I had found a band of serious musicians, and for that I was grateful. They were much younger than me, the lead singer and the bass player and the drummer, all in their early to mid-twenties. That was okay. I played my guitar almost every second of the day, holding onto it like I used to cling to my medical text books, to my college and high school text books. I was always far more comfortable in the world of words, of exercises, of things to do, instead of people. I wanted these new band mates to think I was just a serious musician, when the truth was I was serious period. About whatever I chose. It was people who threw me for a loop. People. My wife, my son, I couldn't deal with them, couldn't relate to them, couldn't understand what they wanted and needed from me. That was the issue I had to deal with. I didn't understand people. Songs, notes, the scales and the math of music, this I could understand.
"What band were you with before?" Jimmy, the lead singer, asked me at practice one day. I had just re-dyed my hair that morning, and it was lighter than before, nearing platinum. I liked it. Liked anything that separated me more and more from Albert Manning, surgeon, abusive father, abusive husband. I was starting to hate him just as Craig probably did.
Jimmy was skinny, his body like rubber, contorting any which way on stage. His hair was naturally dark and kind of long, hanging in straight sheets on the sides of his head. Sometimes Jimmy had a goatee, or a full beard, or he shaved. His ear lobes had those thick circle piercing-s like some tribal thing, modern savage look.
"None. This is my first band," I said, glancing at him, plucking the strings of my guitar. My fingers had build up calluses now.
"Seriously, man? Your first one, but you're so good…" I smiled at that off hand compliment. What would Jimmy say if I told him I was a surgeon? With my platinum dyed hair and nose ring, the spike that ran through my earlobe, the rope choker necklaces I wore and the occasional eyeliner, he'd never believe me. I had a hard time believing it myself.
"Well, I came to it late," I said, and that was that. We had a new song to work on, and we had to wait for the bass player, a young man named Mitch who I suspected had a drug problem. I understood recreational use, but I was still a doctor and recognized the signs in Mitch. I thought we'd be replacing him before long. Jimmy didn't suspect this at all, would call Mitch like he was still connected to this world. It was sad, because it seemed to me that Jimmy and Mitch were good friends, and part of Jimmy's denial came from the optimism of this friendship.
We waited and waited for Mitch. Mitch was a natural blond with pale blue eyes, and just lately he'd lost weight. Jimmy had a vaguely worried look, and I noted it, knew it was normal. I played on, not really caring about Mitch except in how he was effecting the band. Next time I saw him I'd suggest a methadone program. I was pretty sure he was using heroin. If that didn't save him, well, there were other bass players, I knew. Everyone was replaceable.
At our next practice Mitch arrived, looking sleepless and irritable. Jimmy had a half relieved, half frantic look, and I suspected that their friendship was deeper, perhaps it was a friendship from childhood. I wondered if Jimmy would be able to survive in the band if Mitch was gone. I wasn't enjoying the turbulence of the musician's life. I wanted one dependable band and I wanted to play my guitar and not have to think. It only hurt when I remembered.
We had a gig. It was modest, a small club, and I played my part, looking out into the sea of kids just barely older than Craig. Always my thoughts went back to him, and I hoped he had been able to put some closure to our relationship. I hoped he had salvaged what he could from his association with me. I felt toxic.
Backstage, after a gig, it was the one time I allowed myself to relax. Sometimes I felt the adrenaline rush of being onstage, but mostly I was numb. I knew I was technically proficient at the guitar now, and my style was unobtrusive. Jimmy was the shining focus of this band. I had purposely looked to be in a band with a strong front man, one who would willingly take all the attention. I didn't want any attention. Didn't want to get signed to a record label or God forbid become famous. I couldn't let that happen. If my band became too successful I'd be forced to leave them.