Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Nothing Lasts Forever~MCR~Even Cold November Rain
Ray
When I was younger, I used to divide my life up into important moments, and the parts of my life that came before and after those moments. It was as if I was in this perpetual state of cleaning up shop, compartmentalizing every part of myself into little square boxes so I would never forget who I really was. Truth is, I no longer remember what those moments really were. Not anymore. Now there are only two stages to my life, two and two only. Everything that happened before I met Danielle, and everything that happened after.
It was at that point in my life where people were really learning my name and paying attention to the things that I was doing, yet I hadn’t really noticed all that much. Still, though, I wasn’t the only one.
We were on a tour of the Midwest that would bleed into a tour of the Northeast and would last for over a month. At that time, we were still, pardon the expression, shit-poor, when it comes to bands, and couldn’t exactly afford the rental price of the crummy yet slightly spacious tour bus. Our solution, of course, was to bunk up with a band on the same tour.
Gerard was old friends with the frontman of The Warring States, Marshall Cooper. I bet you can guess what happened from there.
The rest of the guys were pretty good acquaintances with the rest of the band; I, ever the pathetic, nerdy hermit, didn’t know anybody outside of my own band. So of course, I was beyond preparing myself for the awkwardness of meeting them on the first day of the tour. On schedule, four heavily tattooed guys trooped into our bus, wearing broad smiles and gauges in their ears.
Don’t look stupid, don’t look stupid, don’t look stupid. “Hey, I’m Ray,” I said, smiling and offering my hand to the tallest one.
“Isaac,” he replied shortly, his voice coming out quavering and barely audible. He smiled acknowledgments to the other guys, then quickly ducked out of the way, his shyness painfully apparent.
After I was introduced to the other three (named Will, Marshall, and Declan), Isaac muttered something that was again just barely discernible. “Danielle know where the bus is?”
Frank lived up to his name by the loud repeating of this phrase, followed by, “Huh? Is that Marshall’s girlfriend or something?”
Marshall giggled. “Um, no.”
As if by introduction, the tour bus door swung open with a loud clang. In stepped a small but curvaceous girl carrying three huge bags. “Next time,” she grunted, throwing a bag at Marshall, who ducked just in time, “you carry your own fucking bags.” She tossed another bag at Declan and straightened up, throwing her long black hair over her shoulders with an air of righteous fury. But, almost immediately, that dissipated into a pleasant expression. “Well, I’m Danielle…” We laughed appreciatively, exchanging hands and names. When it was my turn, my hand was shaking.
I waved half-heartedly, not wanting to get too close to her or even touch her for fear that my skin would disintegrate. She did a wave back and smiled broadly.
I wish I could give a more detailed description of the events that followed. I know there was some general movement of rearranging bunks and bags to make room for the doubled (and thus now illegal) passenger group, but all details of note escaped my attention.
No, as you might have so astutely guessed, I took the pathetic schoolboy route and silently, painfully, hopelessly mooned over our latest arrival. If you wanted to know what she did for those first few hours, I could tell you. It wouldn’t be very interesting. To you, at least.
I don’t know why I liked her so much. She was attractive, yes. There was no denying that the dramatic curves of her breasts and hips were sexy as hell. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to sleep with her the moment I saw her, but I imagine that was true for every other guy on the bus. No, this was something else, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on for months to come.
Somehow the afternoon waned, as most would in the days to come, to our motley group of musicians cluttering the living area of the bus and playing drinking games. What started out this first evening as a type of “I Never” had rapidly dissolved into simply a soul-baring drinking session.
“Oh, oh, oh!” Mikey was spouting, little mists of beer spraying out the side of his mouth. “Danielle, Danielle, remember three years ago?”
Danielle, who at this point was relatively sober in comparison to her band-mates but still rather tipsy, groaned. “Oh, God, Mikey, let’s not go there.”
Isaac perked up from his prostrate position on the hard floor and started grinning knowingly. Consider my curiosity peaked.
