Hot Box Psychedelica

“Oh dear! Bother and blast! Are we on fire again? I swear! This is the second time this week! The young master really ought to control himself, goodness gracious!” George sprinted into the staging area of the live house with such arrhythmical force that the mismatched sound of his running, mixed with the thump of his cane, made him sound like a quadruped with a missing leg. “What is it this time? Burning alive? Being buried alive with a flammable tint? Oh God, please tell me he’s not actually trying to eat fire? You have to be a very spiritual being with complete mastery of your body to accomplish that! He’s mad! The young master will kill himself!”

George realised what he said as soon as he said it.

“I dunno man. Isn’t that, like, the point? I mean, I don’t want the little dude to…you know, but you know the rules old dude, free will and all that.” The individual George shared the spacious floor that would eventually become “the pit” with was splayed out lazily on a tattered leather couch that he could’ve sworn wasn’t there ten minutes ago. “Dude’s hot boxing man! Bro’s about to choke himself out. Bummer.”

George huffed and took many angry steps towards his colleague. With each step, the decor of the building changed. Step, seventies disco. Step, eighties new wave club. Step, twenties speakeasy. George supposed that this cross cultural miasma would happen when you leave two different people in charge of the vitally important task of interior decoration.

“Trenton, I swear to God! Why do you never treat these things with the urgency they deserve!? He’s going to do himself some serious harm! And you’re here lounging about with your foul smelling sticks and your Musical Youth records and your “No worries, bro!” Jun is currently having his lungs filled with smoke and will soon cease to be! This is very alarming! And why are the labourers still here? Jun doesn’t like too much hustle and bustle! Outside noises make him very uncomfortable

“Nah dude, it’s all really good bro. Calm down, take a chill pill, have a sniff. Mummy and Daddy ain’t here. It’s all good dude.”

“A sniff! You want me to do drugs? Drug humour at a time like this!? Why, I should fire you on the spot! We’ve delayed opening so many times that all of the sponsors have pulled out! I’ve tried telling the young master this, but you know he’s not much for speaking! He promised to finish lyrics for the first warmup act too! And now we…”

“Nah, I mean, literally. Take a sniff.”

It was only then that George noticed blue and purple smoke slowly seep into the general admissions area. It formed into many shapes. Jimi Hendrix, the yellow submarine, that one boy that George kissed in boarding school that one time.

“He had long hair! I didn’t know he was a-”

“Chill, mein liebe, I know all about Monty Fairworth. I have seen the odes.”

“And he smelled like rose perfume! Wait, you do? You have!?”

“Yeah dude, you talk in your sleep. Like, a lot. Trenton pulled a rose from his pocket. “Oh Monty! I don’t care that you’re the first person I loved! You’re the only one I need! Why yes Monty, I would like to accompany you to your family’s manor house for the summer. Oh, what’s that? It has an annex? Oh, my!”

“I was in the midst of youthful passion! One cannot help but look back on the time at a British boarding school with fondness. Fair play, camaraderie, friendship…”

“Buggery.”

“Buggery…No! Look! Can we get back to the matter of Mr Miyamoto’s imminent demise! The poor lad must be suffering so! Goodness me! I feel like such an idiot talking about my childhood dalliances when that poor boy has gone through so much.”

“Bruh, that’s what I’m trying to tell you! Breathe in.”

George did so.

“And out.”

He did so again.

“Oh, Lord Jesus above! Forgive me! I’m no better than a wayward youth, or a Liberal Democrat! I’m sorry Mummy! Curse my impressionable mind! Of course an American would try to manipulate me into such…Progressive things! Now excuse me while I sing patriotic songs to reorient myself!”

“What the hell are you talking about-”

“Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never never never shall be slaves!”

“George! What can you smell?”

“Why?”

Trenton stared daggers.

“Curry and…ramen?”

Trenton waited for the penny to drop.

“So he wasn’t ingesting the devil’s lettuce?”

“No…”

“Not CO?”

“George!”

“Sorry! Sorry. Well, we can certainly breathe a sigh of relief. Thank you, Lord. I swear that boy is so hapless. I wish we could assist him, even in some small way.” He slumped on the couch next to his workmate.

Trenton shrugged. “Not to be a douche, but we can’t. Maybe now you can, like, stop killing my vibe? I care about Jun too, but bro, we can’t take control of his body from him. It’s his choice. You don’t just recover from the stuff he’s been through. His soul is wounded. That’s big stuff. Sure, we’ve been put in charge but, as much as I hate the corporations having control over me, we need to get the Live house open, Mi amigo. That comes first.”

George sighed. “It does, doesn’t it? I have hope, Trenton. Jun will find himself again. I believe in him.”

“Me too, dude, me too.” They both knew that they needed to do this. The success of the venue went beyond more than one person. Still, even amongst all the pitfalls and all the consequences of varying degrees of severity, they both couldn’t stop thinking about the young man they had come to know and, as selfish as it may have been, they desired to see him happy.

George bent down to retrieve a piece of paper that had drifted in from the street. He cursed inwardly to himself. Probably some foul language, graffiti perhaps?

He unravelled the paper. A small smile crossed his lips

Lyrics.

The waves still cry against the shore,

and we can’t see you.

Anymore.

“The young miss would have loved these.”