I plonked the wings down on the cooling rack, damn near on his fingers in my haste to get to my phone.
“Hey, Ozzy, sorry for taking so long to answer,” I replied, rambling while my brain kicked into overdrive, running through the potential reasons he might be calling me.
It’s all good. We can chat later if you’re in the middle of something.
“Just some wings and a night of playing cards with Brady, neither of which we’ve dived into yet.”
Sounds like a good time.
“Hopefully.”
His sigh echoed through the phone with a kind of heaviness that led me to believe this wasn’t a social call.
I’m going to cut right to the chase, since there will be a lot of moving parts involved in this if you say yes,Ozzy began,but I need you on the road with us on a permanent basis if you’re still down to be my relief drummer.
“Hell yeah!” I yelped, startling Brady, who dropped the bottle of ranch dressing he’d been in the process of pulling from the fridge.
Fortunately, it was plastic, so it just bounced and spun a few feet. Excitement soon turned to cold realization, though, as the weight of Ozzy’s words hit.
“Wait, does that mean things didn’t go well with the specialist?” I asked.
When I’d replaced him last, it had been so he could have a series of tests done on his hands to try and pinpoint the source of the soreness, stiffness, cramping, weakness, and shooting pain he’d been experiencing on and off for over a year. While he’d valiantly played through it, over time, he’d been forced to cutback on the number of online drum tutorials he produced to try and preserve his hands for shows and crafting new drumlines for Blissfully Immune’s upcoming releases.
It couldn’t have gone any worse. I expect to be fully handing over the sticks to you inside a year. Until then, we’ll split the shows, and I'll start getting you involved with collaborating with the rest of the band, so you’ll be ready to take over my duties in that regard too.
“Damn.”
Hey. We can hold a pity party in my honor when it’s time for me to step away. Right now, I need you and your drum kit ready to load up tomorrow afternoon. We’ll send a van for you. You’ll meet up with us in Philadelphia. We’ve got a show Friday night. I’m going to play the first half, then hand the sticks over to you to play the second, just like we did last time. We can discuss encores and shit when you get here.
“Sounds good. I’ll be ready.”
I know you will. We’ll wait until you’re with us to go live on social media about this new shift in the band format. You’ll have a guard on you from here on out too, which will be another change you’ll need to get used to. Draven has your contract drawn up; you’ll be able to sign it when you arrive. Do you have any questions for me?
"N-no, um, I’m good. I’m sure I’ll have some when it fully hits. I just, I can’t believe I’m about to be a part of Blissfully Immune.”
“Not about to be. Welcome to the band, Kit. I know you’ll do me proud.”
“I will, I swear I will.”
“Relax, you’ve already got the job. All you’ve got to do now is get here and play like I know you can. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow, Ozzy,” I replied before he ended the call.
Damn.
Holy shit.
I needed to sit, only I’d started shaking so hard I dropped my phone instead.
“Dude, sit down before you fall down,” Brady said, hand firm on my shoulder.
It was a good thing the chair was behind me, because my knees gave out as the breath whooshed from my lungs. Light spots danced before my eyes, and I swore the room did this whole tilt, shift, and slide thing before finally spinning, forcing me to cover my face and breathe deeply while I waited for my thoughts to sort themselves out.
Welcome to the band.
The phrase echoed through my head, but even the repetition didn’t make the words feel real.
See you tomorrow.