Didn't Your Momma Ever Tell You Not To Go Picking Fights With Metal Bands And Walking The Streets Alone At Night? #0 Reviews
Written with warsweater
I’m not entirely sure how it happened; I think I’d lost myself in the melody that was an old Nirvana song, on expert mode- which if you’re interested, I was more than successful in completing- but Ryan had somehow managed to piss off the six-foot-one singer of our almost newly found, “friends.” (Though to me, they never really seemed like friendship; it was more of a “dorky kid wants to befriend with the popular boys and they take him in, purely to treat him like a donkey” kind of a deal.) I guess it started with Ryan sneaking one of Matt’s cigarettes, or perhaps accusing the man of taking one of his, because Matt is now waving an empty box in front of Ryan’s reddened face.
As the argument heats, all ears prick up and bodies begin to move towards the competing voices. Of course the element of friendship is launched out the window, like a hotel television that’s being saved from ignition, when sides are to be taken.
It’s pretty obvious from Matt’s stance, and that of his admiring band mates, that this won’t end well for us, however, Ryan’s obnoxious, and not to mention, stubborn temper, grounds him. Spencer quakes behind Ryan, looking almost as feeble as Jon, who hides behind Spencer’s shoulder, despite being the eldest and most mature of our pack. Ryan’s fists crunch, in anger, as his nails dig into his palms and his knuckles whiten. Matt’s spraying words at him, but his true emotions are hard to figure out, due to the dark tint in the sunglasses that hide his eyes- despite it being both evening and indoors. For all we know, he could be landing this pep talk on Ryan out of brotherly consideration.
“Oh, what, you gonna hit me Pretty Boy?” Matt jeers and a shocked expression casts over his friends. Clearly, they weren’t expecting him to provoke Ryan. Spencer and Jon too are in shock; knowing fine well how violent Ryan can be when he’s angry.
Ryan’s gritting his teeth and about to throw his fist into a man so large in comparison, he could probably swallow Ryan whole and still have room around the edges. The terrifying thought that Matt could, very easily, snap my friend in half like a dead twig, bursts into my brain. Something squeezes my shoulder gently and it sooths me out of my fear.
When I turn to find the source, I’m greeted by a warm smile on the face of Jimmy. The fact that he isn’t standing behind Matt, surprises me almost as much as his height- having gotten used to seeing him sitting down, I’m yet to familiarize myself with his altitude.
“Dude, maybe it’s time for you to go- while your guitarist still has all his teeth intact.” Jimmy pleas, in an ambiguous tone, which could be taken, both as a considerate warning, or that of a threatening one.
I shake myself free of his grasp, for precautions sake, and wrap my own fingers around Ryan’s tense arm; tugging him backwards.
“C’mon, I can take this guy.” Ryan harshly whispers into the air in front of him; refusing to avert his gaze from his opponent. My face twists into an “are you fucking serious” expression, as I tug his arm again, more forcefully this time.
“Ryan, move.” I tell him, leading him away. “We should be going, thanks for- the beers and everything.” I nod, more towards the band’s left handed guitarist than to their front man, because, after all, he was about ready to swing for our own guitarist and probably do some permanent damage- not that it wouldn’t have been completely Ryan’s fault.
I haul Ryan through Johnny’s front door, Jon and Spencer shyly trailing behind us and desperately trying not to make eye contact with any of the people we are parting with. The moment we’re out in the cold air of winter, Jon pulls out a deck of cigarettes and Spencer joins him in smoking. Ryan, however, turns on me.
“Dude, what the fuck? You think you’re my Goddamn mom or something? What was that?!”
“Did you see the fucker? I don’t remember the last time he started a conversation that didn’t begin with: ‘So today, when I was at the gym…’ I mean, seriously!”
“So, you want to get yourself killed? You got a death wish or something?”
“I’ll have you fucking killed in a minute.”
“Listen man, there are some guys who you could take and M. Fucking Shadows is not one of them!”
“Well, fuck you.” Ryan concludes, spitting out his last words and turning on his heel.
“Where are you going?” I sigh out, pointing after him, but he waves his hand behind his head and signals us not to follow. Wherever he’s going, he wants to go alone.
Both Jon and Spencer are giggling through their whispering and I swing round to ask them what is so funny.
“The way the two of you fight,” Spencer begins, pausing only to take a draw of the cigarette between his scrawny fingers. “You may as well just marry him.” Jon picks up the laughter and my response is a simple, yet effective, rise of my middle finger, as I flip him off and jog down the street after Ryan.
After a few hours of futile hunting, I return back to the hotel and fall into bed, barely managing to slip out of my jeans and leaving my shirt hanging off my shoulders, unbuttoned. The day has been both draining and pointless and the recent late nights are taking its toll on me.
I guess I’ll just have to get used to it now we’re “rockstars.”
When morning comes, the fierce and bitter November sun hits me like Matt’s fists would have Ryan, and it wakes me suddenly. I quickly scamper off my bed and begin to check the rooms; Jon is snoring, on the floor next to his bed- I guess he rolled off it in his sleep- and Spencer is curled up like a cat in his, but Ryan’s bed is as neat and well kept as it was when we first walked into the hotel room, yesterday morning.
