24_Beneath The Fire: An Original Story

After a very fruitful discussion about writing with a good friend of mine tonight, I decided it was time to post a story.  This one in particular I feel is timely as some of my favorite bands are either in the middle of their farewell tours, or on indefinite hiatus, most likely never to return.  Please enjoy:

Beneath The Fire

I remember telling Allan: “This isn't a band, it's merchandise with a soundtrack.” He laughed and agreed and ordered us another round. We were standing at the back of the Ottobar, waiting for the opening sets to finish. The first band, a local act that was filling in for the last two shows of our tour, was good, but unrefined. They were all fire and passion and loud noise with no structure beneath it. They relied too much on gimmicks, but then again, we did too, when we were younger.

Even as I say this, I feel like my voice is cracking, but I need to say it. Even if it sounds hollow, I need to say it.

It was still early, but the crowd was beginning to fill out. It was a mix of everyone who had ever heard our music, from young and excited to old and jaded. I recognized a couple that I'd met on one of our very first East Coast tours. They had a child with them. I pointed this out to Allan.

“If we keep going, we'll have an entirely new fan base in ten years,” he said. We laughed, but it wasn't funny.

“Let's get backstage,” I said. We moved slowly through the crowd, taking our time, pausing to listen to a few more songs. The band on stage played their last song and for that song at least, they sounded truly together. If they'd played like that all night, they would have impressed me.

As the band left the stage, the crowd began to shift around and I felt their attention turn to us. A teenage girl who couldn't have been older than fifteen, bopped over to meet us. She stood in front of us for a second, silent and smiling.

“I'm Jack,” I said when it was clear hat she was too shell-shocked to speak, “and this is Allan.”

“I know! My name's Kelly and I've been looking forward to meeting you for so long,” she blurted out.

“It's nice to meet you too, Kelly,” Allan said. She turned to him and started to give the normal excited fan speech; how she has all our albums, how she waited outside all day to get in first, how she wants our autographs. I felt the energy in her voice, but that didn't have an affect on me any more.

As Allan and Kelly talked small, I looked up at the couple with the kid. The man nodded to me and I waved back. He said something to his wife and she waved too. He had a look on his face and I knew they wouldn't come over and say hello. In their smiles I saw a tiredness that was verging on bitterness. They weren't here just to listen to our show or see us perform, they were here to act as witnesses to our final moments as a band. They wanted finality. They would only be convinced that we were done once we played our hearts out and left them dying on the stage to be swept up with the rest of the dusty, cluttered remains of a dead show. I'd seen that look before, a hundred times on your face as you looked at me and your eyes begged me to convince you that what we had was finally real and would continue after we went our separate ways.

In Kelly I saw nothing but dumb, wasted sincerity. She suddenly seemed repulsive.

I waved back to the couple and grabbed Allan by the arm.

“Kelly, it was lovely meeting you, but we have to go backstage. Enjoy the show,” I said, pulling Allan with me.

“Are you OK?” Allan asked.

“I'm fine. Just got reminded of something I didn't want to think about.”

Allan nodded and kept quiet. These days, there's so much that him and I don't want to be reminded of. We headed back stage to get our shit together.

* * * * *

You said that there was a spring chill in the air and as soon as you said it, I knew exactly what you meant. We were laying on the side of a lonely road somewhere between your show in Baltimore and my dorm in Salisbury. My boyfriend was waiting for me and he'd be calling any minute. We knew we were on borrowed time, but we were avoiding that fact.

Usually when we saw each other, you wanted something. If it wasn't sex or head, you at least wanted to kiss me in front of your band mates, showing me off. You didn't want anything that night. When you pulled the car over, I told you, “Jack, I'm not having sex in a field.”

“Don't worry,” you said. I hesitated. “Honestly, Lauren, it's not about that tonight.”

And so you gave me your jacket, we laid out a blanket and I let you hold me there for nothing.

You were glowing from the show. It was the first show of your first headlining tour and it went as well as it could have. The crowd was enthusiastic, the sound quality was great and the set list was well laid out. I can only admit it now, but I didn't care about any of that. I was watching you, my lips moving but not really singing along, my hips swaying, but not really dancing.

It was great watching you and knowing that you were doing what you truly loved. There on stage you didn't need to show me off, you didn't need my affections to reaffirm yourself. I was happy to see you happy without me. You wanted me, but you didn't need me.

That thought warmed me against the spring chill. You didn't seem to notice.

