Ventura, CA, three years and one month prior:
Micky fidgeted in his seat, tapping his foot and having a sort of rule-less thumb war with himself. It had been a month since he and Peter had decided to have an act, and they were getting ready now to do their first audition.
"Micky, relax," Peter said quietly. "You're making me nervous just looking at you!"
"Sorry, Pete," Micky said. "I can't help it. I'm afraid that if I sit still, my head'll explode." Peter took a deep breath. "Just try to breathe deep," he suggested. "I heard that if you breathe deep, you won't be as nervous about whatever you're about to do."
They both sat there for a few moments, taking huge gasping breaths of air and then letting them out slowly.
"This isn't working," Micky said finally, stopping as Peter continued to gasp and exhale loudly. "I think if I do any more of these, I'm gonna pass out."
People started to look at them strangely as Peter continued trying. One person even came up to them. "Is he, uh... is he alright?" They asked Micky. Micky nodded. "He's just a little nervous," he explained. "Right..." The guy looked at Peter and frowned slightly. "He looks like a dying fish," he announced, then turned and walked away.
Micky sighed. If anyone in the room hadn't already guessed that he and Peter were the new guys to the scene, he'd call them dumber than Peter. Speaking of Peter...
"Knock it off, would you?" He muttered, nudging Peter's side. Peter stopped his gasping and looked at Micky. "Sorry," he said. "I think it was starting to work a little bit. My stomach doesn't feel so weird now."
"Yeah?" Micky asked, more humoring him than really asking. "Well, congratulations, Pete. I'm glad it worked out for you."
"Connecticut Yankee and California Dreamer?" The guy with the clipboard called out their name and Micky jumped out of his seat. "Ah!" he said. "That's us! Peter, what are we going to do?" Peter stood up next to him, picking up his bass.
"Let's just take it one step at a time," he said, shaking slightly as he walked up to the man. "We're the Connecticut Yankee and California Dreamer," He said. The man smiled. "Ah yes!" He said. "Go right through that door, it leads to the stage."
"Th-thanks..." Peter muttered, turning towards the door. He and Micky stared at it for a split second. "Well," Micky whispered. "There it is... the door to our destiny!"
"Why'd you have to put it like that?" Peter asked as they walked towards the door.
Stepping through, they walked out onto a small stage. In the main part of the room, four people sat a table, two men and two women. The men wore suits while the ladies were dressed in elegant dresses, had their hair up in buns and had jewelry on their wrists and necks.
Peter gulped as Micky pulled his wheeled cart towards one side of the stage and began setting up his drums. He worked quickly, but it seemed like an eternity was spent in preparation.
When he was ready, Micky nodded to Peter and did the count off with his drumsticks, then began playing. He did a good job of it, but Peter didn't come in on the bass. Micky looked up at Peter, who stood completely still, face white and eyes wide.
"Well, I guess he really does get stage-fright," He said as he stopped playing. "Peter! Snap out of it!" Peter blinked and turned to look at Micky. "Huh?" He asked, then seemed to remember where he was. "Oh yeah!" He nodded for Micky to begin and got his fingers in position to play the bass.
Micky counted off with his drumsticks again and this time, Peter came in on the right part. All went well until it came time for Peter to sing. He turned so he could sing into the microphone- and froze as soon as he faced the judges again.
Micky groaned. "This isn't going to work," he said, stopping the beat and standing up. "Thank you for your time," he said to the judges as he began stacking his drums back onto the cart. When he was finished, he grabbed Peter's arm and guided him out of the room. As soon as the judges were out of sight, Peter came to.
"I'm sorry, Micky," He said, looking down at the ground as they walked. "I tried, I really did. I just couldn't help myself. Whenever I saw them watching me, I just... froze."
Micky was trying very hard to be understanding. It wasn't Peter's fault that he got stage fright. "Don't worry, Pete," He said. "We'll get you over this whole stage fright thing soon enough." "How?" Peter asked.
Micky shrugged. "I guess we'll just have to get you used to performing for other people, starting with people you already know."
