Fix My Feet When They're Stumblin'

Chapter 4

    From his seat high up on stage behind the drum kit, Ronnie always had a decent view of the first few rows of fans at their gigs, and the sight of their expressions during the debut of their new songs filled his heart with pride. He never tired of that moment, giving these small groups of fans the opportunity to be the first in the world to hear these new pieces of art they had created. It was always nerve-wracking, especially for Brandon, who fed off of the energy of crowd, because that energy always dropped to zero when they were hearing new material for the first time - they wanted to hear the music clearly and absorb it. But the fans' expressions tonight could only be described as awestruck, and at the end of each new song the venue exploded with joyful noise, deafening cheers and whistles and enthusiastic applause. Pausing to grab his water bottle, Brandon looked up at his drummer, a grin lighting up his face. "They like it, Ron," he called, and Ronnie rolled his eyes at him.

    "Of course they do, it's fucking awesome!"

    The energy the rest of the gig was electric, building all the way through until suddenly, all too soon, they had finished the set. Tossing his drumsticks out to the screaming crowd, Ronnie accepted a fresh towel from a crew member and joined the rest of the band backstage. Usually, there was a period of quiet after their shows as the tired band members recuperated, but tonight the atmosphere backstage was loud and boisterous, filled with excitement as they dissected the crowd's reactions to the new material and scoured social media for fans' first impressions. Ronnie opened the fridge and picked out a beer and a green glass bottle of Perrier sparking water, then made his way back to the dressing room.

    Slipping inside, he was immediately greeted by a joyful exclamation of "Ron!!!" and a tight hug. Brandon had clearly just finished taking a quick shower - his hair was wet and he had traded his glittery stage clothes for dark jeans and his faded black Battle Born t-shirt. "It's not - it's not just us, the fans like it, too! You know - w-we knew it was good, but sometimes we're not so good at guessing what the fans will think - b-but they really liked it!" Brandon's grin was so wide it nearly reached his ears and he was so excited that he was stuttering more than usual in his haste to get his words out. His grin grew even bigger when Ronnie held out the bottle of Perrier.

    "Thought you could use one, Brandon," Ronnie said with a smirk, popping the lid off of his own beer.

    "Ah, thank you! I love you," Brandon sighed, his eyes moving from Ronnie's face to the familiar green bottle as his giant grin settled into a satisfied smile. Taking a swig of the water, he turned to his battered navy blue suitcase, lying open next to the dressing room couch - it appeared he had already started packing up to return to the tour bus.

    "Man, that was a good gig. The crowd was on fire all night. And it just feels good, getting back on stage. It's really been a minute." Ronnie stretched his arms over his head, but then let out a spluttering cry in surprise - he had overextended his arm and accidentally tipped his bottle, spilling beer into his sweaty hair. Brandon had looked up just in time to see the incident, and immediately dissolved into helpless, high-pitched gasping giggles. Ronnie joined him in hysterics, although his laughter had been partially triggered by the comical way his friend's eyes had widened in slow motion as he tracked the stream of alcohol in its journey through the air. they both collapsed onto the couch. As they finally regained their composure, Brandon looked back up at Ronnie, only to again fall into a fit of boundless laughter - the beer had started to crawl down the drummer's check and stalled near his nose. Ronnie snorted and pulled the towel from around his neck and swiped it across his face.

    "Oh....man...I don't know why that was so funny but I wish Rob had been here to get a picture of you," Brandon gasped, struggling to compose himself. "I wanna put it on the wall in our studio, that was so great!"

    Ronnie grimaced, but it quickly turned into a grin. "It's just 'cause we're still high from the show, that's all...man, that was so good though. Gold," he chuckled with a shake of his head.

    "Yeah...but now I really can't wait for the album to come out, I wanna see what they think of everything," Brandon mused, heaving himself to his feet to resume collecting his belongings from their places strewn around the dressing room. "We think this record's one of our best, at least..." he let the thought trail off, distracted as he tried to condense the haphazard tangle of clothing, papers and electronics in his suitcase.

    "It is, and they'll see that," Ronnie proclaimed, brandishing his bottle in the air. "The songs speak for themselves, they're so nutritious. Sometimes it's a bumpy ride to get there, but we've been through all that before and we can do it again if we need to. But I think this record is gonna win them over, it's impossible not to love it."

    He finished the last of his beer in one long draught and tossed it in the bin with a flourish. Ronnie showered while Brandon successfully completed packing his suitcase and called home, asking each of his sons in turn about their day, difficulties with homework and plans with friends. A knock on their door heralded the arrival of Jeremy, their tour manager, who warned that they needed to leave within half an hour to make their flight to Kansas City, and handed Brandon two slips of paper with his and Ronnie's press schedules for the following day.

    "Let's go, we'll all need to rest up. It's gonna be a big day tomorrow, the article with Q comes out in the morning."

    Brandon nodded, perusing his own schedule, tucking it into his pocket and placing Ronnie's on top of his luggage. "Thanks, Jeremy. We'll be out in a minute."

    Several minutes later, Ronnie emerged dressed in a vintage Iron Maiden t-shirt and jeans. He quickly gathered all of his things and threw him into his own suitcase, and they both checked the nooks and crannies to be sure nothing had been left behind. Brandon followed the drummer out of the door, feeling his heart flutter madly in his chest in anxious anticipation of their upcoming flight. New Jersey had been a resounding success; he hoped each new show would be an improvement on the last.