I Just Wanted to be Edgy Too

Chapter One

Van

I sometimes forget how much I love Benji Blakeway.

I forget how deep the span of our boyhood goes, and how much of his adolescence rubbed off onto me, and vice versa. I forget that he's been at my side since we were kids, dodging punches and sharing cigarettes in parking lots. I forget that he sat through every break up and proclamation of new love I announced. He was one of the first people I ever got drunk with, one of the first people I told when I kissed a girl for the first time. For all intents and purposes, he was my brother, just as good to me as my best friend, Larry was in more ways than not.

Sometimes I forget all that, but tonight, tonight I'm reminded why I love the bloke.

His fingers pick up when he hears me slowing down on my guitar and hesitating on my words. If the crowd notices, they say nothing, but Benji can hear it, sense it even. I'm belting what's left in my lungs into a mic that shorted out a few times already. Maybe if I could stay in one place and not get tangled in the cords littering the stage, it wouldn't be a problem, but that's another story. Benji senses my lag in the chorus, and hears my breath as I plow my fingers through the strings harder. If they hold up until the end, we'll have one hell of a send off, but if they split, if any one of them breaks before it's over, we're going to call it a night early. I've had to improvise a finale before. I've played through the final bridge with an air guitar while Benji kept the beat along with Bob's drums. In those moments, everything relies upon Johnny Bond, my lead guitarist who depending on his mood, might give some or might give all.

I didn't want tonight to be one of those nights. I didn't want tonight to be an air guitar night. Tonight needs to end on a high note, which brings me back to Benji.

My mic shorts out again just as my voice cracks on the high note, and without hesitation, Benji dives in, cutting through the roar of the crowd and the deep spine of Bob's drums. His bass shrugs its shoulders off Bondy's finale, and he delivers the background vocals with such prestige, that I don't even need to sing my part. The audience is doing it for me. I raise my hands over my head and clap along to the beat Bob's conveying. Benji tosses me a knowing smile, and for a moment I lose track of it all. I'm not on a stage in America, in front of thousands of screaming people, I'm in a basement with the boy who turned out to be a rockstar a decade later. He's still a mess of curly hair and quiet jokes, and I love him for all of that. I shake my head and I'm back in the now, as Benji leads the crowd into an encore of madness. Bondy's guitar echoes off the snare drum casually, and I catch a glimpse of his eyes on me. I know that look. He's waiting to see my next move, waiting to see how this will play out, and I decide to make tonight about Benji.

I wrap my free arm around Benji's neck, my guitar hanging loosely from my side, grip his mic and sing into it with him. The uproar from the crowd ensures me it was a good move to make. Benji laughs as his elbow narrowly avoids my rib cage, and I slice my fingers through my guitar strings, pelt out the last line, and point at Benji during the send off.

I fucking love Benji Blakeway.

The lights stay low as the song ends, the boys bow after throwing out picks and drumsticks. I stay for a moment and clasp my hands over my mouth, sending kisses into the air as I drape my guitar around Larry, my best mate turned guitar tech. He tosses a black towel over my neck in return and I duck into the small room to the left of the stage.

My tour manager, Steve, tosses me a water and I finish it in one long swig, wiping my lips with the sleeve of my button down shirt. He hands everyone else a water and congratulates us on another good show. I think he uses the term well played, but I black out as he attempts to manage us. I don't need managed right now. I'm high on the euphoria that happened minutes ago, and I'm not ready to let the politics of what I do ruin that yet. I reach for another water and run the towel through my damp hair. I'm soaked in sweat like I am after every gig we play. I run the towel along my neck and take a deep breath. I turn on my heel and see my band mates doing the same. It takes a moment for us to catch our breath, and once we have, we immediately exchange screams and pats on each others backs. For a second, it feels like we're new again. It feels like 2015, when we were riding the coat tails of a newly released album and promoting it worldwide. I feel younger, bolder even. At some point during our run, I grew up. I can't tell you when it happened. Maybe it was after the second album catapulted us into extreme success. Maybe it was at the end of a relationship with a woman I thought I'd have forever. Maybe it was just age.

Tonight, it felt like it used to. An ease. Benji reaches for two bottles of beer from the fridge and hands me one on a smile. We exchange glances for a moment, the unspoken bond of boyhead tapping lightly on our shoulders. Bondy grabs a beer for himself and tosses one to Bob who fumbles with it, but eventually secures it in his grasp.

"You two going to make out now, or what?" Bondy's tone cuts through the atmosphere sharply and we all laugh and clink our bottles together.

"Well played, Blakes." I say as I bring the bottle to my mouth, the beer going down much easier than it should.

"Well sang, McCann." He replies and we laugh as Bondy imitates the screams from the door behind us.

**

Sometime after I'd lost count of how many beers I had, I find myself outside, leaning against the brick wall of the venue. I hit my fag like it's a joint, and I wish it was. Maybe we were in Chicago, maybe we were in Milwaukee, maybe it didn't matter. The days started bleeding together in 2016, and they never really stopped. The word on the street was that we wouldn't be home for Christmas this year, not that I had anyone to be home for, but I saw the dissatisfaction in Bob's eyes when he overheard Steve setting up holiday shows and booking interviews. I saw the concern spread across Benji's face, but he wiped it away when he caught me looking. I could sense their stress even when they were doing their best to hide it. Sometimes I wish they would just feel it, just let it live.

I blew out a lung full of smoke and pressed myself further into the wall of the building. It was cold for early fall, but it felt oddly like home and I smiled lightly at the thought. Even though I had no one there other than my Mum and Dad, it still stung knowing it would be sometime after the New Year before I really spent time with them again.

I was interrupted by the slamming sound of the metal door crushing into the wall next to me. I backed away instinctively and brought the fag to my side. The loud booming voice of our opening act echoed off the metal of the door, and he had a women draped around him that looked barely legal. I held my tongue at all the things I wanted to say to him. I was him once. I was just like he was for many months and it cost me a lot of good things in my life. I wish I could warn him about it, but him and I...we don't dig each other.

I swallowed the bile that was rising in my throat as he looked at me and threw shade.

"McCann...keep this between us okay? Promise?" He motioned to the girl wrapping herself around him. I knew what he was getting at. His girlfriend would be joining him on tour in a few days, and he didn't want her to know about any of this.

I nodded at him once and finished my fag.

The first thing you should know about me, is I'm terrible at keeping promises.