As was Frank’s, apparently. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Details here. Details, people,” he slurred half-coherently.
“Nnnnnngh,” came Mikey’s voice. “Nngh, oh, God. Danielle, you have to. You got to. I can’t….” Then giggles. Lots and lots of giggles.
Danielle sighed and shot Mikey a glare that was clearly meant to say, you are going to pay so much for this later, fucker. “All right, well, once upon a time, three years ago, Mikey and I met when we both auditioned to play bass for the same band. Long, pointless story short, they sucked, we both decided to pass, and I asked Mikey out on a date.”
“Hehehehehehehehehehehe bahaaghhbahaggggh.” Oh, Mikey.
“Hardy har har,” Danielle spat sarcastically. “The part where he said yes is not so funny, eh Mikey? Short, pointless story made even shorter, we dated for about a week. Or however many days it took him to decide to try to put the moves on me.”
At this Mikey stopped chortling. His hand flourished through the air indignantly. “Wait. Wait. Wait. You’re telling it wrong. Wrong. I did not put ‘the moves’ on you. There was no ‘the moves’ going on.”
“Oh, really?” she responded with an air of annoyance. “What do you call attempting to fondle my tits and going in to kiss me so quickly that you broke your glasses on the bridge of my nose?”
He waved his arms back down impatiently. “That’s so not what happened. So not.”
“Anyway,” Danielle continuing, “that was essentially the end of the grand Danielle/Mikey romance. Take the next few minutes to laugh your asses off, but after that all people still laughing in possession of their asses will be getting aforementioned body part kicked. With my boots.”
The laughing did commence, but I didn’t take part in it. No, no, no, the only thing I was feeling was relieved. I figured that one of these days one of my band-mates would attempt to attract the pants off of the only girl on the bus, but I could be saved that visceral heartbreak for a few days. No, for now I had a few moments to cherish the fantasy of me putting her glossy hair behind those ears, of kissing her forehead until she murmured her satisfaction. I could delude myself into thinking she’d fall in love.
But not for long.
When I was younger, I used to divide my life up into important moments, and the parts of my life that came before and after those moments. It was as if I was in this perpetual state of cleaning up shop, compartmentalizing every part of myself into little square boxes so I would never forget who I really was. Truth is, I no longer remember what those moments really were. Not anymore. Now there are only two stages to my life, two and two only. Everything that happened before I met Danielle, and everything that happened after.
It was at that point in my life where people were really learning my name and paying attention to the things that I was doing, yet I hadn’t really noticed all that much. Still, though, I wasn’t the only one.
We were on a tour of the Midwest that would bleed into a tour of the Northeast and would last for over a month. At that time, we were still, pardon the expression, shit-poor, when it comes to bands, and couldn’t exactly afford the rental price of the crummy yet slightly spacious tour bus. Our solution, of course, was to bunk up with a band on the same tour.
Gerard was old friends with the frontman of The Warring States, Marshall Cooper. I bet you can guess what happened from there.
The rest of the guys were pretty good acquaintances with the rest of the band; I, ever the pathetic, nerdy hermit, didn’t know anybody outside of my own band. So of course, I was beyond preparing myself for the awkwardness of meeting them on the first day of the tour. On schedule, four heavily tattooed guys trooped into our bus, wearing broad smiles and gauges in their ears.
Don’t look stupid, don’t look stupid, don’t look stupid. “Hey, I’m Ray,” I said, smiling and offering my hand to the tallest one.
“Isaac,” he replied shortly, his voice coming out quavering and barely audible. He smiled acknowledgments to the other guys, then quickly ducked out of the way, his shyness painfully apparent.
After I was introduced to the other three (named Will, Marshall, and Declan), Isaac muttered something that was again just barely discernible. “Danielle know where the bus is?”
Frank lived up to his name by the loud repeating of this phrase, followed by, “Huh? Is that Marshall’s girlfriend or something?”
Marshall giggled. “Um, no.”
