Guitarist No. 2
Hi there...
As all people in the world seem to write stories about young relationships at the moment - be it good or bad ones -, I figured I should try something like this, too bring fame and glory to my life... if only electronically. ;-)
Anyway, this story is by no way true, although I would like it to be, but hey, you can't have everything. ;-)
If you like this - although I can tell you from the beginning on that there is no sex in this chapter - I would be glad if you could drop me a small line of... appreciation at RoadRage@gmx.net, so I might find enough "strength" to continue with this story and come to Guitarist No. 2, after all.
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"Guitarist No. 2"
by Roadrage
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Chapter 1:
"This is an alarm-clock!"
"It is not!"
"Oh yes, it is!"
"Why the hell do you think it is an alarm-clock... It sounds more like..."
"Mmh..." I scratched my head slowly, gazing around in the darkness. I hated it when my brainparts tried to discuss this damnit buzzing noise coming from somewhere around me, when I was still half asleep.
"Mmhhh..."
"Can't you say something different?" a voice within my head asked.
"Oh, shut up," I muttered, slowly exploring the area around my bed with my fingertips.
"Could somebody please explain this half human-being that he is lying with the head at the end of his bed," Lefty demanded.
I slowly turned around, searching for the light switch, that supposedly had to be somewhere around there, but was not. Instead there was something soft... wet... and kinda... kinda like...
"You call it a cherry-cake!"
"Argh... The one from yesterday evening..."
"And there we are back in good old reality. But pleeeasee. Now go and find that damnit clock and switch it of before it wakes up the whole street." my cerebral hemisphere commanded.
"Yes, Sir," I said, smiling sheepishly to my pillow, that seemed to be my best friend in all the nights I slept, or did not. And yes, waking up is hard for me.
"Good boy," Lefty said, and to me, there was nothing better than a compliment from myself, it seemed.
I got up and finally switched on the light, finding my clock under the bed, where it was buried under what seemed like a century long collected arsenal of hankies. "Damn flu," I said, turning around, to find my boxershorts on the floor.
You should know I was going to go on a class tour in some weeks and I was desperately trying to get used to wearing anything else at nights except a T-shirt without stripping it off at night. Unfortunately it did not work, even when I pictured myself waking up stark naked in a room with at least five other boys that look at me like I missed something. Or maybe there was something else I might have, to focus their attention on... Not that I particularly disliked this situation, there was still a certain chance of embarrassment hidden somewhere.
But whatever I did, I woke up, and shorts, socks and sometimes even my shirt were scattered on the ground, like somebody turned me upside down at night.
I gracefully slipped into some morning clothes and stretched out, jumping up, as my hand crashed into the lamp, hanging from my ceiling, sending it sailing around the room. As I tried to stop it from destroying my room's inventory it somehow came to me that something was wrong. For an ordinary morning it was unusually quiet, both on the street and in the house. There were no cars driving by with sleeping people on their way to work or the local MacDonald's - where local meant about 10 kilometres away, as Lindburgh is not exactly something one would call a large town, with 55.000 inhabitants. I took a look at my watch, and yes, it was about seven in the morning, the time where my father usually tries to be loud in the kitchen next to my room - presumably his way of waking me up without setting me up, but there was nothing. Not a single loud.
The shutters in our kitchen were closed shut - what else - and as I knocked on my parent's bedroom door, there was a familiar sound.
NO! Not what you are thinking, hello, this is an erotic story of a slightly different kind and not about my parents - and on the other hand, how could I be old enough to know these kind of sounds ... by heart. It was something like...
"Mmmh..." - Oh great, they were still asleep and I got ready to hear any of their cerebral hemispheres starting to talk to me. Fortunately this did not happen:
"Hello? It might have occurred to you that it is about ... eight in the morning!" I said. Maybe this shock effect would get them up (and running) a bit faster.
"Mmmh?"
"I said it is about eight."
"Is it?"
"Yeah!"
"Now what?"
... ... ...
"You remember those details from yesterday? It was like `getting up', `having breakfast', `taking a shower' and maybe even going to work?!"
"On a Saturday?" my mother asked.
"Of course on a Sat... on a Saturday?" I almost shouted, "it is Friday, I mean, we ... I mean, it's Friday... or ... at least I thought it was... Friday, I mean, I... But... You..."
Saturday, that is, what it was, and I forgot to switch off my alarm clock, so here I was, in the middle of the night, standing in my parent's bedroom and trying to get them to work.
"Of course not on a Saturday," I told them, "it was... it was just a test, whether you... whether you paid attention to the time passing by that quickly... Amazing is it not? Incredible, he? I mean, hehe... you know how fast... mmh..." I slowly backed up to the door and closed it behind me.
I could have slept till... till Sunday morning, if I had wanted, but no, there was this alarmclock and my self-aware brain and not forgetting the old cherry-cake I had at least three reasons not to go to bed again, but instead make something out of this day like...
Like what. What could one probably do early on a Saturday morning? Watch tv?