The next day, Micky started trying to get Peter over his fear of performing in front of other people by having Mr. Spiner sneak down into the basement during a rehearsal. It had been going well until Peter saw Mr. Spiner.
Than his face went white, his jaw went slack, his eyes went wide and his body got rigid. He stayed that way for five minutes, while Mr. Spiner tried to get him to move. Finally, he left the room and Peter unfroze.
Micky convinced Peter to take their instruments into the kitchen, where they were to play for Aunt Franny. At first it seemed to be working, Peter didn't freeze up, but instead of playing, Peter just stood there breathing deeply until he began to hyperventilate and passed out.
Micky's next bright idea was to bring his family over and have Peter play for them. Peter didn't freeze and he didn't hyperventilate, which was good, but he forgot how to play the bass, which was bad.
"Well, you're making definite progress, at least," Micky said later that night, determined to look on the bright side. Peter sighed. "Sorry I'm doing this," He said glumly. "I know how much this means to you, and I keep messing it up."
"Pete, it's okay," Micky said. "It's not your fault, you can't help yourself." Peter nodded. "I know," he said. "But I just wish I could do this without freezing up or forgetting how to play."
Micky smiled at him, although it wasn't his usual exuberant smile. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Whatever happens happens, just let it come naturally." He looked away and thought. "Hey, Pete?" He said. Peter looked at him. "Hmm?"
"What made you decide to start playing music?" He asked. Peter frowned, thinking. "I don't really know," he admitted. "I don't really remember a time when I didn't love music, I've been singing for as long as I can remember."
"That's cool," Micky said. "But why did you start playing? What made you decide to take up the guitar, and the piano, and everything?"
Peter tilted his head. "Well, I think it was at a performance," He said. "I saw somebody play a song on the piano, and I decided I wanted to be able to do that. So I asked my mom for some piano lessons and she signed me up for a class."
He frowned in thought before continuing. "Then, when I had learned to play the piano for a bit, I decided to try the guitar. It was more difficult to learn than the piano, but I got it down eventually. Then I tried the bass, and then the banjo."
"And in all that time, you never performed for anybody?" Micky asked. Peter shrugged. "Well, when I was in the class, we had a piano rehearsal, but I was sick that day and couldn't make it. Other than that, no. I always practiced in my room or with my teacher."
Micky sighed. "Well, what about on your road trip?" He asked. "You carried that bass around with you everywhere, didn't you ever play in front of people there?"
"Well, yeah, but nobody could hear me, 'cause I didn't have an amp!" Peter said. "Besides, it's different when you're doing it out on the street. Nobody expects you to play, nobody expects you to be any good, nobody expects anything, you can just play whatever you feel like."
"Maybe that's it!" Micky said. "We have to get you to go play on street corners and in bus stations and stuff, so you get used to people watching you play without feeling like they expect something from you!"
Peter frowned. "Do you really think that'll work?" He asked. Micky nodded. "I'm sure it will," he said. "Now, let's go to bed. I'm tired, and you've got a long day of busking ahead of you tomorrow!"
Peter sighed. "If you insist..." he said as they walked up to their room. It didn't sound like a very good idea to him, but then again, Micky probably knew more about this kind of stuff than he did.
"Alright, Peter, here we are, at the bus station. Nobody's watching, nobody expects anything, they're just going around, minding their own business." Micky had led Peter to the bus station and had set him up with his bass and his amplifier, and now was hovering over him, giving him what he considered a pep talk.
Peter swallowed. "But, what if I freeze up?" He asked, looking at Micky. "What if I forget how to play? What if I forget how to breathe!?"
"Peter, calm down." Micky said. "You're gonna be fine, now just relax and play your bass. Pretend that it's just you and me, goofing off in the basement!" Peter closed his eyes. "Right," he said. And he began to play.
He didn't play any song in particular, he just started picking out a tune that sounded good to him, and lost himself in the music. "Hey, this isn't so bad," he said, smiling.
"See, what'd I tell ya?" Micky said. "Now open your eyes."
