Elliot Granger & The Clueless Brigade

Chapter Six: The heart is an overrated muscle

I loved show nights. Pete probably didn't realize how much his dreams of being a rockstar made my life more interesting. It was on a small, local scale, but his band had fans, and people were always excited before they came on. Pete started playing the guitar after his tenth birthday. I can still close my eyes and see him getting it. Our moms handed it to him with a blue ribbon. The moment his hands held the guitar a huge smile spread across his face. Our mom's loved going to concerts, and since they were both single, they brought us with them a lot. As my mind reluctantly glanced at memories the realization that Pete probably missed my mom too sunk into my gut like puddles soak a sock.

My eyes found him through the camera lens I had positioned carefully between me and the world. His jet black hair was a crafted spiky mess. A black t-shirt and tight jeans gave the appearance he didn't care what he looked like—I was the only one privy the to Pete's preparations before a show. Only I knew he struggled with aggressive stage fright even though his dream was to be famous and play in front of thousands of people. Pete reached down to plug his mic into the large square amp to his right. My thumb grazed the button taking two pictures very quickly.

He looked at me and smiled, "What kinda shots are you getting?"

"The best ones," I mumbled back. People started lining up outside the small American Legion. Every Saturday night teenagers from all the different suburban pockets filled various crumbling concrete parking lots of whatever Legion was taking turns hosting.

The smell of tobacco oozed off of Wilson's denim jacket as he pushed past me to roll an amp to its proper spot. Wilson was the drummer of Goat's Gin, and possibly the only thing not great about Pete's band. Pete wanted to replace him but felt bad so put up with his mediocre playing and negative, quick-tempered demeanor. Pete was heroically nice.

"Why don't you do something useful?" Wilson growled at me.

I stepped out of his way, "Excuse me is how you go about doing that," I snapped. My back was now pressed up against the brick wall near the stage.

As I glared at Wilson, rolling my eyes, I caught a glimpse of Pete, who was staring at me sporting his wide smile.

"What?" I asked Pete, now instantly distracted from disliking Wilson.

"It's nice having you around," Pete said this to me in a tone different than the one he was just speaking in. Something about the way his voice wrapped sweetly around his words made my stomach go soft in a way that Pete didn't typically cause.

I stepped away from the wall, shaking it off, then crossed my arms in hopes of keeping myself put together, in hopes of keeping myself somewhat safe.

"Where'd your mind just go?" Pete took a step closer to me, his eyebrows furrowed.

Madness was at the tip of my tongue as a small woman with dark brown hair and thick red, horn-rimmed glasses stalked up, pushing past me in a hurry. This was Teresa Martinez, the brains behind the local bands getting to play at new venues every week. She was awesome, but it came with the price of being intimidating and openly opinionated.

"The band before you has a broke down car. Can you guys be ready earlier?" Teresa's voice barked in a way that always made me think of a Shitzu.

"So we are starting?" Pete's whole expressions dropped. "We're supposed to be headlining."

"No, Devil's Brains are going on before you. Still headlining, just sooner."

"Okay, yeah we can be ready."

"You," Teresa poked me in the bicep with her acrylic tipped finger. "Can you take pictures of the merch tables?"

"Yeah." I nodded at her obediently.