What He Wrote

Chapter 9

A regret.

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I was greeted rather unceremoniously from my nap by the ringing phone on my desk. I ripped the headphones from my ears, mouthing curse words at the pain that bloomed from my groggy action. The phone finally stopped ringing, but the moment I sunk back into my bed, the noise picked up again. Accepting what I would have to do, I picked it up and pressed the answer button.

"Aye! Guys, he finally picked up!" Mason's smooth, almost boyish tone erupted from the device, followed by several other familiar shouts.

"Is the whole band there?"

"Well, yeah. It's a practice day."

I mouthed more curse words as I internally punched myself.

"Look, Teddy. We all understand what you and Copper are going through, but the record labels are starting to get impatient. Four were into us, and now we're down to three. Those three want us in a studio ASAP. We need our drummer back."

Cleo's words bounced around my mind. "That's my dying wish. That you guys will make it big."

"Are you at Finley's?"

"Yeah."

"I'm on my way."

I hung up the phone before Mason could say anything back. I felt undeniably guilty for letting the band down, especially at one of the most crucial moments of our careers. At the same time, I knew that if I had spent more time with Twisting Gravity than with Cleo, I would feel worse.

I pulled up to Finley's house, which was an old, squat, one story building. The lawn was pristine and the house freshly painted. Classic Finley. I always forgot about his surprising neat-freak habits, which was a trait you would not expect from a man as tattooed as him.

I opened the door without bothering to knock. I could hear several muffled voices and strummed guitars coming from the basement as I walked inside. It almost felt strange to be back at the place I had practically lived at for two years even though I had only been gone for a month. The walls were no longer a light, dingy green and there were pictures of us from some of our performances hanging up on the walls. I felt lonely, and vaguely like a kid who overheard rumors about a birthday party only to discover he wasn't invited.

"Oh, crap!" I narrowly avoided stepping on Pig, who was Finley's unusually large pet turtle. "Watch where you're going, big guy." Pig just continued walking past my legs at his leisurely pace. I followed his example and walked slowly to the basement. They must have heard me open the door, because the moment I set my foot onto the first step I was greeted by a sarcastic, "Look who decided to show up!"

Smiling, I instinctively smacked the small world map that hung above the fourth stair. It had been there since Finley moved in, and had become a bit of a good luck charm to us. We'd hit it before practices and shows, fearing bad performances if we didn't. The map was one of those weird secret things that brought a group together.

"We've missed you!" Lia tackled me as soon as I entered the room. It was a rare show of affection from her, so I hugged her back and mumbled a "Me too."

Once she let go of me, I surveyed the room with a smirk. Nothing had changed. Finley was toying around with a saxophone while Jason practiced a riff over and over again. The room smelled the same way it always had; a mixture of dust, wood, and men's deodorant. I felt at home.

"Welcome back, Teddy bear." Mason punched my arm jokingly and used the nickname he gave me when we first met.

"I don't know how you guys managed with out me."

"Honestly, I don't know either. But we have a lot of catching up to do, that's for sure."

"Did you book any shows?"

"There were a few we were able to push back, but not many. Not to mention the meetings with these labels we have to go to. They refused to meet just the four of us. They wanted the whole set."

"I hate to break up the reunion, but we need to actually make some music. There are new covers to rehearse and songs to figure out." Jason said in his usual let's-get-it-done voice.

"Right. Let's make sure Teddy didn't forget everything in a month." Mason smirked.

I walked over to my drums, an old red set that I discovered at a thrift shop. I sat on the patched up stool and picked up the drumsticks that lied next to it. They felt strangely foreign in my hands, and for a second I was scared. I was starting to doubt myself.

But then Mason played a familiar tune, and something woke up inside of me. I didn't have to think. My mind went blank, but my body knew what to do. I lost myself. I lost myself and found myself again and again. I forgot about everything. I forgot about my dad. I forgot about the hospital. I forgot about record labels and studios and becoming famous. For a moment with in that three minute span, I forgot about Cleo.

And that made me feel more guilty than anything else.