Peter opened his eyes. Micky was right, nobody was paying any attention to him. Peter could feel his heartbeat steadying and his stomach calming. He could do this!
Then somebody stopped and started watching him. Peter tried to ignore him and keep playing. Two more people stopped and stood around, watching. He hit a note that didn't sound good at all to the tune he was making up.
His heart started beating fast again and he started breathing faster. He was messing it up. He knew it. Everybody was going to laugh at him and he would freeze up and Micky would be disappointed in him and-
"Peter, it's okay, they like it," Micky said, nudging him with his elbow. Peter took a second look at the people standing around. They weren't frowning, they weren't staring at him, they were just listening to the music.
That was what mattered, after all. They weren't stopping because of Peter, they were stopping for the music. Music drew people together, everyone spoke the language of music, you didn't have to be amazing or incredible, you didn't have to worry about what people thought as long as you let your music flow.
He began to calm down again. A few more people showed up and stood around. "Yeah," He said, feeling his smile come back. "They like it!"
"That's the spirit!" Micky said dramatically. "Now, play, Peter! Play!" Peter went off into a riff that he knew, picking his bass with ease, no longer worried about whether or not people liked him.
That was the secret, you just had to enjoy yourself, and forget everybody else. Peter loved to play music, so he did, and if other people happened to stand around and watch him, who cared? It was just him and his bass.
Peter sat very still, breathing deeply, as he and Micky waited to go onstage for an audition. It had been a few weeks since the first one, but Micky had told Peter to just forget that the first one ever happened.
"This, this is our big break!" He'd said dramatically. "This is our chance to impress the crowds, and begin our careers as the Connecticut Yankee and California Dreamer!"
Peter took a side glance at Micky now. The younger boy was sitting next to him, squirming in his seat, eyes darting all over the room.
A man came up to them and looked at Peter oddly. "Hey, kid," He said to Micky. "Your friend there, is he alright?" Micky glanced at Peter. "Yeah," he said. "He's practicing for his dying fish impression. We're not doing it tonight, but it's a riot at parties!"
The man broke into a smile. "Hey, that's pretty good!" He said. Chuckling, he turned and walked away.
"Connecticut Yankee and California Dreamer?" A man called. "That's us!" Micky said, standing up and grabbing his cart with his drum set on it. "Come on, Pete, we're up!"
Peter stood up and followed Micky to the man holding the clipboard. "We're the Connecticut Yankee and the California Dreamer," Micky said. The man smiled. "Alright," he said. "Follow me."
He led them backstage and let them pass. Peter looked at the judges and smiled. He was still nervous, but he didn't feel the absolute terror that had gripped him before. Micky nodded to Peter once he was ready and counted off the beat with his drumsticks.
Peter came in right on cue and the two of them played and sang perfectly, doing even better than they had rehearsed. When they were done with their song, Peter took a slight bow before turning to Micky, grinning. "We did it!" He whispered. "I know!" Micky said, grinning back. They had really done it, and they had done it well.
After the auditions were over, one of the judges came backstage and clapped his hands twice. "Attention, please!" He said. Everything quieted down and all the acts waited breathlessly.
Micky crossed his fingers and Peter clutched the neck of his bass. "I have on this piece of paper, the name of the group who will be performing at the upcoming function," The man said.
Opening the piece of paper, the man cleared his throat. "The Leopards!" He announced.
A group of four girls in the back jumped up and started squealing with delight. Peter sighed and Micky uncrossed his fingers. "Man," he said. "This was our big chance, our door into show business!"
"Don't worry, Micky," Peter said. "There'll be other auditions. The important thing is, we played and I didn't get stage fright!" Micky smiled. "Yeah," he said. "That is a step in the right direction. Besides, nobody said we'd be an instant success. It takes time to get a good act together."
"You're right," Peter agreed. "Now let's go home and get some dinner, I'm starved!"
"Hey, let's tell Aunt Franny that we didn't get the part," Micky said. "Maybe she'll feel bad for us and give us some pie!" Peter laughed. "There you go again," he said. "Always thinking with your stomach!"