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Laredo steps off the stage, guitar in hand, and the crowd in front of him immediately parts. The music continues to stream through the speakers from the synthetic drum kit on the wireless keyboard behind him. The shift in sounds is sudden, as are the murmurs from the crowd.
The man notices, stopping his conversation and glancing toward the stage. When he spots the approaching Laredo, he turns to face him full on, puffing out his broad chest.
"Hey, bud. There's a performance going on over here. You finished?" Laredo stops inches in front of the man. Toe-to-toe, Laredo is half a head shorter and at least fifty pounds lighter. But that doesn't matter to Laredo. For him to understand the danger, he would need to be self-aware. And he's not.
"Are you?" The man throws the question back at him.
From across the room, I notice the quiver in Laredo's eye and already know what's coming. I push through the crowd just as Laredo lifts the guitar strap over his head. I have a choice to make. Save the guitar or my brother.
I grab the guitar by the neck just as Laredo turns to throw the first punch. I duck and push my way to the safety of the bar just as all hell breaks loose behind me. I don't look. I give my attention to Gary, who's holding the long aluminum baseball bat I had spotted behind the bar earlier. His gaze ping pongs around the room before landing on me.
"Should I even bother to ask about him returning next weekend?" I half-joke. Gary's run this bar for over thirty years. He's seen it all. I'm hoping he appreciates a bit of dark humor with his bar fights.
He pauses, rests the bat across his shoulder, and laughs. "I like you, Adam. If you decide to perform again, you're always welcome here. Your brother, not so much. He broke one of the few rules I have—don't pick a fight with one of my regulars." Gary gives me a pat on my shoulder on his way toward the scrum.
I turn, rest the beautiful fender guitar across the bar top, and spin back to watch the chaos. Laredo is being picked up from the floor by two people, while another six hold back mountain man. I doubt whether more than a handful of punches were exchanged, but from the looks of it, Laredo received most of them.
My phone buzzes, and the thought of Hailey somehow sensing Laredo behaving badly all the way across the pond crosses my mind. I'm wrong. It's a text. From a person I never thought would reach out.
Ariel from the band Devil May Care.
Last summer, we saw them perform at a concert at the Seaside Music Festival in Oregon. It was one of those mesmerizing performances that validate the magic of music. Her band took the audience on a ride that still puts a smile on my face a year later.
A few months later, as Hailey put the finishing touches on her debut album, Marshall had Laredo and me join them in the studio. Devil May Care was a surprise addition to the album, accommodating Hailey on an ambitious track the music reviewers loved. Laredo and I played on that track and spent a few hours with the band.
It's one of the highlights of my music career. It was also the nail in the coffin. The end of the performance part of my career. I always enjoyed being a part of a group. I cling tight to the memories of the early days of our family band. Spending time together, laughing together, and creating music for the art of it.
Somewhere along the way, we lost it. And with Hailey finding success as a solo artist, we'll never get it back.
Those few hours with Ariel and her tight-knit band gave me a glimpse into the magic we once had. Our time was short, but I could feel the love, the joy, and shared camaraderie of a band that was as close as family. I was on the outside looking in, and it felt bittersweet. Happy to know that others get it. Have it. And appreciate it. But sad because I'll never experience that again. And without that, what's the point?
I turn away from the shouting and cursing in front of me, seeking a moment to concentrate.
Ariel: Hey Adam, this is Ariel from the band Devil May Care. Not sure if you remember me, but your brother most certainly does—laugh emoji. I enjoyed our short jam session in Boston a while ago and may have an opportunity for us to play together again. No promises, but if interested, text a girl back.
I re-read the text three more times. I shake my head in laughter at the line, not sure if you remember me. It's not every day you get to play along with one of the baddest women in the music industry. I may have been quiet most of the day because I was fanboying the entire time. I'm shocked she remembers me. I'm the quiet brother who fades into the background. The forgotten one who nearly suffocates because all the air in the room is taken up by my twin.
Unlike me, Laredo made an impression. He followed Ariel the entire day. He's the one who pressed her hard with every one of his go-to moves. She shot him down time after time, but I could tell she found his persistence humorous. It's another tactic I've seen Laredo deploy to slip behind their defenses. Laredo would need a lot more than a day to chip away at someone in Ariel's stratosphere.
Ariel: BTW, I've also reached out to your brother. Please tell him not to make too much of the invite. It's about the music. I know you get it—you see things very few do. I hope you say yes and make this girl happy.
I glance over my shoulder as the shouts have ceased. Gary is tapping the end of the bat in one hand, watching Laredo pack away the equipment. I have a few more minutes of solitude.
I type without thinking. Her text is witty and flirtatious, and I try to match the tone.
Adam: If there's anything I can do to make you happy, consider me your puppet.
Ugh. I press backspace and delete the line. I don't know how to do flirtatious. Not when I know her text only carries kindness.
She's not interested in someone like me. Girls like her never are. They're attracted to the bad boy. The loud boy. The rude boy. Ariel's own history speaks to that. An eighteen-month, very public relationship a few years back with the lead singer of a band known for partying and wild nights. She got sucked in and enjoyed the madness for a little while. That's until she found out that his world operated with different rules. A very public breakup which led to a feud between the bands and her releasing my favorite revenge rock anthem's ever—the iconic You Are My Miserable.
The one song which put an end to the battle. The public loudly declaring Ariel the winner, and Devil May Care grew in popularity while her ex becoming a novelty weddings cover band these days.
Yeah, Ariel is a badass.
I admire her hustle, her dedication, and her musical skills. But I don't kid myself into believing that's all I admire. She's a rock goddess with looks to match. I recall the first hour of the rehearsal in Boston, my eyes constantly making their way to where she stood. My unobstructed view of her perfect profile. Dark hair cascading down onto her slender shoulders, high cheekbone, deep, dark, penetrating eyes the same color as her hair. Those magnificent eyes with a permanent twinkle that scream I'm living my dream. Why aren't you?
I stood five feet to her left, but she didn't see me. She was there for Hailey. She focused on the music. And when we weren't focused on the music, she was fending off advances from Laredo.
