CH. 6 No Anchor

Friday Morning. A week and a half spent in a constant blur. I woke up sprawled out on my bed, nothing but the sound of a box fan rumbling are heard through the early morning hours. Two weeks had passed by and school was coming to a close. The semester was almost over. I've been waste deep in research for the plethora of research papers that I had to still write. Misery just isn't the word. You can find me in the Library drudging through the isles. Searching for books. You can find me in the corner of the third floor shelving unit between classes and until midnight, nose deep in some boring textbook. I can be seen in front of computers, zoned in, black rings under my eyes, searching library databases for newspaper articles and declassified documents to prove my thesis. I've finished two papers thus far, only one more to go.
In a half asleep state, rolling out of bed, I stumbled to my bathroom to take a piss. From the bathroom, I heard the high pitched buzz of my cell phone reverberating off the book on the floor next to my mattress. Fumbling back to my room, I saw it was Greg. I snapped the phone open and mumbled what I thought was hello.
"Huh?!" shouted Greg, "Come too and talk like a fucking human."
I cleared my throat and repeated much clearer, "Hello?"
"Get Home, Practice in three hours, no excuses, show Saturday." Greg hung up without getting a response. That's how things were for him. He didn't like you to say anything. It was his own joke that made you laugh out of hate. It's hard to describe, it was hilarious because you knew he was doing it but it was aggravating at the same time. You couldn't say no. You couldn't get a word in edge-wise. Greg liked to surround himself with people who were the most obnoxious people on the face of the earth. That described our band. A collection of douche bags ready to make people the most aggravated they'd ever been or ever wanted to be. It's not like we wanted people to dislike us, it was just our humor. We got it, that's why we were friends.
My dirty laundry, my clean laundry, my messy room, my world of filth and sorrow. I was leaving it again. It was my salvation from the outside world, a home I never wanted but never wanted to give up. Every thing's packed. All the stuff I need for the weekend packed in a rucksack I had purchased from the army surplus store two towns over. Into my rusty piece of shit car and off home.
Through the same front door. Up the same steps. Through the awkward silence and the stench of misery. Into the room I've come to hate. The room that gave me shelter and brought me steps closer to the edge. I placed my things on my bed and walked into my dads room to see if my mom had left any of my laundry on his bed. From the corner of my eye I saw it. It was barely visible, I had almost forgotten that he had had it. I stepped into my fathers closest and grabbed the lock box from the top shelf. I knew where the key was, with everything else that was important in my fathers life, rolled up in his sock drawer next to his rosary beads that my grandmother had left him. I picked it up and rubbed it between my fingers as if it was the answer to every question I've ever had. Like it was the only thing that could save me. I placed the key into the slot and turned. The mechanism turned over and allowed the top to pop open a little bit. I slowly picked up the top and peered in to see that my dad's handgun was laying dormant. You could see the violence in the barrel, pent up and ready to explode into anything that was dumb enough to provoke its anger. I picked it up and admired it's beauty.
I ran my fingers over the metallic gray silver. Safety is just a trigger away. I take one bullet and place it in the chamber. I put the barrel of my fathers gun into my mouth and took a deep breath through my nose. I let the air fill my lungs. In my head I pulled the trigger. I let the bullet exit through the back of my skull shattering some of my teeth on its way. Slowly I crumble to the floor and in mid drop I blink slowly and see the world turn light. I'm back and the guns still just in my mouth. I pull it out, I didn't want it. I didn't want death. Not that way. I wanted to fade out and have no one remember me. I don't want to leave the world with the burden that I have come to carry. I remove the bullet from the chamber and place it back into the case. The gun placed safely into my fathers safety deposit box. I re-lock it and place the key back into his top drawer for safe keeping. I push the lock box back on the top shelf of his closet and walked away. I close the door behind me and lean my head against the wall next to the door. "Show Time." I tell myself.
