“And why is it such a fucking big deal to you? You’ve never gotten this damn worked up over a song arrangement before. In fact, you don’t usually have anything to do with it at all,” Jordan called out.
I tapped my knees harder, feeling my anger rise. “Because I’m sick of not having a say about our songs. I think as the lead singer, my input would be important. That what I think should carry some weight,” I said.
“Here we go again,” Mitch muttered.
“Do you have something to say, Mitch?” I shot out, getting to my feet.
“Yeah, you’re the lead singer. That doesn’t mean you have any more of a say than the rest of us,” Mitch stated, putting his phone down.
“No, I just want a say in the first place!” My voice started to rise. I shoved my hands into my pockets and stood my ground. “I want to play the song. I think it’s ready.”
I didn’t really know why I was pressing the point. Except that I felt this was a test to see how much they valued and respected my opinion when it came to the meat and guts of our music. And given the way they were dismissing me, I think I had my answer.
“No, we aren’t,” Garrett ground out.
He and I stared at each other and I never thought I’d see the day when we couldn’t talk about something and figure it out.
I remembered standing with him at his parents’ funeral. I had seen him at his worst. And he had seen me at mine.
But now I looked at him and I didn’t see my friend. I saw someone who didn’t take my role in our band seriously. Someone who was standing in my way and holding me back. I hadn’t wanted to agree with Jose when he told me I was better off without these guys. But, standing there, I knew he was right.
“You have five minutes,” a stagehand said, interrupting our tense showdown. Garrett threw away his trash and gave me a level look.
“We’re not playing that song. End of fucking discussion.”
I stood there seething, feeling like a child who had been put in his place.
Well, we’d see about that.
The concert was proving to be a disaster. We were off. It was obvious to everyone. Our music lacked the energy we were known for.
It didn’t help that not one of my bandmates would look at me.
Their resentment was all over our set. It tainted everything. And when I sang it was full of the anger I felt towards the jackasses behind me. I couldn’t even look at them.
So being who I am, during a lull, I went to the side of the stage and asked one of the stage hands to bring me an acoustic guitar. I walked back to my mic, looping the guitar strap around my neck.
Jordan and the others had stopped playing completely, the silence behind me was deafening. I knew they were wondering what the hell I was doing.
If they were going to fuck up the vibe of our show, then I was going to bring it back. By doing what the hell I wanted to do!
“Hey guys! I know this show is sucking serious balls. I don’t know about you, but I think it’s time to change things up a bit. Do you guys want to hear a new song?” I asked.
The answering roar was deafening.
“Well, here you go,” I said and launched into the chords Garrett and I had written. I sang the lyrics and played the entire song by myself and the audience loved it. I was the center of the world. They fed me and I ate it up.
This is why I loved to perform.
But when I was done and I turned back to the guys to say, “See, they loved it, I was right the whole time,” I realized they didn’t see it quite the same way. Mitch and Jordan were furious. Jordan tossed his drumsticks to the ground, got to his feet and walked off stage.
Mitch dropped his bass and followed Jordan.
Garrett didn’t look pissed, but he looked hurt. Why wasn’t he glad that the audience loved our song so much?
He shook his head and unplugged his guitar. “The stage is all yours,” he said, dropping the cable and leaving me alone.
I stood there, the spotlight trained on me, staring out at the sea of confused and increasingly angry faces.