All our lives

Chapter 4

It was a nice Sunday afternoon, warmer than a day before, yet still chilly for a summer day. He didn't dislike the temperature, especially because in a few days they would perform in scorching temperatures for sure and the gesture of putting a jacket on you in the evening would be just something to dream of.

"Whenever you're ready," the technician gave his OK and he went to the microphone, grabbing the setlist from the man's hands on the way. They didn't have much to rehearse, there were only four or maybe five changes from the previous night, so they should end that pretty quickly and maybe he would get the chance to take a walk and enjoy the city and the breezy weather a little. Too much time spent between four walls, no matter what space they delimited, always ended up as feeling like being in a prison. Yeah, totally! A short walk before the show would do him good.

He glanced over the setlist. "This House is Not for Sale, Raise your Hands, Bad Name, Runaway, Born to...Wait...Why is 'Runaway' so soon? Blood on Blood? We played that yesterday...Where the hell is Rollercoaster?" That's not what he and Dave had discussed last night at the bar. "No Bed of Roses?" They hadn't played it yesterday because they were going to do it today. What the heck was that setlist? "Have a Nice Day, ok...Keep the Faith, ok...Saturday Nights?!" He frowned. "Saturday Nights?!" What kind of joke was that?

"Lemaaaa!" He yelled at his friend. He had lost hope Dave would grow up in this lifetime long ago, but it would have been so nice to save his practical, insipid jokes for another day.

"Wassup?" A curly head emerged from behind the keyboards.

"Where the fuck is the setlist?" He barked at him.

"Uhm..." Dave looked puzzled. "In your hands?"

"In my hands?! Does this look like our setlist?" He asked him and stuck the sheet of paper to his chest. Dave fumbled to catch it, knocking over a bottle of water in the process. Luckily, it had its cap on and no liquid made it on the keys. He threw an eye over the paper, but he delayed a response. Oh, he was good. The mother fucker was extraordinarily good at pretending he was more innocent than a nun, Jon observed.

"It looks OK to me," came his response that infuriated Jon even more.

"Are you high on M&Ms? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"What M&Ms?" David shrugged.

"Oh, yeah...Vitamin C, my bad! Now cut the crap and give me the real setlist!"

David hesitated for a few seconds then handed him the sheet of paper. Jon expected the usual smirk to appear, but no grimace, not the slightest trace of body language betrayed his act. He genuinely looked sincere.

"That's it!" Jon exploded. "You're gonna swim to Liverpool!"

"Cool!" David looked unimpressed. "But...what exactly am I supposed to do there?"

Jon was about to start a tirade on how unprofessionally he was acting and how he would need to audition for another band if he continued like that, when Tico interposed.

"What happened?" He asked and looked directly at David.

"I didn't do anything. I swear!" Dave defended.

Jon snatched the paper from the keyboardist's hands and gave it to Tico.

"Bring me the real one, please!" He said and headed to the center of the stage. He didn't make more than two steps when he heard Tico's deep voice.

"This is the real one..."

He turned and sighed heavily.

"Not you too," he mumbled, almost disappointed. He rolled his eyes and slightly shook his head. With Tico he couldn't argue, the very few disagreements that had sparked between them over the years had been ironed out in a very civilized manner and it was something he didn't want to change. He was sure Tico had the same view, so what in the world had made him adhere to Dave's unintelligible prank? "We don't have time for this. Give me a pen."