I headed over to Greg's parents garage where we'd been practicing since we first met. That garage has seen so many musicians and so many styles of music, so many personalities. I punch in the garage code that I know by heart and walk in, half a ghost, with my black notebook tucked under my arm. Jerry is sitting behind the drums as always except he's not smiling as usual. He looks a little dazed. His shirt was off because it was hot with all the amps running. He was tall and lanky with blond hair, yet he insisted on shaving it. You could see his tattoo across his chest that read, "DEAD ENDS" along his collar bone. He nodded at me and said hello. Smitty was sitting on an old stool we found in the garbage with his bass in hand. His hair was much longer but he tucked it behind his ears and usually kept it under a backwards Chicago White Sox hat. He was hard at work trying to learn the last part of what seemed to be one of our new songs. Tim was sitting across from him struggling to keep his patience while trying to show Smitty the new part. They were always like that. At each other's throats. They really did love each other but were both really stubborn and in search of perfection. Well as close as you can get in a hardcore band. Greg filtered in behind me from the house with a grape soda in his hand. He put his hand on my shoulder and breezed past me. He plugged in, turned me on and handed me my microphone. My 400 watt Peavey speakers buzzed in approval. We made sure we were all at a reasonable level and then there was a pause. Greg looked at me and said, "We want to play a few of the new songs tomorrow if you can get them down today."
I responded, "No Problem, lets start then." We clicked in, "...Two, Three, Four!" Everything came in real heavy and grimy. It had so much heart behind it and at the same time it had no heart at all. The first words that came to my mind that seemed fit to open up that song lyrically was, "ADAPTING TO DAMNATION!" It seemed to work perfectly. Everything else seemed to settle behind it. After a half an hour I had lyrically put that song to rest. I stored it to memory and we moved on to the next song. The next song started really fast, real punk sound into a spiteful drive that was reminiscent of integrity. After four hours of impressive material I had finished putting together the last of the material we had. I was surprised how fast it all fell into place. Granted I'd practiced them a few weeks ago with no lyrics, I felt like I came in knowing what I wanted to accomplish. The band was real driven too. We then pressed through the rest of the set and packed up shop and packed our trailer for tomorrow. We couldn't practice during the day because Jerry had work until 4 pm.
After the load in we all sat around, we didn't really say anything for a while, we didn't have to. We were all on the same wave length. That's how the day ended. Us sitting together like always in Greg's living room, zoned into the TV. One by one filtering out. Tomorrow was our first show back. You could tell that everyone was really anxious to see what was going to happen. Was I really going to be a time bomb waiting to go off. Will the noise save me or kill me. One never really knows with these things. They just happen moment to moment.
Saturday arrived with no accord. I was just struggling to process the sun. I just wanted it to go down. I did nothing all day but watch TV and eat leftovers. Things were sort of returning to normal in my house. As normal as they were going to get at least. My mom and dad returned to their normal everyday routines. They just didn't seem like they wanted to do them anymore. Teddy was still on everyone's mind. As if he would ever leave, they were all just dealing with it better. I seemed like I would never pull through. Everything was as gray as normal with small bits of black to fill in the dark areas. I arrived at Greg's house at around 4 to print directions and head out. It usually takes us a half an hour to pack everything after we fuck around but everything was already packed so we didn't need to worry about that.. Everyone was already there and we just fucking around and throwing a frisbee around. We jumped in the van after I printed out directions off of the worst online mapping system, maptrip.com, and headed out. The guys did there usual routine pre-show ritual of listening to old rock and hair metal. Bruce Springsteen blared through the speakers and graced our ears with "Born To Run." It's funny how a man can be so famous and not have one number one hit. They sang along and rejoiced in the world they were part of. I sat in the back, removed from the group. I layed down on the back seat and just let myself drift in and out of conscienceness. Part of me was saying, you need to do this, the other part was saying, it's too soon. Maybe I should have just stayed home but I was past the point of no return. We were already on the highway doing 75 watching white lines pass by us.
