Rock 'N' Roll Singer

𝗧𝗪𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗬-𝗙𝗢𝗨𝗥

     Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. Where did he go?

      I grabbed Jack by the collar and tried to explain what was wrong, but resorted to a spastic sort of arm-flailing that barely explained anything.

     "Hell, don't tell me he ran off," he groaned.

     Mark had already set off to find him, trailing the length of the square-shaped park. Since he went north, Jack and I went south. We called out for him and scanned the people across the street on the sidewalk. I got a strange sense of déjà vu while looking for a boy with the black leather vest. Who knew that he could run so damn fast? Not us, since we swapped shrugs when we reached the edge between the greenery and asphalt.

     "Maybe he took a bus?"

     "Or like he threw us under one." I rubbed my temples and sat on the bench by the bus stop.

     The sun was no longer a gentle feeling on my skin, reminding me of the joys of summer, but instead a burning sensation that made me tear up. I didn't want to be angry at Joey, nor at anyone, but why at this exact moment? We could've talked about whatever was going on with him and gotten this whole thing sorted out. Now, we were running around a park with God knows how much time we had left to be back on stage. Jack slumped in the seat next to me and watched the Sydney traffic go by. Tom would never forgive us for this, I was certain of it, though in the best case scenario, he would find some other drummer to take Joey's place. But Joey was part of the band, part of us. He was the Ringo, the Charlie Watts, the bringer of the backbeat. He wasn't just the bloke in the back no one saw, someone to be discarded.

     A Greyhound bus pulled up along the sidewalk and hissed to a stop. If Joey did take a bus, I hoped that he would magically reappear on the steps. We watch passengers pour out the door, passing us by without a second glance, but no Joey. Our heads hung in disappointment.

     "C'mon, move it already," the driver growled.

     I lifted my head up assuming that he was talking to us, ready to take a note from Tom and give him some unpleasant words, but he looked over his seat instead, focusing on someone on the bus. They probably just fell asleep and missed their stop, but that didn't mean he had to be an ass about it.

     "We're going, we're going!" A young voice shouted back. "Jesus."

     Off the bus stepped Beverly, joined by a gaggle of other teenagers behind her. The disgruntled driver rejoined a line of cars navigating a nearby roundabout, completely missing the V-sign flashed by a boy trying hard to look like Sid Vicious II.

     "Marie? What are you doing over here?"

     I wiped my face free of any rolling tears and smiled at the sight of seeing her. To be fair, I forgot that I told her about the concert, but I was relieved to see her anyway.

     "Beverly! Hi!" I started, trying to uphold the cheery, absolutely-nothing-is-wrong attitude. "What are you doing over here?"

     "You know how hard it is to force fifteen people onto a bus with only fare for three? We were originally just going to watch the show on the telly at my house, but I knew that we just had to see you perform live."

     "I appreciate your support," I gushed. "But we might have to call it quits halfway through."

      She nearly lost grip of the poster in her hands. Her friends' jaws hit the pavement and continued to the center of the Earth.

     "Have you gone troppo?" She exclaimed. "What the actual hell are you talking about?"

     "We lost our drummer," Jack explained. "He was freaking out and ran off after a song. He's been acting weird all day, and especially during our show."