Another Five Years

Happiness Is a Warm Gun

*1986*

He saw her in every crowd for the first several weeks, her brown hair and green eyes haunting him all the way from Virginia. She hadn't answered his calls, though he had heard her voice in the background once when he spoke to her father. The excuses were all the same, she was never home, apparently always touring a college or some other story to let him down easy. Between his sister and Jimmy, he learned that Anna had graduated early with honors and was taking some time to decide on a college. She'd probably end up at an Ivy League where future senator Craig Williams would scoop her up and make her the ultimate DC trophy wife. He just didn't understand how she could be so cruel, why she would be so cold to him after all they had been through. His sadness turned to anger, which turned to energy behind the kit. He took out all his frustrations during gigs, gritting his teeth and unleashing on the drums to try and forget the way she felt against him, the way she laughed and the way she tasted. He was angry that she had ruined this tour for him. He was supposed to be having the time of his life, seeing Europe and playing punk to crowds, sleeping with groupies and trying out the buffet of intoxicants laid before him, but he fucking missed her. He had tried to dull the pain with other girls, but it always came back to Anna in the final moments. 

The Euro tour ended in the spring and he was eager to get home and away from the tour van that would probably have to be burned to rid it of the smell. His mother and sister met him at the airport, embracing him tightly as he stepped off the plane. He didn't care who saw or which of the guys made fun of him, he had missed them too.

"She's not here," his sister said quietly from the backseat of their mom's car, noticing he was searching the streets outside the car as they drove home.

"Who's not here?" he asked, playing dumb in the hopes she would drop it.

"She's on the west coast. She earned a full ride to-"

"Lisa, stop," his mom admonished, successfully killing the subject.

West coast. Anna really was gone.

*1990, Los Angeles, California*

"What the fuck do you mean 'you're out'?" David yelled into the phone. He couldn't just bail on the band, they were still in LA and no one had enough money to get the fuck back home. He couldn't do this to them!

"I've already signed with another band, man," Skeeter yelled back. "It's a done deal." He hung up before David had a chance to reply.

"Fuck!" he yelled, slamming the phone down on the receiver. He felt himself panic before taking a deep breath. He was going to see Buzz that night at a Melvin's gig, he knew Buzz would help him out. Relaxing a little at the thought, he settled back into the couch that had been his bed for the past five nights and lit his joint, eager to check out for a bit.

*

"Call this guy," Buzz yelled over the din of the backstage chaos. "He's a weird cat, but super talented. They've already seen you play and they're interested. They need a drummer ASAP."

"Okay, thanks," David said, staring down at the 360 area code on the slip of paper in his hand. "I really appreciate it, man."

"No problem," Buzz clapped his hand on David's shoulder and looked around the room. "I've got a couch you can crash on until then, okay? Try to have some fun tonight."

David only nodded, carefully folding the slip of paper into his wallet. It was his ticket out of LA and back home via a quick detour to Washington state. All he had to do was audition for this underground band, which would most likely send him home with a promised call back, only to vanish into thin air. Then he could go back to Shakey's pizza or whatever middle-class hell awaited him back in Virginia. In search of a quiet place to think he slipped out the back door, propping it open with a chair while he lit a cigarette. He stood in the cool air for a bit, trying to ignore that the alley smelled like urine and dead raccoon when a set of long legs strutted next to him. Fuck, here we go.