt a sick hollow in her chest. It wasn't that she was anything pathetic like homesick or lonely. No, that wasn't it, and anyone that brought it up was getting whacked on the head with an EB-0, end of. Kicking down on the mattress wasn't helping it be any more comfortable or her feel any better. She had always gotten along by nothing but her own wits and cunning. Why was she going all soft and useless now?! She had to be better than this, goddamnitt! She was better than this! If she just hadn't been so careless, why couldn't she do anything right, why can't you stop being such a colossal fuck-up, what is your major malfunction Recruit Candidate Raharu, are you just going to be this hopeless for the rest of the sad suck that you call a life, you might as well do the universe a favor and just fucking die already, piece of worthless trash, FUCKING MATTRESS!
An animal roar ripped out her throat as she lifted the mattress and box springs and tossed them across the room. In the darkness she heard the lamp crash against the wall and the TV fall off the dresser to shatter on the floor. Nothing solved and in fact made worse, she sat on the floor and slumped on the wall. Ah yes, another great decision made in a long line of real winners. Typical. Serves her right she thought, choking up as she realized how disgraceful she looked. But being a sad sack was something she had never been able to entertain, so she punched that sorrow back down where it belonged. The moment having come and gone, she felt the sadness grow to anger; hating herself for having lost self-control, both in her room and at the bar. And so, she sat on the floor, stewing in bitter misery until finally passing out against the nightstand.
As the mourning doves sang, she woke up to the sunrise again hitting her full in the face. Not able to afford paying for her damages, she slunk out the back lot of the motel; quietly rolling her Vespa in the morning calm. Only several blocks away did she fire up and take off, too far to catch for any vengeful motel owner. No music was played or sung as she backtracked into Nebraska to find I-80 again. It was a foul morning; breakfast was the last of the granola packs that went down like her mouth was full of sawdust. But so it went, as it had for her numerous times in these past four years. A glance down at her bracelet showed no signs of N.O. activity. Nothing here in Colorado remained for her, just like Pennsylvania, just like Mabase, and all that had been before them. Time to move on and forget Colorado just like all the rest too. She tightened her grip and rolled the throttle on…
. . .
*Her Strut - Bob Seger and The Silver Bullet Band
**Need Some Love - Rush
***Heart Like A Wheel - Black Sabbath
What were the questions I asked up top? "if they have learned to make smart choices, or get over their own hangups" Hmm, let's take our temperature and see if there's been any improvement.
Has Haruko "learned to make smart choices"? That'd be a hard "NO" I must say. The only question for her now is if she has to hit rock bottom first to finally wise up?
Has Rig managed to "get over their own hangups"? We will have to say there has been marginal improvement. It's better, with room for improvement; but also plenty of space to completely screw things up. Perhaps Naota can help him out, but ultimately it's only Rig that can get over his own stumbling blocks.
I am trying to get my life better organized, get things on a stricter schedule. One potential career change I'm looking into would require a more disciplined time management strategy, so this would be great practice and working out any kinks. A hopeful side effect would be I get a lot more writing done! So good news for all involved! Thank you all again for sticking with me through these makes-absolutely-no-damn-sense times. Until next time, I remain your undaunted raconteur, BigCountry75.