6:00 pm rolls around and we had arrived at our destination. It was the first show we've played at home for a long time. By home, I mean New Jersey. It seemed as if there would be a decent number of kids there but I was surprised to see that there were more than I had imagined. About 300 kids packed into a small elks lodge excited to see the bands. The energy that I once felt when I was younger was exerted from each kid from wall to wall. When We were so much smarter then we were now. Everything was fun. Everything was chaos, passion, blood, sweet, violence, peace, love, and war. Did I change, or did the music? Is it the same or is it different? I find myself asking that question everyday. Regardless, I spent the majority of the show in the van while the rest of the guys went out and fraternized. It was no disrespect to the bands playing. I've personally supported all the bands with all my heart. I just couldn't face the world that me and my brother had shared for so long. Now I have to bare the cross alone. I have to carry it alone through a crowd of people who have no idea what's it like to lose everything and be expected to act alright. I couldn't face that reality. Just a few more minutes lost in my headphones, with a pen strapped to my hand and a pad of paper to calm my wandering mind. I just kept trying to write lyrics. I wound up spending all my time writing catchy one liners to put into songs. Nothing substantial, just pieces to the puzzle that were bound to fall into place sooner or later.
Smitty and Tim came out and told me we were on next and we needed to load in and begin setting up our drums and other equipment so we could quickly move onto the stage and play our 9 song, 30 minute set. We unloaded the trailer rather quickly and began piecing together Jerry's drums. People kept staring at me as if they had just seen Jesus Christ himself risen from the grave. The "GOD FREE YOUTH" would have become believers right then and there if that was the case. Friends all came up to me just to say hello. You know they wanted to talk about it but I tried to avoid it as much as possible. I appreciated them coming out, I just didn't want to go on stage upset. The last thing I wanted was that. I tried to keep to myself in the back as much as possible, trying to keep my eyes down to avoid any unwanted conversations. I heard the music stop and knew it was our time to set up. We pushed our stuff out to the front of the stage and moved it up. The stage wasn't anything phenomenal, it was probably about a foot off the ground but it was something. We had our things set up and began to sound check. Kids filtered in from outside. They had put out there cigarettes and came in to enjoy the noise,the chaos, the emotional breakdown. I turned around and looked at all the eager faces. Some of them old friends and some of them new friends. Some of them people I've never seen before in my life. I looked at the rest of the band to make sure they were all ready and got the signal of approval to go ahead and start. I felt the pit in my stomach finally hit the bottom and I just said the first thing that came to mind, "From the Heavens above to the balance below, We're HOLLOW EARTH" ....two....three...four....The guitars slammed in hard and heavy, the crowd erupted and pushed to both sides. Kids began jumping off tables that were lined up on the sides for bands' merch onto people. All crawling along the crowd, surfing there way to the front. Kids were front flipping, running back and forth. They pushed for room as it all made sense of itself. As it built up, everyone started pushing to the front. Kids jumped up and tried to steal the mic as I began yelling my head off, "We are the hopeless, the outcasts, the outsiders, the faceless, modest men who's country birthed them for hatred....." You could barely hear me over them. Twenty to thirty kids crowded around trying to be the most dedicated. I've never felt anything like that before in my life. I almost lost it halfway through our set when someone yelled from the back, "We love you Teddy!" It took every ounce of being to hold back the river of tears that began welling up in my eyes. I just wanted to disappear but I for the first time I felt relief. This was my therapy. This is what I needed to keep me balanced. We played our last song and it ended in pandemonium. Every kid was screaming at the top of there lungs at the end of the song. "I LIVE A LIFE OF MISCONCEPTION AND MISERY!" It was all well and good but it was missing something. It was missing Teddy. The most dedicated. The greatest.
We finished up and we packed our trailer, collected our gurantee and I just sat in the van until Greg came walking out. He looked at me and said, "We just got offered and month long tour of the United States. It's already set up, we'd leave in a month. Everything is paid for. Can you do it?"
I looked him in the eye, unsure of what I was going to say and just blurted out, "Let's do it, there's no anchor on this vessel anymore." He left ecstatic. I felt like I needed to get out. I had nothing keeping me here anymore. No job, schools over soon, Teddy's gone. I needed to go out and find myself again. I felt this was the best way. I'd either come back better or I wouldn't come back at all.

