Chapter 3:
I Played Love Songs Until We Were Drenched in Blood
The first show of the summer was good enough. We had the support slot the night before one of the hottest up-and-coming Boston bands played their final hometown gig before heading out on tour.
The bands before us hated us—not shocking. The local scene’s all about pretending to support each other—until some teenagers skip the line. Then it’s just petty bullshit. But I didn’t hate getting stared down by thirty-year old deadbeats that never made it out on tour… like it’s my fault you were too much of a chicken shit to take any risks in your life.
We had six songs on the setlist. Jim nailed the transition out of our intro track. He’s inconsistent, but when he locks in, even the jaded guys backstage start paying attention.
It was another high intensity show from us—as expected. Kenny and I were young and reckless, so we added parkour and stunts into the set. At one point, he vaulted off the stage and vanished into the crowd. I could still hear his bass in the monitors, but I couldn’t see him.
Before the end of the song, he reappeared beside me—his forehead split open, blood everywhere. I didn’t have time to think. I just wiped my hand across his face and smeared his blood on myself before diving into the solo. Why?
Because it looked sick.
That’s what this band was all about—recklessness and self-gratification.
We were shock rock to the core. The collective belief that modern music played it too safe is what fueled our vision and our performances.
To end our set we played a cover of “I’m Eighteen.”
Ironic. Our oldest member was a fresh seventeen.
The crowd didn’t get it—they were too caught up in the modern era of rock to appreciate anything raw or real. Posers, the lot of them.
After the set, we loaded our gear out quickly so we could analyze our performance together. The usual “Good set” banter was the only exchange we had with the other bands between the stage and the loading door.
“That crowd took forever to warm up to us tonight,” Scott whined.
“Yeah, they were asleep until I popped out the blade…” Kenny said with a twisted smile.
“You did that to yourself?”
“Yeah. Split myself open in the chaos—popped up like a slasher flick.”
“That’s actually…pretty messed up, dude,” Jim responded.
“If you don’t want to get wet, don’t come,” Kenny pushed without a single thought.
Jim shook his head in disgust. In fairness, Jim was right. Bleeding on innocent bystanders was a pretty twisted thing to do.
“Anyway, Jim, you were tight tonight,” Kenny continued.
“I’m fine every night.”
“Okay.”
Kenny and Jim were not close. The only reason that we all played in this band together was Scott.
“Hey, enough bickering,” Scott said. “Everyone was tight tonight. Next Saturday we’re playing a much bigger show—it’s all ages and it’s part of a festival. We need to play how we did tonight, but do it with more spectacle.”
Kenny and I locked eyes—hyenas circling meat.
“Scott, why? Why do you feed into their bullshit?” Jim asked.
“You might not like it Jim, but their recklessness is a big part of our appeal.”
“Yeah, but can’t we just let the music speak for itself?”
“We’re in a visual age, Jim,” Kenny cut in. “People’s eyes are easier to feed than their ears.”
With that, we walked back into the venue to catch the headliner’s set. They were tight—better than us. But they didn’t sacrifice motion or intensity to get there.
By the end, Scott and I sat side stage, scribbling notes like nerds in detention, trying to figure out how to outdo them.
***
I was determined not to let the week between the show go by quietly. My brother was out on tour with a band, and I wasn’t going to babysit the drunks. I spent the first couple nights at Kenny’s… but we were getting up to too much trouble after dark, so I made the pragmatic decision to crash at Scott’s place.
The Parris family was great—supportive of Scott’s dream, from his parents to his younger sister. I’d known them for my entire life. Before I joined EoT, my brother Caleb played guitar in a band with Scott and Kenny. They’d been at it since they were thirteen.
Last year, Caleb finished school, and his reputation in the scene led him to join an established band—one calendar year later and he’s become another John 5 playing with anyone who’ll ask. In his absence, Scott picked me up to continue chasing his dream.
I wasn’t half the guitarist—or even half the showman—my brother was. But I made up for it with my terrible personality.
Whenever I crashed at the Parris’ place, I ended up spending more time with Scott’s sister Courtney. This wasn’t a romantic or sexual thing—I’d just known Court since kindergarten and we were always amicable, but after Caleb and Scott became inseparable, we accepted we were stuck with each other’s company.
“Thank you for letting me crash this week Mr. and Mrs. P,” I said after dinner on Thursday.
“It’s always a pleasure, you’re such a polite young man,” Mrs. Parris replied.
Courtney tried not to laugh, but it slipped out anyway.
“It’s weird how your parents never answer… or call us when you’ve been away for days,” Mr. Parris said.
“Yeah, I don’t know. It’s always been like that… I think they just trust me,” I lied.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. There might’ve been some truth to it. But I knew the real reason—they didn’t care. An empty house with no kids to deal with was the dream.
“I appreciate it guys. We’ve been working on some killer new songs,” Scott added.
“Yeah, I could hear you last night—the one you were doing about Julia sounds like it could be one of your best,” Courtney said.
“You think so?”
“Yeah, the lyrics are the right kind of sad and your voice works really well for it. Wes’s guitar part reminds of The Cure, and it’s haunting.”
“That’s the first nice thing you’ve said about me all week,” I joked.
“Well…maybe do more praiseworthy stuff instead of preying on innocent girls,” she ribbed.
The family laughed. It was nice. This had slowly become my actual home over the past few years.
The only downside to Courtney’s friendship was that she and Maggie were a package deal. I didn’t dislike Maggie, but she definitely disliked me.
Part of her vitriol toward me, and to a greater extent Kenny, was her schoolgirl crush on Jim. Since Courtney dragged her to the first EoT show, she was obsessed with our incredibly unremarkable drummer.
After dinner, Maggie had stopped by to spend the night. Scott and I were working on new material which should have stopped us from bothering each other, but we might have written something too strong for our own good.
“Take my heart and pull its threads—” Scott had been singing before Maggie barged into the room we were in.
“Dude—what is that song?” Maggie asked aggressively.
“Uh, ‘Darker Days’ in the working title,” Scott answered.
“That’s kind of cliché, but the song is great… makes me want to hurt myself.”
“Maggie, what’s wrong with you?” Courtney asked—walking in at the wrong time.
“What’s it about?” she continued, ignoring Courtney.
“Julia,” I said, not looking up from my guitar.
“Oh, so even though you’re the brooding bad boy you do have a heart in there,” she said, taunting me.
“Yeah.”
Maggie was shocked by the honesty and lack of bite. A tinge of regret for pushing the issue showed on her face.
In fairness, the song was about Julia, but not in the way she thought. Yes, it acknowledged the loss of relationship with your first love, but it also questioned whether something so volatile was ever truly over.
“Well, keep it up…that might end up being your best song,” she said before retreating back to Courtney’s room.
“I’ve never seen her react to a song like that before,” Courtney said, confused.
“Well, I guess we’re getting better,” Scott laughed.
I thought about calling Julia to see if she was coming to the show on Saturday. It sounded dumb, but I knew we weren’t really done. Some things don’t end—they just rot quietly until someone says otherwise.
I didn’t call. I just opened the notes app and jotted down a few lines for Saturday. Maybe if she heard them, she'd know I wasn’t over it either.
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