really kicked me in the fangs.
Not that I ever thought I’d really live forever. But finding out that I can’t is something of a shock.
And finding out the details of Don’s gory death was tragic, for lack of a more appropriate term.
Knowing nothing more of him than the little I had seen, I’ve been imagining what his back story might have been, a tale about how his life was pre-This. In my version, he had been a successful day trader, and something of a playboy, with women who had a thing for hair band-looking dudes. He rolled some mad bank running stocks online, and while making his way through a parking lot after a hot night out on the town he was attacked and bitten by his Maker – someone he never even got a decent look at, let alone met up with again. In his own words, he was taken. Three weeks later he was a vampire, and two years after that he was a drug-dealing vampire making his rounds in the warehouse district. Everything just slides into the mud from there, and instead of trading stocks for cash he ends up trading cocaine for blood feeds, biting total strangers in nightclubs to test his Power to Change Others and living off of the life force of the indigent. Until his run of bad luck reaches a grisly finish in an empty field twenty miles from home.
Game over.
I may not have liked the guy, but the conclusion his life came to is not sitting well with me. It seems so hopeless, and probably was all along, but definitely in the final act. One thing I’ve resisted losing through all the ups and downs of vampiracy is hope that I’ll find a way through, a work-around to a livable life. This development threw a definite hitch in that prospect; it also spurred me into some serious action toward that end, regardless of how short-lived it might be. Living or undead, hope is really a now-or-never kind of thing; you can’t put it off for very long without diminishing your potential return. So I’ve decided there’s no better time than now to jump into the most hopeful thing I have left.
I want my music back.
I called that guy Lucas and set up an audition for Forever 81. He’d actually left me a few voicemails, among the ones from Hube that I deleted without listening to. He didn’t sweat it though, when I finally got ahold of him. The band’s gimmick may not be exactly me, and their look is so definitely not me. But they’re a tight unit, and pretty well-established. And while the eighties aren’t my favorite decade ever, I don’t entirely hate the music. Not that it matters; at this point, I’d settle for a place in a jug band if it means I can play. So I’m taking a chance on it. Maybe it’ll be a decent new start for my tune-smithing. And maybe it’ll help my story have a sweeter conclusion than Don’s did.
I’m not a drug dealer, so I know: we’re apples and oranges. But still.
Rest in peace, dude. Truly sorry that you couldn’t have had an easier life. Hopefully you’ve found some semblance of closure wherever you’ve gone.
Wish me luck with the audition, folks.
I’ll let you know how it goes.
POST 32
Plays Well With Others
When my ex-band Vomiting Nonsense came together, there was no formality to the process. It just happened, like a horrible, mangling accident involving three dudes, a few electronic musical instruments, and a whole lot of unpleasant noise.
That’s kind of how it ended, too.
Much like an accident, it was also filled with carnage and mayhem and a nagging feeling that things hadn’t happened the way they were supposed to. Hube and I were already playing together, and had been for years. Lazer was a friend of a friend of Hube’s who at that point had run off six other sets of players with his shitty attitude and unrealistic demands. I think because Hube and I had each other for support, we were able to tough it out better than some of the others. But looking back, it was never a real partnership among the three of us. There were really only two members overall: Me-and-Hube, and Lazer. I was hoping for a lot more when I met up with the guys from Forever 81.
I wasn’t sure they’d be what I was looking for, but they had to be more than what I was