As if by introduction, the tour bus door swung open with a loud clang. In stepped a small but curvaceous girl carrying three huge bags. “Next time,” she grunted, throwing a bag at Marshall, who ducked just in time, “you carry your own fucking bags.” She tossed another bag at Declan and straightened up, throwing her long black hair over her shoulders with an air of righteous fury. But, almost immediately, that dissipated into a pleasant expression. “Well, I’m Danielle…” We laughed appreciatively, exchanging hands and names. When it was my turn, my hand was shaking.
I waved half-heartedly, not wanting to get too close to her or even touch her for fear that my skin would disintegrate. She did a wave back and smiled broadly.
I wish I could give a more detailed description of the events that followed. I know there was some general movement of rearranging bunks and bags to make room for the doubled (and thus now illegal) passenger group, but all details of note escaped my attention.
No, as you might have so astutely guessed, I took the pathetic schoolboy route and silently, painfully, hopelessly mooned over our latest arrival. If you wanted to know what she did for those first few hours, I could tell you. It wouldn’t be very interesting. To you, at least.
I don’t know why I liked her so much. She was attractive, yes. There was no denying that the dramatic curves of her breasts and hips were sexy as hell. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to sleep with her the moment I saw her, but I imagine that was true for every other guy on the bus. No, this was something else, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on for months to come.
Somehow the afternoon waned, as most would in the days to come, to our motley group of musicians cluttering the living area of the bus and playing drinking games. What started out this first evening as a type of “I Never” had rapidly dissolved into simply a soul-baring drinking session.
“Oh, oh, oh!” Mikey was spouting, little mists of beer spraying out the side of his mouth. “Danielle, Danielle, remember three years ago?”
Danielle, who at this point was relatively sober in comparison to her band-mates but still rather tipsy, groaned. “Oh, God, Mikey, let’s not go there.”
Isaac perked up from his prostrate position on the hard floor and started grinning knowingly. Consider my curiosity peaked.
As was Frank’s, apparently. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Details here. Details, people,” he slurred half-coherently.
“Nnnnnngh,” came Mikey’s voice. “Nngh, oh, God. Danielle, you have to. You got to. I can’t….” Then giggles. Lots and lots of giggles.
Danielle sighed and shot Mikey a glare that was clearly meant to say, you are going to pay so much for this later, fucker. “All right, well, once upon a time, three years ago, Mikey and I met when we both auditioned to play bass for the same band. Long, pointless story short, they sucked, we both decided to pass, and I asked Mikey out on a date.”
“Hehehehehehehehehehehe bahaaghhbahaggggh.” Oh, Mikey.
“Hardy har har,” Danielle spat sarcastically. “The part where he said yes is not so funny, eh Mikey? Short, pointless story made even shorter, we dated for about a week. Or however many days it took him to decide to try to put the moves on me.”
At this Mikey stopped chortling. His hand flourished through the air indignantly. “Wait. Wait. Wait. You’re telling it wrong. Wrong. I did not put ‘the moves’ on you. There was no ‘the moves’ going on.”
“Oh, really?” she responded with an air of annoyance. “What do you call attempting to fondle my tits and going in to kiss me so quickly that you broke your glasses on the bridge of my nose?”
He waved his arms back down impatiently. “That’s so not what happened. So not.”
“Anyway,” Danielle continuing, “that was essentially the end of the grand Danielle/Mikey romance. Take the next few minutes to laugh your asses off, but after that all people still laughing in possession of their asses will be getting aforementioned body part kicked. With my boots.”
The laughing did commence, but I didn’t take part in it. No, no, no, the only thing I was feeling was relieved. I figured that one of these days one of my band-mates would attempt to attract the pants off of the only girl on the bus, but I could be saved that visceral heartbreak for a few days. No, for now I had a few moments to cherish the fantasy of me putting her glossy hair behind those ears, of kissing her forehead until she murmured her satisfaction. I could delude myself into thinking she’d fall in love.
But not for long.
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