House Party - Part III

Friday Fiction

Sound Check

“O.K., let’s run through the setup,” said Tommy, “Doug, we’re going to do a basic Glyn Johns on your drums, mostly for the recording feed, just a little bit for the mains if needed. Kirby, your bass is DI, just play at a comfortable volume, I’ll take care of the rest. Vinnie, Norm, Bennie, your saxes will be in the left monitor mix. Scott, does your amp need to be in the monitor? Just a little? O.K., done. Gregg, are you good with this set-up? Eddy, you want your usual 6dB boost in gain? I’ll have you keyboard in the mains too, just a little for solos… O.K… let’s do the old break song, going around the horn on solos.”

After the band had gone through the sound check they split off into small groups, catching up on the tricks life had been playing on them.

“I never thought we’d get this much of the band together again,” said Bennie, sipping a lemonade.

“Hard feelings soften with time, ” said Scott.

Bennie, one of the sax players, was out on the patio with Scott. When the band had kicked Scott out, 40 years ago, he and Bennie had been on opposite sides of the table. They had long ago made up and now were even close. Seeing the band re-assembled as it used to be, minus the dead guys, make Scott into thinking about the letter that he wrote after the break-up, a letter that he never sent:

With all the b.s. that‘s gone down in the last few weeks I thought I’d get my thought down on paper, just so I can see in in black and white. To talk about it one on one doesn’t do any good, it just ends up as a game of he-said, he-said. I’m still confused as why I was kicked out. Bennie said at the meeting it wasn’t due to anyone’s ability, it was just a question of style, but what was wrong with my style? I knew something was fishy when Eddy couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Vinnie. If someone said I don’t sing or play well enough that wouldn’t hurt as much as no one saying anything. I know this letter is a jumbled mess, but that’s how I’m feeling right now. Ned said the decision was made by Kevin and Eddy, that’s about all I’ve got to go on.

I’m about on the brink of insanity now, trying to answer questions that I don’t have any answers to. Its gotten to the point where I just can’t care anymore. I can’t come and see the band play because it hurts too much to see you guys on stage playing the music I really love and having fun and me not up there with you. That’s why I can’t be friends with you guys right now, I have to work it out for myself. I feel that my personality has change. I want to be alone.

It will take time to heal, just like a love affair. Kevin, don’t be upset from what my Mom said, she’s just trying to protect her son. Vinnie took it differently, he was laughing all the way to the end, but I don’t think the tears on my face are from laughing.

See ya,

Scott

Back in the kitchen Izzy and Irene, her old chum from elementary school, were prepping food for the reunion.

“Just like the old days with the block parties we used to throw,” said Izzy, “But without all that sugar.”

“It seems that everyone is diabetic, or pre-diabetic now,” answered Irene, who was a RN specializing in the disorder, “What were our parents thinking when they let us grow up on Fruit Loops and Coco Puffs?”

“My idea of a balanced breakfast in high school was a Snickers bar and a Coke… ”

“And a cigarette, of course,” said Irene, “I blame my bad teeth on all the cough drops I used to suck on, a box a day, every day.”

“You needed them after smoking those cigarettes!”

The both laughed.

“So, how has living with Bennie at home all the time with social distancing?” asked Irene, “His neuroses under control?”

“Grooming is a bigger issue. Hair growing everywhere but the top of his head,” said Izzy, “Bennie the Bezoar! We’re on a bi-weekly schedule now—buzz, buzz, buzz, goes the bumblebee.” Izzy made hand motions of using a trimmer, “It’s been better since we got Mollie, the new dog, they’ve both been trained to sit still while I cut their hair.”

“A Golden Retriever, again?” said Irene, “A puppy?”

“Yah, he’s at that rapid-growth stage.”

“What’s your philosophy about feeding him?”

“Bennie gets some special blend at the pet-food warehouse, I think, therefore: Iams.”

“You’re lucky it isn’t an equine, you’d put Descartes before de horse.”

“Ergo sum really bad puns.”

They both laughed again.

Back outside, Gregg was sitting with his guitar, unplugged, singing and playing quietly to himself as he went through the lyrics and the changes of an old country song his dad used to sing with the band:

I had written down a song
About how much I miss my home
Living on a this lonely road
Trying to put it in a poem

Like a man that cannot sleep
These troubles I do keep
My soul just wants to be free
But the end I cannot see

I gave you years of my time,
And everything that I was worth
But you were never really mine
You had the coldest heart in the North

Now the summer days have gone
The nights chill me to the bone
How will I ever make it home
What was it that I had done?

House Party - Part IV