“If I ever reach the level where I can contribute, I’d love the chance to make a guest appearance.”
“Dude, you’re already there; you just need to embrace it and believe in yourself. There’s nothing more I can teach you, not on a drum kit anyway. Now play that beat again.”
I did as I was told, doing my best to recreate the gravelly rattle-crash of the tin can I’d watched tumble down a fire escape earlier in the afternoon, the wind keeping its momentum going, even when it seemed like it was going to get stuck on one of the rungs. When I finished, Ozzy sat tapping his fingers on the table, and I realized he was duplicating the beat, with a small adjustment that drew out the pause I’d been going for, so I played it again, mimicking the movements of his fingers.
“Holy shit, that’s badass right there!”
At least this time I didn’t send a stick flying when Dash’s words startled me, but I damn near jumped out of my seat when he stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a whistle shrill enough that Johnny and Rebel stopped blasting one another with bubble cannons and hurried over. Two foamy messes sat on either side of Ozzy while Dash took the seat next to me.
“What’s up?” Johnny asked as a bubble slid down the side of his face until Ozzy popped it, making Johnny giggle.
“You guys need to hear this beat,” Dash declared, while Ozzy shot me a knowing look across the table.
I was too afraid to look at them, so I stared down at the electric drum kit while I played. As I neared the end, I got caught up in the rhythm and improvised a whole new line as a bridge between the one Ozzy had helped me refine and the section I hadn’t played for him yet, and something just clicked as it all came together. Afraid of forgetting the bridge, I played it one more time before letting the final beats trail off.
“I’m getting my bass,” Dash declared. “Don’t any of you move an inch.”
Rebel’s chuckle drew my attention, and I was finally able to raise my head to meet their gazes; Ozzy's was proud, Johnny'swas excited, and Rebel’s, well, there was so much heat in it that for a moment I wished we were alone so I could explore what it meant.
“See,” Rebel said. “Told ya you had nothing to worry about.”
“What was he worried about?” Ozzy asked.
“Not being ready to share the things he’d been working on with the rest of the band,” Rebel explained. “I told him that once he did, he’d see just how all our songs were born, and now it’s happening. I just wish I wasn’t covered in bubble slime, or I’d grab my acoustic.”
“Better not move or Dash might have your hide,” Johnny reminded him. “As excited as he is, he’s not going to want to wait to show us what he’s got in mind.”
“Fine, but the moment there is a lull, I’m grabbing a quick shower so I can break it out.”
“It’s not even half a song yet,” I protested, feeling my face flush.
My insides were doing cartwheels while I waited for Dash to come back, because holy shit, they clearly liked it enough to pause what they’d been doing to join Ozzy and me at the table.
“So?” Rebel said. “It’s enough of a song for us to build on. That’s what creating is all about. Remember what I said about not having to have something perfectly polished before you show it to anyone?”
“But the song you played, that sounded pretty fucking polished to me,” I reminded him.
"Because he’s ado as I say, not as I dokind of guy,” Ozzy pointed out.
“Naa, I’m just shit at taking my own advice,” Rebel replied. “I hate giving orders, even to myself.”
“Which is exactly why you need a keeper,” Ozzy replied in a way that left me feeling like I was missing part of the conversation.
Judging from the startled look on Rebel’s face and the way he ducked his head, Ozzy had hit on something that Rebel might not be ready to own up to. I started to say that he wasn’t theonly one, but fear of how that would be taken kept my lips firmly shut. If Rebel and I were looking for the same thing in a partner, that might make things even more complicated between us than they already were.
A beautiful memory flashed through my mind, of the way the light from the television had glittered in his eyes as he’d been kissing me on the couch. He hadn’t cared that I was disheveled and he was hurt; he’d just leaned in, and when I met him halfway, it was game on. We didn’t come up for air until the closing credits, and even then it was only for long enough to put another movie on. We hadn’t gone further than the skim of fingers beneath each other’s shirts and hands tangled in one another’s hair, but even without getting naked, things had gotten downright heated.
“Good, you guys listened,” Dash said when he returned, bass in hand, to plop his ass on the tabletop instead of the bench beside me. “Now play it again.”
“Bossy bitch,” Johnny declared.
“You know it,” Dash shot back, but the jokes stopped the moment I started playing.
By the time I reached the bridge, Dash had joined in with a bassline that gave a hint of moodiness to the piece, which was exactly what it needed.
“Think somber. Grittier,” Johnny said when we finished playing. “It’s already got edge; now it needs a dose of hunger, pain, and regret.”
Pain I could do. I carried enough of it with me, alongside a healthy dose of regret. Old memories resurfaced; the image of a friend I’d tried my best to save only to watch spiral until there was nothing left but a headstone and a grave I’d visited far too often welled up in my mind and spilled out through the sticks. So much wasted potential. An ocean of dreams left unfulfilled.