“This will be good for us,” you said and then paused. I was quiet, trying to figure out what you meant by that.  

“It'll be slow up the East Coast, which is weird because that's where we're from, but they love us out in California and the Rockies.”

Of course you were talking about the band and it made me feel stupid to think that you would mean us. But you were right. I knew that it's what you wanted and I knew it was what you and Allan and the others had worked so hard for. I wanted it for you too. I knew we'd never be girlfriend and boyfriend, but there in that lonely field I did entertain the thought. You would be on MTV and I would be there, watching you perform live for thousands, knowing that you were mine and that no one else could have you.

I let out a laugh and sighed and you must have felt my breath on your chest. You stroked the small of my back and I never wanted to leave.

My boyfriend called.

I told you to be quiet and answered. “Hey baby,” I said.

“Hey. When are you coming home?”

“Soon. I promise. We're almost there. Jack just took his sweet time getting his shit packed up after the show,” I lied. You laughed silently.

“Oh,” my boyfriend said. He didn't like you, even though I'd convinced him that you weren't a threat.

“Oh baby, don't worry,” I told him, “You don't have to be up early, do you?” My tone cheered him up.

“Nope,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. You were picking your nails. You didn't want to hear this.

“Stay up for me, I'll be home soon,” I said, and we hung up.

“Why are you with him?” you asked. To be honest, there were a hundred reasons. He was good in bed, warm and sweet, the way it's supposed to be. He was kind and looked after me. He never even looked at other girls. He played lacrosse and got good grades. He would make a perfect husband some day. But I didn't tell you any of that.

I just shrugged and said “I don't know. He's OK, I guess.”

We lay there for a minute more in silence and I saw you on stage, singing into the darkness of the Ottobar. I wondered what it was you saw in that darkness, but I couldn't bring myself to ask.

“Are you going to come see us on tour?” It was a good question.

“I want to, I really do,” I told you. I guess I could have. My room mate could have taken me to Philadelphia or New York. I knew a guy who could give me a ride to Raleigh, but to be honest, I hadn't really thought about it. I really did want to, but I couldn't. I had a boyfriend, I had school. I was broke.

“I wish you would,” you said. I knew that was true. You had no reason to whisper, but you did. You were over me now, our faces close.

“Lauren,” you said, kissing me.

“Yes?” I asked, when you were silent.

“Lauren, I love you. I really do,” you were whispering because you were terrified of what you were saying. In that moment, you bared your soul to me.

You kissed me and I held you tight. My cheeks flushed and my stomach fluttered and I knew, at that moment, that you were the only man I'd ever love.

I don't know how long we stayed like that. A few minutes, an hour. I don't remember.

Eventually we got up, rolled the blanket up and got back in your car. Once we were out of the wind I gave you your jacket back. When you started the car and the stereo came on, the music sounded cheap, but I didn't care. You were silent, but you held my hand tightly as you drove me home to my boyfriend.

That night, in bed, I surprised him with how I acted, but he enjoyed it too much to ask what was going on. I was energetic and aggressive, tearing at his clothes and then his skin. I wore him out and as he lay sleeping, I lay awake in the darkness, restless like I'd never been before.

I was thinking of you the entire time. For so long I assumed that wherever you were on tour, whatever you were doing, whichever groupie you were fucking in whatever cheap hotel room, you were thinking of me. I never had the courage to ask you if that was true. I guess I never really wanted to know the answer.

A week later, I broke up with my boyfriend. I tried, but I couldn't find it in myself to love him. He was crushed. I couldn't tell him why it was good for him, but it was. I wasn't wife material. I'm still not.

I never did get to see you on that first headlining tour, even though I followed your blogs and watched all the video clips. It was two years before we saw each other again, despite how much we talked.

We've been through a lot.

Still, when I think about all the things we put each other through, all the terrible things we've said and all the beautiful apologies, I still think of that night in the field. I think of the first time you ever told me you loved me and it makes me happy. Even now. When I think of that memory, I can forgive a lot of what has happened between us since then.

* * * * *

First of all, thanks for meeting me here. I know we don't normally meet like this, but our last show is tonight and I wanted to talk to you before hand.

The more I think about it, the better I feel about the whole decision to finish up. We've been at it for a long time and it's taken its toll on all of us, me and Jack most of all.

I'm looking forward to calling it quits, but of course I'll never stop playing guitar. I know a guy in Philly who would be more than happy to have me in his studio as a guitarist or even a producer. I'm not turning my back on the craft. I just won't be in the spotlight any more.

