my teeth knocked out. Everyone turns around to stare at Hanna, who’s sitting there on the bench with her face buried in her fingerless-gloved hands.
“Are you guys still playing the Melody with us next Friday?” Herb from Buttcrack asks. “I just made the flyers, dude. The mailers are already sent out.”
“I’m playing it,” Julia says. “I can’t speak for this asshole.”
“We’ll play it,” Matt says. “We can be professionals about this, can’t we?”
There’s no real precedent for this kind of situation in the scene. People fuck around, sure, but usually they’re not in the same band, because, hello? Band rule number one, remember? Don’t fuck anyone in the band! This is the exact reason the rule exists. Because we’re musicians and we’re for the most part fairly deep-feeling folk and shit happens and shit happening should feed your art, it shouldn’t make you cancel booked shows. If you want to be able to eat and buy gas and otherwise make some kind of living so you can continue to make your art, you’ve got to keep your shit together. That was my whole point.
This is exactly why I’m back to believing fucking Travis was just a terrible idea. This is why Jeff and Sonia keep shooting me these worried looks all night, enough so that Millie finally asks me if everything is okay and I have to lie and say, “Things are great!” And shit, they were great until all of this, and now I’m careening from feeling totally fucking awesome when I’m with Travis to feeling like a guilty creep who’s fucked up the best thing I have going for me when I’m not with him. I don’t know how to feel or think about anything right now. I just feel fucked.
And the only one who can help me figure it out is home writing a paper on Bob Marley.
***
“How was bowling?” Travis asks when I call late to let him know I got home fine. Of course I did, why wouldn’t I get home fine from a place that’s all of ten minutes from my home? This is ridiculous. I don’t need to be calling him every time I take a shit now, do I?
No, I don’t say anything like that. That’s just the mouth in my brain talking.
“Julia and Matt broke up,” I say instead.
“Yeah, George mentioned there was drama. Matt’s an asshole.”
I’m silent.
“How is Julia?”
“She’s miserable.”
“Well, I guess she would be.”
“Exactly.”
He pauses. I say nothing.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You sound upset.”
“I’m not upset. Why would I be upset? I’m fine. I’m not upset. I don’t sound upset.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You are?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll be there in five.”
“What about your paper?”
“I’m almost done now, just a few more pages and then my references.”
“You don’t need to come over.”
Now he’s quiet.
“What happened, did they break up Circle Time?” he finally asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “But I have no idea how they’ll manage it. And see? This is why I was worried about all of this in the first place! What are we even thinking, Travis? What the fuck are we thinking?”
“You promised you weren’t going to freak out on me, Emmy. You promised!”
“You can’t control when you’re going to freak out! That’s completely missing the point of freaking out! Freaking out is an organic process, it’s wild and unpredictable. You don’t fucking schedule your freak-outs, okay? They just happen! That’s what freaking out is!”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Travis.”
“What?”
“Bring me french fries.”
“Do you want a shake?”
“Yes.”
I don’t even have to tell him vanilla.
After we hang up, I glance over at my guitar, sitting in its stand in the corner of my room, looking at me, perfectly calm like my life isn’t about to fall apart. I put the phone down and pick it up, and as soon as I hold it in my arms, I settle down.
My guitar is a ’59 Gretsch Double Anniversary in two-tone green. This guitar and my rig, a ’74 Fender Twin with a matching custom cabinet, are all I have left of my father, Len Kelley. My father’s gear was sent home by the surviving members of Consequence after he died, even though we hadn’t heard anything from him in five years. I still have the note from the singer that says Len always wanted me to have it. My mother wanted to sell it, but I begged her in the biggest argument we’ve ever had to let me hang on to it. I barely won. It’s not that I’m not practical,