Time to drift.

CH. 4 These Crossroads, Neither Shall Lead to a Center

I walked most of the way home and stopped to stand in front of "The Hill." It rose fifteen feet above the even earth nearby in Kroeger's sand pit. As teenagers we would battle for rights to the top. Me, Teddy, and whoever else wanted to play. It was like we were preparing for the war that would be the rest of our lives in a playful manner. We somehow knew that life would be a struggle. We would have to be strong and push for supremacy or roll down the hill with shame imprinted on our faces in the form of loose orange sand. For many this game would teach the importance of being on top. We never wanted that though, we just wanted to have fun. If one of our friends knocked us off, we were fine with it. We carried the lessons we learned on that hill with us the rest of our lives. We were innocent then. I sat on top watching the sky turn red and purple. I watched the sun sink low behind the pale pine trees. Life seems to be much more real in the dark. Don't ask me to explain it, it just is.

Under the street light out front of my house, there was a puddle that had formed from our neighbor's sprinkler system. I caught a glimpse of myself and didn't recognize the face looking back at me. It was hollow, as if my body was merely a shell. I had lost the features that many had admired. People always told me that I had a way of brightening a room just by smiling. It just didn't seem like it was there anymore. It may have been the lack of food or the immense depression but I was losing myself in something much deeper then any addiction. I was being consumed by grief. It didn't sit well in my stomach. I've been put at these crossroads, knowing that neither path shall lead to a center. I can go right or I can go left and add some wear to each path. I chose to stand still. I would sit at the fork and wait for something better to find me instead of going out and finding it. Was this what I was becoming? Ultimately, the answer was Yes. I was becoming misled by grief.

I grabbed my keys and headed for my car. I needed an escape. I needed to get out. I needed to be with other human beings. I needed social interaction. So I left, feeling optimistic for the first time in a week. In hope to find freedom. To rid myself of these chains that had been put on my wrists by a supreme being. I'm not blaming God for everything that's gone wrong with my life. I would like to think that I have some sort of free will to decide my own fate. I'm just blaming him for taking my brother away from me. He didn't have to. He could have brought him back. What happened to three strikes you're out. What about nine lives? What about second chances? You couldn't be lenient for once? That's my only qualm. Usually in life you're given a warning by a parent, teacher, or superior before you're severely punished. No warnings were given at all. It was just *poof*, he's gone.

It was raining by the time I got halfway to my destination. A small storm passing through the County, a slight drizzle, gusts of light wind, wind shield wipers and headlights. There was a chance. A chance I could meet you. Hydro-plane and head straight into a guard rail. If only it would be granted to me. I am not to be so lucky. I arrived at Seven Tavern, a small bar at the edge of town. Some say the infamous Stagger Lee once walked through there but we all doubted it. Nothing ever happens in our dead end town. The place that you live is never that exciting, it's everyone else's territory that seems exciting because its new and fresh. Even with that insight, I never really learned from it. Anyway, Seven Tavern is a bar that a lot of the locals visit during the weekend. I didn't really want to see any of the locals but I wanted to just be near them. I wanted to absorb some of their vibrancy, their life. I hoped that somehow it would make me feel better to know that someone on this earth was happy. If only I could somehow slip in unrecognized and find an open booth and just listen to the house band and order a coke I'd be fine.

Marching through the front door is always a hassle. Even though I'm twenty-two I look like I'm ten. The Bartender, an old friend I went to high school with, recognized me and came to my aid. "He's alright boy's." He told the bouncers with a grin. "Not breaking that fine line you walk are you? Not resorting to the bottle? I would hate to hear that, although it puts money in my pocket."

"No, Just give me a coke when you have time. I just want to be alone with my thoughts. I'll stop by down the line and we'll catch up." A bartender might as well have a dual profession. He's a psychiatrist that prescribes you bourbon, scotch, or beer.

