asshole, I actually have this thought. I can’t even lie about it.
“So is that really it for Circle Time?” I ask Julia. “Can’t you just replace Matt? Maybe spinART would be interested in you guys without him.”
“Matt wrote most of the songs,” she admits. “And you can’t replace singers.”
“Tell that to AC/DC,” Billy says.
“This is Matt we’re talking about here,” Julia says. “He’ll never leave without a fight. If anything, he’ll replace me.”
“And me,” Dan says. “Because I’m not playing with that asshole.”
“Well, let me say a few words, then,” Billy says, standing up, holding his Diet Pepsi aloft. “A rock eulogy, if you will.”
We all stop chatting and pay attention. This is serious business now.
“Some good bands come to an end before their time, and so it is with Circle Time. We’ll all remember ‘Bunny Farts’ as one of the best tributes to the grease trucks this town has ever heard.”
“Hear, hear,” we all say.
“So, what’s next, Julia?” Billy says. “Will you take a break or start a new project right away?”
“I don’t know, but one thing is for sure,” Julia says. “I’ll never be in a band with a boyfriend again. Never, ever, ever.”
“Me either,” Joey says. “I’ll never be in a band with a girlfriend, or a couple.”
“It’s too much of a headfuck,” Ron says. “That’s why I have all guys in my band, no offense, ladies.”
“None taken,” I say, and suddenly I’ve got no appetite for my french onion soup.
Travis is quiet next to me, doodling with his Sharpie on his jeans and I will never be able to look at a Sharpie the same way again. I don’t know why Cole is looking at me like this, but I don’t like it. I make a face at him, he gives me the “what?” face, so I decide not to read into it. Except it’s too late and I already have.
“It’s true, though,” Billy pipes up, and this guy isn’t even in a band. “Whenever there’s a couple in a band, it’s an invitation to drama. It just never seems to work. Outside of Sonic Youth, anyway.”
I say nothing, but feel everything about this conversation. This situation. This great loss of one of my favorite bands wrought by stupid romantic fuckery. But I say nothing at all about it. I’m just nodding my head in agreement as Travis also says nothing and keeps his eyes expressionless as he draws Hopey from Love and Rockets on his knee.
***
Travis and I sit in my driveway listening to the last rehearsal tape we made. As I listen, part of me is crumbling. It sounds so good to me, and I know that this close friendship we share with Cole and Joey is why it sounds so good when we play, just like playing music reinforces this bond we have. When we’re plugged in and rocking, it’s like we can all feel what the others are feeling. When Cole lays down a bass line, we all just fall onto it like a mattress and bounce while Joey’s kick drum pushes the whole sound forward, into the onslaught of Travis and me on guitar, and when I put my voice over that it’s like I’m trying to put into words things that matter to all of us—it’s not just about me. I guess that’s what good music does, it pulls you together when you’re otherwise falling apart. You can pull four different musicians into a room and ask them to play, and it will be “music” and some will sound good, but some will become more than four people playing. They’ll become a real band. You know, Radiohead.
We’re definitely not Radiohead. Not by a long shot. But we’re a real band. We sound like one, we play like one, we dream like one. Together.
I remember first meeting Julia and Matt. It was two years ago, when they played on the sidewalk in front of Cafe News. They were so good then, and so in love. They were talking about moving in together, and they did that summer, too. They toured all over the Northeast. Now they’re going to have to find a way to pull their entire lives apart, get separate apartments, divide up the gear, and start over, and I can’t imagine the kind of hell that must be.
I feel sick now.
“What’s wrong?” Travis asks, although I know he knows exactly what’s wrong. He just doesn’t want to say it.
“Did you tell Cole about us?” I ask, thinking of how