The Gemini

8 - Silk Angel

October 19, 1988

Nights were the worse. The daytime wasn't any better but once darkness fell Roger entered his own personal hell. No distraction worked. He had tried them all. Sex and booze quelled him none, not for as long as he needed them too. Sex brought him a false high and booze only made him feel sloppy. He tried drugs once but that only made him feel like he was going crazy. He drew the line at hallucinations, there was enough going on in his head already.

He could never sleep for longer than two hours at a time. It seemed that his nightmares were on a strict schedule to show up and wreck whatever little piece of quiet he found. Often he was left walking the floor of his makeshift house. The illegally acquired thing along with its illegally acquired contents. All courtesy of a few bumps and friend of a friend or however that went. He knew enough people and yet none at all. They were there when he wanted, but never when he needed.

Which was fine, he supposed, since he'd only drive them away. Because what did they know? Nothing better than him. Yet in every second of that pride, he was dying. Losing more of what he once barely knew.

In the studio he could breathe easier. Amongst his instruments, every piece an extension of himself. What kept him sane. Entering its door put an instant perk in his spirit. It was still painful to think that until a few months ago, it was all slipping through his fingers.

Before he found his angel in a DJ booth, his well had run completely dry. His nightmare was eating his will to play. Not a strum, or a beat, nor the noise of a piano key could make him feel. But then there she was. Heaven in the flesh, come to make him whole again. To drown out his ugly sin.

Black bodied electric in his lap, Roger dragged his hand up its neck and back down. Six hours he spent with it earlier, pouring out his soul to an empty room. He played a sound different than the pained melody of before. Forlorn this one was. There wasn't much change between the two emotions, but for him there was difference enough.

Again, thanks went to his angel. It was after she graced his sights for the first time that he wrote again. His first real song in two years. Anything before that was either instrumental or incomplete, the majority of those he hated and scrapped. To any ear, they flowed flawless. To his, nothing lined up on them. Each note Roger saw as a mistake created during a specific moment in time that he almost always regretted minutes after.

Then came Electric Chair. A brand new baby that made him proud. Yes for its completion but more so because of its muse. The song was composed from truth and Jody was none the wiser. It was the story of them and the night they met at 94 East. The night his world changed.

June 17, 1988

Roger walked in the place with the intent to find a body to get him right. The joint was pumping, jam packed, and smelling good. A flowery scent smacked him in the face right at the door. He guessed someone must have poured on an entire bottle of perfume before leaving the house. It was strong but he didn't mind it much. Better than sweat. He had been in some rank clubs before, the memory gave him chills.

He came along with a friend, Dez, but the man disappeared faster than Roger could blink. Chasing after a leopard print mini skirt. Roger figured that Dez had only seen the spandex because what was on top wasn't worth even speed-walking after.

He wasn't trying to be too picky. A girl didn't necessarily have to be Miss America, but he at least needed her to have a face that would distract his guilt the next morning. Guilt because while these girls got attached he was just blowing off some steam. On rare occasion a few of them made it difficult to say goodbye. So after a couple of call backs, he cut them loose and moved on.