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-Angel
The morning finds me wide awake. I don't know when I fell asleep, I usually have a tough time of it, but I can tell, when I stretch out, that I feel okay. My brain is foggy, but in a good way.
The clock radio on my small shelf plays an AM station. The Bach piece sends my thoughts immediately to Jake.
If the music of Analog Controller was the soundtrack of my youth, then Jake was the vinyl it was pressed in. Yeah, I had other shit going on; bully's at school, damn appointments to keep and no viable transportation besides my legs, keeping my grades up, and trying to work out how I was gonna pay for college-but none of it was as important to me as my relationship with Jake.
Jake was my heart and soul.
Avery was the friend that always had my back, my voice of reason. We were synchronized, like one organism. Symbiotic. Full of heart and hope. We had potential. We had promise.
Or so I thought.
+++
Inside the interview room once more, I look across the table and sigh.
I still don't know their names: the lady with the gray overcoat and tight hair bun; her name badge is still flipped over. So, I don't know who she is or what she does. It's almost like she doesn't want me to see it, she doesn't want me to know. And the quiet man, I can't read his badge, either. The letters look smeared. I wonder if that means I need glasses.
The committee of two stares quietly back at me while my lawyer and his awful jacket-that is also gray today because it seems he's joined whatever little club the other two are in-stares off into space, chewing on the cuticle around his thumbnail.
Biting back the irritation, I speak up. "I'm jumping ahead to a few weeks before the big tour started."
I close my eyes to focus, imaging the moments I picture are wrapped onto a reel of film, fast forwarding until I get to that time: the one where my world was spinning in two different directions, simultaneously ripping forward and back.
"Everything was coming together and falling apart . . ." My hands unconsciously grip the chair as I open my mind and let the memories fly out, rearranging the space.
Transporting me.
+++
Analog Controller would get their shot. One chance to make their dreams come true.
And with that, the threat of being forgotten became all too real for me. I was happy for the band. I wanted them to succeed. More than anything, I wanted what was best for Jake, but I was terrified I'd be left behind in the process.
It was a real tour with three other bands, a piggy-back set of gigs and a huge source of stress. Mostly for me, because of that fear of separation, of not being enough. I tried to keep it in check, especially since everyone else was so excited. It was a huge opportunity and the biggest tour Analog Controller would be a part of, up to that point. They'd been invited to play six dates with Anemic Psychos. The Psychos had a label backing them, an album dropping, and were known throughout the state. They invited Analog to fill a spot that opened when one of the touring bands had fallen out of the lineup for whatever reason. Some of those dates were filled right away, but someone from another group on the tour, the Proselytes, threw Analogs name out there (Jake had played with them before) and the invitation to finish off the last leg of the tour was extended.
It was so easy, like filling in a bubble on a Scan-tron test. Everything was complete once Analog answered. All they had to do was show up.
The scariest part for me was that the band was actually going to play a few shows in Southern California. The scary part for the band was that they had little time to prepare.
Jake was determined. Los Angeles was the place to be if you wanted a record deal. And to get that, you needed exposure. And to get exposure, you had to be a part of the music scene. That scene played out mostly in Los Angeles and New York.
My mind gnawed on the meaning of this huge opportunity as my feet crept along the wide corridor, aiming for the back parking lot and then the waiting school bus. There was a smear of gum on the bottom of my sneaker. Every other step left a stretchy pink trail along the asphalt. The black diesel fumes coming off the line of buses was unbearable.
My hands were numbed by nerves as I climbed up the steps of the bus. My gaze wandered down the single aisle while a commotion rumbled behind me, reminding me that I should move along as other people were trying to get on, too. I sipped at my can of Diet Coke, aiming to down it before the constant summer air warmed it. The line pressed in as I made my way into the aisle. The bus driver kept the radio on the classic rock station. The speakers pumped an old power ballad by a band whose name reminded me of breakfast cereal.
Quickly scanning for an opening, I snatched up the last empty bench seat, two spaces behind the forgettable driver and set my backpack in the spot beside me. The bus kept filling, the way it always did. Single file, with bland passing faces, just not the ones I was used to seeing. Some looked around unsure while others went directly to a particular spot. Thankfully, hardly anyone took notice of me and the ones who did didn't look hostile. The ever present tension in my shoulders gave way.
The day had dragged on, relentless, but only because I was looking forward to seeing Jake. I smiled into my hand, cupping my chin as I looked out the window into the school parking lot.
It was going to be a long ride, so I settled in, and let my mind wander.
I spent as much time as I could with Jake, but he worked full-time and had the band, so that mostly left the nights and weekends. If Analog Controller wasn't playing a gig somewhere. Even then, I usually had to contend with my foster, Deanna, to let me go over to see him. That's why it was easier to simply take the bus straight from school without saying anything. If the Foster ever asked, I made up a random classmate, saying I had to work with them on a school project. Or said I was at the school library, which was the most convenient place and she never asked on Fridays, because I had to go see my shrink on Fridays. But my appointment wasn't until five-thirty, which left me a small window of time to spend with Jake.
The school bus was nearly empty by the time it hit Jakes' street. After the driver pulled over and opened the door I hopped out, only a half block away from his house-at the corner that opened up into his cul-de-sac. The plain suburban area was filled with older track homes and dead lawns that were as familiar as my own bedroom.
All of Carlisle was brown year-round. What little spring green there was usually dried out by March. Before May was over, the only living green left was cactus. I don't think there is a type of grass that can survive an Arizona summer. Maybe Astroturf?
