Rocket Car

Chapter 3

Rocket Car

Last call comes and goes. Eventually they have to straight up ask us to leave, since it's well past closing time. Davis picks up the tab for me, no matter how much I protest. Based on how tipsy we both are, we've spent plenty tonight. He's also a good tipper. There's no way that this bill doesn't make a massive impact on his wallet.

Fifteen minutes pass and we've spent it all in the parking lot, just chatting. He admits he's too drunk to drive. I offer to get us both a cab, but he refuses repeatedly. After a while he gets bored. Even if we have a lot of catching up to do, it is almost three in the morning and our heads are too fuzzy to focus on conversation.

"Let's just walk," he suggests. I don't say anything; I live on the other side of town. By the time I get there, I'll be sober, tired, and pissed off. "My house is like, half a mile from here. You can crash there tonight."

There's a heavy implication there that exists when you're an adult. Sure, we've crashed at each other's houses in the past, but we were kids and sober. Often times we were joined by five or six other people. The idea that he might be implying something prevents me from giving approval immediately. Clearly, he doesn't care either way as he's already strolling to the sidewalk. My options are simple: walk all the way to my house, call a cab, or follow him. I'm not sure why I find myself beside him less than three seconds later.

We don't say anything. We don't even look at each other. It's comfortable. The summer night's breeze is just right. The area is well-lit and feels comforting. There's no sense of danger. Still, I don't exactly trust my ability to walk, so I gently tug on his arm. He doesn't hesitate as a links our hands together. His palm feels kind of clammy, but I'm sure mine is similar. It's warm, a harsh contrast to my typical body temperature. The experience isn't odd; we've held hands before.

"Hey, look," he says.

I gaze at him to find him motioning across the street with his head. I look over to find the lights dimmed on an old sign. The building it belongs to appears unkempt and abandoned. A few of the letters that make up the name are missing. Graffiti mars the large windows and makes it impossible to see inside. Nostalgia mixes with sadness as I realize what I'm looking at.

"Oh, no. They closed it down?"

There's no need for him to answer and he knows that. Instead, he starts to hum a tune that's familiar to us both. Soon, he's singing at the top of his lungs. "I've got five dollars and a quarter in my pocket; where would you like to go tonight? The city darkness out the skyline; there's no vision of the stars' light; our only friend is a drunk and lonely man – "

I laugh. Interrupted, he joins in with my laughter. "I can't believe you remember that!" I say between fits of giggles.

"Well, yeah! He played that song like a hundred times! Do you still write?"

I avoid the eye contact he's seeking. "No. Not really."

"Still play drums?"

"No. I haven't in a long time."

August 1st, 1999

They were much lighter than the bat she normally swung. They were also much smaller. Hesitantly she tapped one against the snare drum. The rattle was such a soothing sound. There were two pedals and she was still learning how to use them at the right time. Tuning the toms took a lot of time. An extra crash cymbal was added to the otherwise barebones set of drums.

It was the first time she'd ever gotten a birthday present quite that fancy. Not that her parents didn't make sure she had a fun childhood. But drums? Those were loud. Bold. They set the beat that others had to follow. They were the foundation of every song in every band.

"We can keep them in the shop for now. You gotta keep at it, kiddo, remember that," her dad said as he tightened the last piece.

It would take many years before she realized all the lessons her parents taught her with that drum set.

December 21st, 2004

"Check it out! Convinced my girlfriend to give me an early birthday present!"

Everyone was awed by Michael's new guitar. Gone was the First Act trash that had plagued him for the last year. Now they were ready to make some real music. With Kristy on Drums, Michael on guitar, and Davis on bass, they would be the best damn punk band in the area. Jeep didn't play an instrument but he did have a great understanding of the technical side of music. He'd make them sound great.

Michael had his guitar and new amp hooked up, plugged in, and ready to go. Without warning he ripped through scales to test the tuning he had attempted earlier. It sounded great. Smoothly he entered a song he'd practiced a thousand times the past few months. It was a song all of them new very well and had all wanted to cover.

"The needle on my record player has been wearing thin; this record has been playing since the day you – what?"

Michael had stopped shredding after Davis's voice hit his ears. "Dude, you can sing!"

"No, I can't!

"Yes, you can!"

The argument between Davis and Michael exploded. Davis didn't have the personality of a showman. Convincing him to play in the band was hard enough, so Kristy knew convincing him to sing would be impossible. Instead, she found the callouses on her hand to be much more entertaining than anything those two idiots said to each other. A blister near her thumb was from softball practice…

Soon, she would have to choose between music and softball. For now, she simply doesn't want to think about it.

May 7th, 2005

"Everybody's telling me I've gotta move faster! Everybody's telling me I'm a fuckin' bastard! All my dreams were just islands in the sky … "

It was their first show. They got to open for a local band that played seemingly every night. The local scene was pretty much isolated to a bar called Ray's, so the turnout wasn't bad. While most of the crowd was there for the band they're opening for, they knew exactly how to get them pumped. After all, they'd spent many nights in that crowd in the past.

At this point, they're just doing covers. They open with "Islands" and skip across a selection of music that feels like it was peeled straight from a Tony Hawk game soundtrack. Davis never agreed to sing. Michael's voice fit the tone they were going for. Their energy was off the charts and the crowd embraced them.

Adrenaline kept them going. They'd played those songs so many times before the show that even if they were unconscious they're bodies could have gone through the movements. Everything was so loud and went by so fast, the memories of that night never really did stick.

September 8th, 2005

"It's something, it's something that I cannot see; like rules and regulations; passed down for generations – for gen-er-a-tions! …"

"You're quitting baseball?"

"Yeah," he affirmed with a sad smile. "I'll stick with the band for a bit, though. Only on weekends."

She barely heard him over the loud singing of Michael to an old album that was blaring at maximum volume. If he was done with baseball, he had already mentally checked out from the band. Not that she blamed him; singing covers was getting old and no one wanted to put in the effort of writing.

It was hard for her to put into words exactly how that moment felt. The band wasn't something that was ever going to go anywhere and they knew that. They'd played a total of six shows at Ray's and that was it. Michael was much more dedicated. For a moment she contemplated breaking the band up entirely so Michael could find some more dedicated partners.

The radio was shut off by Michael. Silence was never welcomed in their little band meetings before.

January 2nd, 2006

"I'm going to have to quit the band."

"What?!"

"Me, too."

It was much easier to say that than either expected. Michael appeared irritated at first but he soon resigned himself to the truth. Davis had to focus on schoolwork more and Kristy had to choose between softball and music. It made sense. They were growing up. Unfortunately…

"Well I'm going to keep playing. I'll get a new band together. You guys should make it to some of the shows!" Michael said with a forced grin.

"We'll make it to all of them. I miss concerts," Kristy assured him. Davis nodded in agreement.

"We're graduating next year…" Michael said aloud. That was the first time that it had hit him. For whatever reason, hearing it made it that much more real for the other two. "Think anyone will even remember our band in ten years?" he asked suddenly.

Davis laughed, "We probably won't even remember being in a band!"

The others joined in with the laughter. As it died down, Kristy swung her backpack around and zipped it open. The boys were confused, and that confusion grew when she thrusted some pages into Michael's hands. He did several hurried double takes between her and the papers.

"Just something I wrote in drama class yesterday. The beat is probably crap but maybe you can tweak it to better fit the lyrics," she said.

Michael read over the first lines multiple times. Slowly, a voice emerged from his mouth at an unsure tempo before gaining confidence, "I've got five dollars and a quarter in my pocket; where would you like to go tonight? The city darkness out the skyline; there's no vision of the stars' light…"