He nods and as I try to slip him five bucks for his trouble he places his hand out to stop me from insulting his hospitality any further. "This one's on me." I shot him my best attempt at a smile and went to a booth in a dim lit corner and sat by myself. It was so loud that I could barely hear myself think. If the band wasn't playing people were chattering away. They were laughing, enjoying the spirit of the room. I found that I wasn't absorbing their lust for life. Their exuberance, there joy. I had nothing. Nothing left to give. Not now. Not Ever? I just continued to sit and take in the world.

I sat for an hour in my corner, nursing my third coke. Not moving. Not acknowledging the lives around me. I was contently insignificant at the moment. Yet it was all soiled by the massive pile of wasted potential who had had one too many lager bombs. It was Todd Johnson. Our high-school's quarterback who blew his chances at a Scholarship to a bigger University to play football because he was caught taking steroids and kicked off the team before his Senior year. You know the type, the real cocky typical jock who finds himself abusing a bottle of self tanner and decided that he would wear beaters all year round, regardless of temperature. He was one of those guys. Since the steroid scandal, Todd has been a patron to local bars since he was old enough to drink. He works long days doing carpentry but ends his days down at the patron saint of spirits cathedral praying for his youth back.

I watched slowly as he strolled, or more like stumbled, his way over to where I was sitting and addressed me. "Aren't you that kid I went to high school with." Yea, I was one of the 750 of our graduating class. I merely nodded so as to not encourage his antics. He then continued on, "How about you buy an old friend a drink."

"I think you have had enough to drink." I said. I wasn't trying to be facetious, It was obvious that if he had anymore he was going to pass out and choke on his own vomit. As much as I didn't like Todd, I didn't want to be responsible for another man's death. I didn't want to be responsible for feeding his addiction. I was standing my ground.

"I'll tell you when I've had enough, unlike your brother. I heard he couldn't just say when. He wasn't like me, I have a strong will. By the way, how's your brother doing? Worms keeping him company?" Every ounce of hate boiled beneath my skin. At that moment I wanted to hit him. Not just hit him, destroy him. I wanted to hit him until he stopped moving and even then I'd only stop when I was punching nothing but floor. I wanted to make sure that it was a close casket funeral. I wanted to snap every bone in his body with my own two hands. Make him suffer and pray that hell come take him. I wanted to slowly cut through his fingertips and take each one piece by piece. I wanted to soil the earth with his blood, his tears. I wanted him to beg for his life at my hands. Every ounce of pain mounted into a full fledged attack. Quicker then I could reason I was up from my seat swinging for the fences. One strong shot left him on the floor but his friends were different stories. For the next five minutes in all the commotion I managed to get hit once in the face and land on the floor. I was kicked in the ribcage, back, and legs multiple times. All I could do was curl my forearms over my face to protect it from any blows that came toward my head. It was broken up by security and the police were called. I was interrogated and when both parties decided that they didn't want to press charges we were all sent home with warnings.

I had enough with being home. I had enough with being real. I left to go back to school. I packed my things and went to a place where I could be only with myself. I kissed my parents goodbye and told them that I needed to get back to school to finish some schoolwork. They understood that, that wasn't the reason but they sent me off anyway. They didn't notice the black eye that was slowly starting to form over my eye. The drive back was the longest ride I've ever taken. It was warm so I left the window down. The sound of traffic buzzing by was a comfort.

I started to think and came up with the following conjecture: With every fleeting moment, we lose our innocence. We rot a little more from the inside. Our bodies are the same as fruit. They age, become tainted, get bruised, and sooner or later the world throws us out. I want to believe that we're more then just an infestation on the earth but I'm not too sure that we aren't.

Cat Power was playing low as I pulled up to the stop light right before my apartment. The buzz from the transformer was heard in the background. Everything was working but no one seemed to be alive. Is this bliss or damnation. I may never know. I was sitting there focusing on the world beyond the physical and visual. A car honked it's horn from behind me. I returned from the alternative universe that I had become entrenched in. The light was green.