A lump in the back of throat chokes me slightly, as anxiety rises from the pit of my stomach; something must be wrong, because Ryan couldn’t have returned home last night.
What if the stupid fucker went back to Johnny’s, to finish things with Matt? It certainly would explain his absenteeism.
I quickly throw on a pair of jeans and am jogging out of the building, before I have time to re-button the shirt I slept in. There are chunks of glass, sprawled across the front lawn of Johnny’s house and Zacky too is sprawled out across it, a girl on each arm, resting their heads and hands on his heavy inked, bare chest.
Maybe I’m not supposed to be a rockstar- if this is what rockstar’s do…
The front door is slightly a jar and a humming can be heard from inside the living room. I call out to Johnny, who responds quietly, before creeping into the hallway; a camera in one hand and a magic marker in the other.
“Hey man, you have got to see this.” He whispers proudly, beckoning me into the room from which he came. There, lying on the upturned coffee table is Jimmy. Jimmy is butt-naked, in nothing but a pink, flowery apron and a Santa Claus hat. On his face, is a badly drawn mustache and scribbled across his forehead, in block capitals, are the words “insert brain here.” He’s also sporting a pair of dark tinted sunglasses, which seem to be a replica of Matt’s. (I doubt they’re actually Matt’s though, because I’ve never seen him without them on his face and I always imagine that he must sleep with them on too, which can’t be comfortable.)
“You want a picture with it?” Johnny jokes, pointing the camera in my worried face.
“What the fuck-” I begin, but am cut off by Johnny waving his full hands in front of my face.
“Dude, keep it down; I’ve a monster hangover, over here.”
Seeing an opportunity to mess with this bass player, I begin to mouth words. Johnny, who, apparently, is very gullible, starts to panic.
“Holy shit! I’ve gone deaf! My music career- my beautiful music career- it’s over! What will I do?! What will-”
The charade is going far too well for me to keep up the serious expression I’d falsely plastered across my face and I suddenly crack up. Johnny’s face falls, as he realizes what I’ve just done.
“Oi!” I hear, from across the room and half way up the stairs. “No toying with the hobbit!” The voice instructs. Johnny pouts; crossing his arms over his chest like an infant and kicking air.
“I’m not even that short. Well done Bren, you woke The Beast.”
“Hey,” Matt starts, shrugging his arms overdramatically and smirking, “The Beast had plenty to keep him up already.” He winks and Johnny grins sarcastically, as he jokingly enquires about the number of hot beverages that he’ll be roped into making this morning.
I almost miss the conversation, due to staring at Matt’s unmasked dark eyes; something in which I’ve never seen before. I have to admit, I can see why so many girls trip over themselves around him. Matt thinks for a moment, and then clears his throat into an unaggressive fist. He mumbles the number seven and Johnny gasps quietly to himself.
“What? I wasn’t exactly on my game last night.” Matt says, justifying himself, as he plucks his sunglasses from Jimmy’s doodled face and returns them to their rightful home. For a moment, the thought occurs to me that I should probably congratulate Matt on such a conquest- though he seems to be under the impression that it is a minor one- but a small part of me longs to run into Matt’s bedroom; fearful of the possibility that he might have been so drunk, as to have mistaken Ryan for a groupie, rather than the hateful, revenge seeking, little boy he was playing last night. I have no time to decide on which to go for, because Matt is demanding to know why I’ve woken him so early in the morning.
“Woke some of us up, some of us haven’t been to bed yet.” Johnny chips in, as Jimmy sways off the coffee table onto the floor and pipes up for the first time since he passed out.
“Aw, is someone missing their tree-bed?”
“What?” Matt asks, unimpressed and confused.
“You know; hobbits. They sleep in trees or something right?” He then flips onto his back and catches sight of the pink and lilac petals layering him. “What the fuck am I wearing?” He asks hesitantly; almost as if he doesn’t want to know the answer. His band mates laugh and so he recognizes that there must have been a bet and he must have lost it. He’s forever losing bets apparently.
I suppose now is as good as any time to slip in, quite casually that we lost our guitarist last night and all heads turn to me; Johnny’s eyebrows knit together, concerned, Matt lowers his sunglasses to the bridge of his nose to check for a punch line and Jimmy flicks upright into a sitting position; looking genuinely worried and not at all aware of the message across his face. The expression he now sports is defiantly an accurate pose for the words written on his forehead.
“Well, he aint been here, that’s for sure.” Johnny tells me wisely.
“Might have; we were pretty damn wasted.” A still sleepy drummer admits, before sinking back onto the soft, black material of the rug he’d landed on.
“No. No, no, no.” Matt states, shaking his hands before his naked chest, dismissively. “Only girls. There were only girls here last night.” He protests; sounding more like he was trying to reassure himself, as opposed to anyone else in the room.
I’m now even more apprehensive about Ryan’s whereabouts, but I’m not pretty certain, at least, that all his teeth are still in his mouth. That is, of course, assuming he didn’t go looking for another heavy metal band he could piss off. I wonder what Jacoby Shaddix would do to Ryan, if he picked a fight with his band…