Drummer With a Dream: a Dook LaRue Story.

Chapter 2: Closed Days

The day hadn't even really started yet. Dook found himself waking at an odd hour of the early morning. His alarm clock told him two, but the sky said four. Either way, Dook had woke at an ungodly hour of the morning and had to go back to bed. He smooshed his head into the pillow, his mind drowning in tiresome questions. As his eyes locked shut, he remembered that it was the pizzeria's day off and they could sleep in as long as they wanted.

Dook heard himself snore and realized he had supposedly dozed off. Everything went dark until a blaze of light could be seen through his eyelids. Dook rubbed his eyes as he realized it was now sunrise, the clock reading six forty five. The glow of sun was warm, and he sat up slowly, outstretching his arms.

No one else seemed to be up. Dook got out of bed and strutted over to the closet, thinking about what he would wear on a relaxed day like this. Eventually siding with his "Junkyard Dog" (or so it had been titled) look, he got everything he needed.

With the look completed, Dook stepped out to where the mirror showed his outfit. Decked out in a long-sleeved olive green shirt, Dook came complete with overalls possessing sewn-on patches, boots which found themselves tucked neatly under the overalls, and a baseball cap, blue and teal, facing backwards. No longer did he have his gloves, nor his space hat, or his groovy boots of obsidian. Instead, the look almost softened his outer dog appearance.

Dook chewed his bottom lip a little and a smile crept up on his face. It had been so long since he had worn this outfit, and seeing it on him made him remember the older times before their new stage was removed, and replaced for an old one. Dook just kept grinning at his own reflection, feeling so much better.

Fatz's awakening was heard, and Dook just waited patiently. Fatz was in no worry to get everyone together on stage, instead he was more concerned with the stages being cleaned. Fatz poked his head into Dook's room and told him, 'I need you to help your friends clean the stages. They're a mess, that's for sure.'

Dook got up and went to the kitchen, where all the cleaner supplies where. A mop, a broom, a bucket (likely for the mop), a steam-cleaner, a Swiffer, spray bottles, vinegar bottles, and a vacuum cleaner all stood against the wall, waiting patiently.

Dook grabbed a spray bottle and a cloth, followed by a broom. He marched over to where his drumset was and decided to get to work on the cleaning. Dook dragged one of his drums across the floor, hearing the screech it made across the stage. He stopped to realize that it wasn't quite necessary to drag them, and tried lifting the remainder of them instead.

Once the drums and the throne (the stool he sat on) were all moved out of the way, Dook started to sweep the area they once sat in with the broom as light brushes cleared the dust away from the area. Each sweep was rhythmic and soothing, almost relaxing to listen to. He then pulled out the cloth and sprayed it with the cleaning product. Moving to clean the drums, he wiped at dust and swabbed at dirt. The drums came out clean in as little as one wipe.

When Dook rearranged his area, he looked up to see that everyone was done cleaning theirs too. The stages looked magnificent, as if performance was minutes away. Dook knew he did a promising job and could already feel that he was making himself better.

Dook went to go grab some food, this time scooping out macaroni and savoring it into a small plastic bowl. His head became absorbed in a combination of showtape ideas and his wild imagination. What if they had a performance that took place in outer space?

Fatz strutted in to collect a few bowls and served himself what he would consider a meal of kings. Dook forked a small amount of macaroni into his mouth as Fatz picked up three forks and walked away with his miniature buffet. Dook remembered what Fatz told him, to have more of a sense of confidence. Maybe that'll just contribute to all future shows.

Dook went to go sit in the back room, which was the restaurant equivalent of the living room. Beach Bear was sprawled across the couch with arms and legs stretched, so Dook was restricted to sitting on the arm of the sofa or the floor. Dook decided just to sit on the floor to be polite, and parked himself to watch the TV by the foot of the couch.

The show was one of the talk shows Mitzi got Beach Bear into a while ago. Heaven knows how she got that to happen, or if she got it to happen at all, since Beach Bear looked as if he was catching Z's with his eyes open. They asked a famous interviewer how he got his business so successful. Dook looked over at Beach Bear, who was one slight nod away from sleepytime. 'Beach Bear,' Dook whispered. 'That's really a mood.'

Dook eventually got up and left, while Beach Bear nodded off on the sofa. Dook also decided to go to his room and configure what he had learned today: nothing. He started making a list of things he should consider when trying to perform, like, lose the stuttering. Lose the stuttering. That's not an easy one.

Dook noticed it was eight forty five and decided he would just stay up all night, creating a list. He made sure this list was specific, and pointed every key thing he needed to make his shows better in order to help Fatz. Tomorrow, once the list was created, everything would be put into immediate effect as a try out.