CH. 2 Left to the Wind

At 7 A.M. I stumbled into the diner that was right around the corner from his grave yard. It was his now. No one else's. He spent long nights keeping order among the restless ghosts. He kept them settled. He kept them safe. And as the world was rattling at the chain link fence, he kept out the true horrors of death. What exactly they were, I don't yet know but I'm sure we'll meet again in a Kingdom of Sand. That's how I imagined it. That's how I wanted it.

After being seated in a booth at the back of the diner I just sat there staring at the juke box that was built into the table. Someone had been playing a Bruce Springsteen song. It was Atlantic City. It was no more than 45 minutes away. I've seen it a thousand times. I've seen White Trash Vegas in all of its filth and glory. I've seen dead bodies, I've seen the shitty boardwalk where you get the mix of performers and tourists all looking to hit it big. Where destitution meets the rich and famous. Yet, it all brings back so many great memories. Gambling our lives away. Saving up our pennies just to head to Atlantic City when we had saved as much as possible. We were so unintelligent. It was the best.

The waitress walked up and caught me off guard. I had wandered off into the remnants of my mind, searching for Gold. Finding nothing but sand. I wrote that down on a napkin with a crayon as I ordered a cup of coffee. "Watch as I turn Gold to Sand." Everything I do is bound to turn to shit. That's how I reasoned it. That's how I was to forever answer life's deepest secrets. It has a way of shitting on you. My coffee came, two creamers and a whole lot of sugar later, I was able to revive the body that was host to this mind. I didn't want to go home anymore. It wasn't home. It's not anymore. People that I love are there but it's not the same home that I left the weekend before. It's incomplete now and will no longer be a stable home. I had to find cover somewhere else. I went back anyway.

I used to walk in the door and see smiling faces, I now only got half-assed attempts at being pleasant. Like a knife that just keeps twisting and turning, the wound stays fresh. My mom shouted from the back room, "Greg called, he wants you to call him back. He left a message on the machine." No one has been able to answer the phone here because they knew that it'd be someone wanting to talk to them about Teddy. They just didn't want to talk about as much as I didn't want to talk about it.

Me and Greg have been friends for years, starting freshmen year of high school. We started our first band together that wasn't really good and played mostly covers. As we got older we just kept being in bands together. I couldn't picture myself in a band without him. Even at twenty-two, we're still being idiots and playing music together in a band that has a lot of potential. We started it a year ago last month and have slowly been gaining a following of good friends in New Jersey. Fast paced hardcore assault. That's what we loved. That's how we lived. That was something I did with my brother. That was ours. I had to decide whether I wanted to keep doing it without him. I guess that's why Greg called. He knew better then anyone else how close me and Teddy were. His phone rang three times before he picked up. He seemed pretty beat up himself, he loved Teddy. He loved Teddy's band. He loved Teddy being the fun loving, skull cracking, maniac that he was at our shows.

"Hey Gerald, how've you been doing?" came from the ear piece in a deep mundane tone.

"As best as life will allow me to be at this point in time. How about you?"

"I guess I'm doing alright." There was a long silence as if a thousand things were being said without moving our lips. We knew what we wanted to say to each other we just chose not to. If we didn't say it, it wasn't real. It just wasn't and couldn't be. We'd both wake up and laugh about it. Greg then quickly uttered, "Listen Gerald I'm sorry and," I cut him off before I finished.

"Stop. Just call me when the next band practice is. I'll be back next weekend as always. Keep me informed via email and I'll get in touch with you as soon as I'm feeling up to it."

"O.K. Gerald, I guess I'll see you next weekend. We have some new material and a show in two weeks. We all miss you and love you. Keep adapting and I'll talk to you soon." I couldn't say anything else without breaking down in tears so I hung up the phone.

It was here that I realized that fragile lives are left to the wind and I must learn to float with the rest of them. The rest of the day was a blur, nothing mattered. Food tasted murky, water tasted dry. The only comfort I found was in sleep. So I rested.