I know there were a lot of low points, but there's a lot to be proud of too. We put out six well-reviewed studio albums. That doesn't happen a lot these days. Most bands have three, maybe four albums in them before they start to sound derivative. We made it to six. I'll take that.

It's been making me fucking nostalgic. Some people make such a huge deal out of this being our last concert, but I just want to play it, get it over with and put it behind me. The more I think about it being our very last show, the more it hits me and I don't like that. It helps me cope to be in denial and let things in slowly. Jack and I are both the kinda guys who, if we don't put a stop to it now, we'll keep carrying on until we die.

Jack's worse than I am. I've seen him writing lyrics for years now and it always brings him to the edge. It's like he's trying to put something into words that's impossible for him to describe.

He's always been like that. When we were first starting as a band, he kept talking about how he would never write love songs. He said that they're all just bright fire and hollow passion with nothing underneath. He said he felt like really good music comes from those storms that lie underneath that no one ever sees.

Now I'm worried about him. I don't think he's said what he set out to say yet. I think he's stopping not because he has nothing left in him, but because he's running himself ragged trying to talk it out. I wish I knew what it is he's trying to get off of his chest. I would help him do it, if I could.

I'm not going to lie. You coming back into his life had a lot to do with our decision and I was hoping it would work out. I wish it had worked out between the two of us, but that's not how it happened. We had our fun and it was good fun, but that's over.

It shocked me when you called me yesterday and asked for my advice. My first reaction was to protect my buddy, so I apologize if I came off as harsh. The more I think about it, the more I think you're right.

Like I said, it's taken its toll on all of us. I think it's been worse for you than it has been for any of us in the band. I can't imagine where you're coming from. You spent all that time being the girl that Jack came back to, meeting him at random stops along the way, never having more than a month or two with him before it was time to go back out on the road. All that time and you guys never really got to figure out what it is you want from each other.

That's the problem with what we were doing. You set out trying to say something and you spend so long trying to say it that when you finally get it out, it's not what people love you for any more. They want something completely different from you.

You never asked for advice from me before, so I know this is weighing on you. So listen. No, I don't blame you for what you're going to do, and I don't know if it's the right thing to do. Come tomorrow, everything is going to be different, for all of us. What's the right thing to do, what's the wrong thing to do, I can't say.

* * * * *

We spent a lot of time driving up and down 95 late at night. The tour was coming to an end, but it wasn't coming fast enough. You would finish a set in New York, pack up quickly and we would rush off down 95 to squeeze in as much time as we could at your apartment in Baltimore before you had to leave for the next show. We got to live two lives. While we were on the road, we were the rockstar and his girlfriend. As soon as we got back to the apartment, we were just a couple sharing a bottle of wine and talking about how we should decorate the bathroom.

For the first time I felt like it would really work out between us. For the first time I felt like I was actually getting to spend time with you. Somewhere around three in the morning, when you would pull in to an all-night rest stop to buy us snacks and coffee, you would come back as my boyfriend and it's all you wanted out of life.

I hoped against hope that I wasn't just lying to myself. I knew our track record. I knew you inside and out but I couldn't figure out if you had really changed, or if you were just playing the part.

The last week of the tour, you played three shows in Baltimore. After the first, we decided to go out to one of the all-night Korean restaurants. We had a drink at the upstairs bar and listened to terrible karaoke. It was the type of music you hated most, but even you were happy there, listening to people who couldn't sing try and slur out the words. You had your arm around me and your hand in my back pocket and at one point patted my ass and then got up to sing a song. I was shocked. Even though you weren't playing for a stadium audience on national television, I couldn't take my eyes off of you. I finally felt like you were mine and that no one else could have you. I felt happier still that this feeling came without the live music and stage lights and wild crowds.

We went downstairs to order food and in the dining room was another band. I forget their name, but they were the band you booked to open for you at your last show. We sat with them and ordered a round of soju.

We drank to music and touring and all that shit. Those were your words. We were getting drunk and you couldn't help but trade war stories with them. They were a young band and they were basking in the attention you were giving them.

As we picked through our barbecues and bibimbaps, you and their lead singer started talking about the craft.

“The problem with a lot of bands these days,” you said, your arm dropping from my shoulder, “is that they don't reach deep enough. They don't ask questions. And I don't mean that in a punk sort of political sense. I mean that they don't consider that when the lights go on and the crowd leaves the venue, they take the songs with them. When people listen to our music, at least I like to think it's this way, the CD ends and they're still asking questions about it, ya know?”