Sure, great, there wasn't even something running on those stupid cable stations except talkshow reruns from yesterday with topics as interesting as "I weight about 350 pounds and felt fine until my neighbour said I was fat - Am I?", "I am gay - what can I do against it" or of course something like the words "I am the best looking female in the World and can get all men sleeping with me, if I want to" from the mouth of a four square feet sized and about 60 year old woman.
This might be something for the time when you needed a good laugh, but nothing for an early Saturday morning.
So what about reading? Mmh... Leaving out the fact that I finished the last novel I had yesterday I was not able to open both eyes at the same time yet, so we could dismiss that.
I could... Maybe... I slowly walked over to my CD rack and had a look at its content. My fingers were slowly moving to Sleeper's latest album as I let them fall down again. Even played without getting the roof to move rhythmically with every beat someone would go crazy sooner or later when I play this CD nonstop, but on the other hand, this would also happen with my Cranberries or echobelly CDs.
This left my computer as the only alternative for my morning miseries.
Or it could make them even worse, as one of about a thousand tools I had running on my machine decided that today woul be the day to use garbage's Queer cover as desktop background. "Ourgh..." Queer reminded me of... me... and of sex... or rather of not having sex and it just as well was the best way to drown me into a hole of depressions.
You should not worry, I had nothing against my sexual orientation, if only it would lead me somewhere in particular. But instead I kept wandering through school, drooling everytime someone atractive passed me, making me wonder when I would starve from dehydration. But as long it was only water dripping out at special places I guess I could still consider myself lucky.
I sighed, and decided to read through and answer some of my e-mail, to get back to reality again, as I started my browser...
Chapter 2:
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"
"Hey! It's just me! Hellooo... you should not fall asleep in front or your computer," my mother said to me, tapping on my shoulder. "You want any breakfast?"
I looked at my watch and it looked like I just slept three hours on my keyboard, as it was already ten in the morning. I groaned trying to get my bones connected again and because my head had rested on the table the whole time I "ruthur ducoided to toke sum purridge...", but some scrambled egg and toast finally changed my mind.
"Did you not say something about practising with the band this morning?" I was asked, as my father joined us in the kitchen.
While my jaw started wiping off the floor and my color changed from tired rose to the most beautiful shock white I jumped up, grabbed my clothes from my bed and leapt to the bathroom, took a shower, brushed my teeth at the same time tried to take a leak.
Running out of the front door I shouted: "See you at three, or so!", took my bike and tried to leave the sonic barrier behind me on the way to the garage where we used to practise.
Some minutes later I opened the door and ran right into our bass player Sam:
"I know you from somewhere..." he stated dryly...
"Duh!" I replied ...
"Oh yes. I do! Do not try to make me look foolish! I have seen you! I know your kind! Ha! You can never come close to my level of existence! You wanna know what..."
"Couldn't we just start?", Fergal asked, interrupting our meeting ritual, "you are quite late, after all and I have to leave you three alone at twelve."
We formed this band about two years ago, or no, it was actually them, forming the band, Sam, Ryan - our drummer - and Noel - the guitarist -, searching for a singer. They had a lot of trouble finding anyone who wanted to sing the kind of stuff they played, as people tended to say it was weird - not the kind of Marilyn Manson weird, more agreeable weird.
I did not think so, after all I had a whole rack full of CD from those bands I thought nobody in a radius of 100 kilometre would know and so had no hope to ever find someone like them.
"It is a Godgiven relation", Sam used to say, and I always agreed to that statement, with a grave nod.
And they were good. Yup, they were the best band members I could have ever imagined, capable of quite a lot and open for suggestions of any sort...
"So, did you finally got the beginning of Nice Guy Eddie with only one guitar?" I asked them.
"Mmh... To be honest: nope... It is just to difficult without a counterpart... but...," Noel said, playing the opening chords of a song called "Give Her A Gun" I had begged them to learn for what must have been years.
"Ah... Boys, I love you!" I screamed exaggerated, squeezing out some tears...
"You... love us?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow. "You know, we are quite open minded guys, but don't you think this might disturb our important business relation?"
"Oh, of course I only love you..."
"... platonically!" Noel finished my sentence and smiled, "yes, we do know that."
You might wonder whether they knew I was gay, but at that time, nobody really knew. I mean, I did not tell anybody, but I did not make it a secret, either. It was just that nobody asked, and I did not feel there was any advantage in carrying a sign infront of me, declaring my sexual view of the world. Okay, you might think this is the reason I did not get anybody to enjoy the nights with, but what do you suppose how I should behave?
"15 year old, gay boy searching for love of life, please call XXX if you feel to be the one..." ?
Nah, that was just not my way, but what my way actually is, was not clear to me, either...
Sam pulled me out of my thoughts: "Hey, you missed your intonation!"
"I feel much more like I missed my train." I smiled pathetically.
That is all for now. If you like it and let me know at RoadRage@gmx.net, I would really appreciate it.