Bandom One-shots book 3

Panama....Or Not? (Eddie Van Halen x David Lee Roth)

It was February 14th, 1984, but neither of us were really in the mood for anything typical for Valentine's Day. Not that we ever were. Dave and I had been together for over a decade, married since '73, and our love was anything but conventional. It wasn't about flowers, chocolates, or Hallmark cards. It was about music, laughter, and the kind of ridiculous inside jokes that no one else would ever get.

We were in the studio, just the two of us, working on Panama for the 1984 album, and things were going... well... in the sense that they always did. We were joking around more than we were actually recording, but that was how we worked best.

The song was coming together—the riff was tight, and the rhythm was solid. But Dave? He was doing his thing, as usual. And right now, that thing was throwing me off completely with his absurd lyrics.

"Alright, let's run through it again," I said, tuning my guitar and throwing a glance at him from over my shoulder. "You ready this time?"

Dave was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through his notebook, chewing on the end of a pencil like he was thinking really hard about something important. But I knew better. I could already see the glint in his eyes—the one that meant he was up to something.

He looked up, that wild grin of his stretching across his face, and I had the sudden feeling that I wasn't going to get through this take without laughing.

"Yeah, I'm ready, Ed," he said, stretching his arms out like he was about to do a Broadway number. "Ready to belt out some classic Roth gold."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "You're ridiculous," I muttered, strumming a quick chord to test the sound.

He threw me a playful, exaggerated pout. "Ridiculous? Oh, come on, Ed. You know you love me this way."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I love you, but not when you start making up lyrics."

"Alright, alright, I'll stick to the script," he said with an over-the-top, mock-somber tone. "Panamaaaa..."

He sang the first part with his usual flair, hitting the notes just right, his voice smooth and powerful. I was starting to relax, thinking maybe we'd actually get through a clean take... and then came the next line.

"I wanna reach out and touch you, bolognaaaaaa..."

I stopped playing immediately, staring at him like he'd lost his mind. "Dave, I swear to God, what did you just say?"

Dave was trying—and failing—to hold back the biggest grin. "Bologna. Bolognaaaaa," he repeated, as if that was the obvious choice. "I figured, it's got the same rhythm, right? A little flavor, a little spice."

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I burst out laughing, shaking my head as I clutched my guitar, barely able to play through it.

"Seriously, bologna?" I managed to say between fits of laughter. "What the hell is wrong with you, Dave?"

"What? It works!" he shot back, leaning into the mic like he was about to sing another line, still chuckling. "I mean, you got Panama, you got bologna, both go great on a sandwich..."

I put my guitar down, unable to play anymore. "I don't know how I put up with you," I said, wiping tears from my eyes. "Bologna? In Panama?"

He pulled the mic back and gave me that look—the one that was pure David Lee Roth mischief. "Come on, Ed, I'm making it funky. You know you like it."

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" I said, my voice barely holding back more laughter. "Alright, let's get serious. No more bologna, okay?"

"Fine," he said, making a show of crossing his heart with an exaggerated movement. "But no promises. You're the one who wanted me in the studio today, you know."

"I regret it already," I teased, but I couldn't hide the smile creeping up my face.

"Panamaaaaa..." he started again, this time singing the real lyric, but I could tell he was holding back. He shot me a wink, and I knew it wasn't going to last. "I wanna reach out and touch you, Panama..."

I nodded, glad he was finally on the same page.

But then, just as he got to the second verse, he did it again.

"I wanna touch your....peanut butter?"

I had to take a deep breath to stop myself from laughing again. "What the hell, Dave?" I asked, slapping my palm against my forehead. "Peanut butter? Seriously?"

He grinned wider than I thought possible. "Well, peanut butter and bologna—they go together. Like you and me."

I didn't even have the energy to be mad at him anymore. Instead, I leaned forward, taking a moment to catch my breath. "I swear, you're impossible. You're like a damn child."

"Yeah? Well, you're the one that married me, sweetheart," he said with a wink, his voice dripping with affection. "You put a ring on this, remember?"

I laughed, my chest filling with that familiar warmth that only Dave could bring. "Yeah, yeah, I'm the one who put the ring on you," I muttered, leaning back in my chair. "But it's too late for me now, huh?"

"Oh, it's too late," Dave said, stepping over to my side with that goofy grin. "But you know what? I like it that way. You're stuck with me, Ed. For life."

I couldn't help but smile, my heart full of something that went beyond just love. "I think I can live with that," I said, my fingers lightly brushing over the strings again.

There was a brief pause, and then I caught Dave watching me, that soft, loving expression in his eyes that was rare for him to show in front of anyone. It wasn't the showman Dave that people saw on stage—it was the real Dave, the one who'd been with me for over a decade, who had seen all of me and still stuck around.

He stepped forward, wrapping an arm around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder as he whispered into my ear, "No matter how much I mess with you, I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right?"

I smiled, leaning back into him, resting my head against his for a second. "I know. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Good," he whispered. "Because you're stuck with me, you sweet little rock god. And I'm gonna keep making you laugh, even if it means turning Panama into a sandwich song."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "I really don't know what I'd do without you, Dave."

"Probably a lot of boring stuff," he teased, pressing a kiss to my cheek, still holding me close. "But hey, we make magic together. No bologna about it."

And just like that, despite the ridiculousness of the moment, I knew we had something special—something that went far beyond the music, beyond the jokes, beyond everything anyone could ever understand.

Together, we were unstoppable. Even if that meant turning Panama into a song about bologna.

~Panama...Or Not?~