“That's deep, man,” their lead singer said, opening another bottle of soju. We drank to deep shit.

“People hear music on two levels,” you continued, “On one level they hear it, they dance to it, they mosh or whatever, and it entertains them. On another level it hits them deep down where there's all this shit that they can't put into words.” If we'd left, you would have kept going. You were trying to explain yourself to, well, yourself. You carried on, drunk now, but I knew what you were trying to say. Everyone hears something different in music. It's something we can't put into words so it's impossible to fully connect with anyone else, no matter how much we say we love the song.

It was then, as I swirled my glass around on the table that I saw in your eyes something turbulent. I saw, for a fleeting second, the storms deep down inside of you trying to make themselves heard. I knew then that there was a part of you that I would never understand, a part of you that you would never be able to put into words, but would haunt you for the rest of your life.

I drank deep, refilled, and drank again. I realized at that moment that even if you had changed, which I didn't think you had, I certainly had not. I would always be that young girl in a field next to a lonely road, wondering what it is you see when you stand on stage and look out into the darkness of the crowd. I would never have the courage to ask you if you had ever thought about me while you were with your groupies on the road. I would never be able to fall asleep next to you knowing that there is a part of you that I could never reach, much less understand.

We ordered more soju. We drank and you talked until they kicked us out. We got home as the sun was coming up and I did my best to hide how restless, how disturbed I was. You were busy with your final shows and I don't think you noticed.

I knew in my heart what I was going to do and I realize that I'd known it all along. I met with Allan this afternoon and he put it into words for me, but I knew it would end like this a long time ago. Maybe as long ago as that night you first told me you loved me.

I do love you, Jack. I mean that and I know that it's true. I'm sorry that this is so abrupt. I wish we could have more time together, but it would be borrowed time. It always has been. Maybe someday I'll meet you somewhere on the road. I would like that very much. But it would have to be out there. That's the only way we can be together, in stolen moments at stops along the road before we have to go our separate ways.

* * * * *

It was, I think, the best concert we'd ever played. I don't know how the others felt about it, but the crowd loved it and it just felt right. Whenever we sang a different song, I felt it falling off of me, as if I was shedding all that I had been for so long. When our last encore was finished, I felt delightfully empty.

We lingered after the show, finishing our drinks, talking to fans, pretending that we weren't just trying to hold on to the moment for a few minutes longer. Allan was excited and energetic. He and the others were going out to get drunk and he desperately wanted me to come along. He didn't even want me to go home first. I knew it just hadn't hit him yet, that we were really finished. I declined his invitation.

When it finally came time to leave, I felt completely used up, like I was close to the end. I was drowsy and was ready to go home and fall into bed next to you. I wanted to sleep for days. I had no idea what would happen when I woke up, but you would be there with me. That's all I needed.

I put on some of our old albums as I drove home, listening to myself and the fire that had filled me so fully all those years ago. I'm glad that it's over. I can think of nothing worse than carrying on, playing for stupid kids while our original fans come to resent us, fading away slowly until one day, twenty years from now, one of our greatest hits ends up in the background track of a car commercial.

When I got home, you weren't up waiting for me. I thought that you were asleep, but you were gone. There was a letter for me on the bed. I started reading it, but couldn't get past the first sentence. I couldn't bear to read any more and I thought I knew what it was you were going to say.

I sat for a long time trying to piece together everything that had happened. I went over every minute detail, trying to find some clue inside of tonight that would explain why you were gone. I thought back until I came to that field where I first said that I loved you. I started your letter again but couldn't keep going. That was so long ago and after so much, I realized that I'd forgotten what I'd meant.

I looked around at the cathedral ceilings, the empty white walls and tall windows of my apartment, the books and kitchen pans in their cardboard boxes. It all felt oppressive and gloomy. I was overcome with the feeling that I should have seen this coming. I should have known.

I felt something inside me and I needed to get it out. I grabbed a pen and paper and tried to write it, but the words sounded cracked and hollow. The silence of the apartment seemed too loud so I put on our first album. I listened to that passion, that fire in my voice.

I sat for a long time trying to find the right words to say to you. I struggled to write anything. I gave up and sat listening to that voice. I needed to find that fire inside of me again, but all I felt was cold.

End.

Suggested listening:

Isles and Glaciers - "Viola Lion"

Evaline - "Beneath the Fire"

- Kid