Weeping Angels

Part XVII: Practicing for something.

Guitar chords rang out into the night.

Over and over again, Kettu Kinson sat in the dark apartment, strumming riff after riff of soft chords, his intense focus unyielding to any minor distraction. No thought passed through his mind other than the song itself, and what it meant to him. He stared at the lyrics, which he had written down on a fresh piece of white paper.

Something was missing from it all.

He read through the lyrics once again, taking mental note of the song’s structure, and sat back. He needed a way of expressing his feelings more openly than the ambiguous lines that made up the song. What it was missing was to be a proclamation of his feelings without a filter, with nothing to misinterpret. He picked up his pen and squinted through the dark as he began scrawling down more words.

Perfect. He thought to himself. It’s done. A smile crept across his face and he laid his guitar to rest on top of his amplifier. He turned the switch off and sighed. This was going to be the hardest thing he’d done in his life, without a doubt. But there was surely some kind of reward at the end of it, whether it was winning Nina over, or total rejection and a valuable life lesson, it was certainly going to be worth it. But he couldn’t help but feel like a failure would leave him emotionally crippled, at least for a short time. He yawned. It’d been over eight hours of perfecting his song, and decided to set aside his concerns and lay down on his futon, staring up at the ceiling.

And soon he was asleep.

A knock at his door stirred him from his sleep, and through blurry eyes, he stared around at the room. It was morning, or early afternoon, Kettu couldn’t tell. The knocking continued as Kettu sat up.

“Coming.” Kettu called out blearily and shook off a shallow night’s sleep. He pulled himself to his feet and walked to the door, which was still being knocked upon. He turned the doorknob and opened the door.

“Heard you want a solo part in the gig.” Jack said, a scowl on his face.

“Yeah, I do.” Kettu stared at Jack, who had his arms crossed in front of him, a scowl on his face.

“You know, we’re supposed to play as a fuckin’ band, Kettu, not solo acts.” Jack sighed, leaning against Kettu’s doorframe.

“It’s important to me.” Kettu fired back, he could feel the heat of frustration flooding his face.

“I know.” Jack said, sighing, “That’s why I’m being an idiot and letting you do it. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s not?” Kettu asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No. Phil and Ben are on their way here. We tried to call you, but there wasn’t any answer. Then Ben goes off, spouting off some shit saying that you just got out of the nuthouse because you tried to kill yourself and said that we should get over here.” Jack looked at Kettu sternly, “He’s lying, right?” Kettu looked over at his answering machine, which was blinking wildly. He must’ve slept through the phone ringing.

“No, he’s not.” Kettu sighed, motioning for Jack to come in, “I was in a really dark place for awhile, and did some really stupid things.”

“You can say that again.” Jack snorted, “Listen, K, I’m not a big sappy fuck, but you’re one of the band, and we’re practically brothers, and the last thing we want to see is one of our band mates try and off themselves.”

“Thanks Jack.” Kettu said, smiling slightly.

“Don’t give me any of that sappy crap!” Jack waved his hands in front of him as if warding off poison, “Just don’t blow your head off, ok? Good guitarists are hard come by.”

“I won’t, at least not anymore.” Kettu said, looking at the song that still lay on his desk, and he noticed that it had caught Jack’s attention as well.

“Writing a new song?” Jack asked.

“Why else would I request a solo segment?” Kettu asked as Jack made his way over to the desk and picked it up, and began reading it over.

“Nice stuff, Big K.” Jack nodded his approval, “A lot better than that wrist-cutting crap you were always writing. It’s emo and sappy, but from what Ben tells me, it’s for that girl of yours, so I guess it’s fitting.”

“Thanks,” Kettu said, his attention caught by frantic banging at the door.

“It’s open!” Kettu called, and watched as Ben and Phil made their way into the room.

“Kettu, you’re okay!” Ben sighed, sounding relieved. “When you weren’t answering your phone I . . .” Ben looked at Jack, then back to Kettu, “I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean to tell them about what was going on-”

“It’s okay, Ben.” Kettu said, “I’ll have to face up to it at some time or another.” Kettu sighed.

“So what Ben was saying is true? You tried to kill yourself?” Phil asked, his eyes bulging.

“It’s true.” Kettu nodded.

“And yet you’re willing to go out on stage, with some mystery solo song, and sing to a girl in hopes of winning her over in front of ten thousand people?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Well, if she shoots you down, A month’s worth of booze and lap dances are on me!” Phil cried out, “You’ll get laid regardless, my friend, and I’ll show you some good times!”

“Thanks for the offer, Phil.”

“You won’t need it.” Ben said confidently.

“I doubt he will either.” Jack said, waving the song around, “have you guys seen this? It’s so damned poignant that it’d melt the heart of any chick that heard it. Even if this Nina chick turns him down, there will be hundreds of ’em willing to jump his bones!”

“How tactful of you, Jack.” Kettu rolled his eyes.

“Well, no matter what happens, you have your brothers in Sanctus, Big K.” Jack said, clapping a hand on Kettu’s shoulder. The others did the same, and for the first time ever, Kettu felt like he had a family. He smiled, a tear coming to his eye.

“Thanks, guys.” Kettu said.

“Shit, man, he’s crying!” Jack threw his arms up, “somebody get us booze to drown all this emotion!”