Elegy - Chapter 12

Just like the Charlotte show, we left for Raleigh Saturday morning so we could still play and get paid for Friday and Sunday at the Blue Ridge, except this time we had to leave even earlier, well before the sun came up. It was a five-hour drive, and Kat’s swim practice was at one and went until three. Our show was set to start at seven, which meant we needed to be there by five for soundchecks, leaving only two hours after the swim practice to tour the school, and that didn’t count getting ourselves ready.

At least this time we planned ahead. Kat had skipped our Friday show and gone to bed early, so she did all the driving while I zonked out in the passenger seat, which was significantly easier to do in her car than it was in the packed van.

Hanna was over the moon to see us. Even better, there was no sign of Troy. I’d been able to catch up with Hanna just last week, so I hung back letting her and Kat reconnect. Kat looked as happy as I’d seen her look in a long time, which was all the proof I needed to know that this had been a good idea.

Arm in arm, they strolled ahead of me, planning all the things they’d do once they were both here. They’d already submitted the paperwork to be roommates next year, and I swear they acted like they were going to own the campus.

They paused in front of a magnificent red and white brick building, crenellations lining the top, its windows reaching out on both sides.

“Can we go in here?” Kat asked, bounding towards a white brick archway that housed ornate wooden double doors.

I craned my neck to read the sign at the bottom of the steps. She had, in fact, found the math department.

“It’s Saturday,” I called from the bottom of the steps. "There aren’t any classes going on right now, are there?”

“No,” Hanna confirmed.

“But I just want to see what the classrooms look like. I promise I won’t take long,” Kat said, looking hopefully at both of us.

“Charlie, don’t be a party pooper,” Hanna said, circling me to give me a light push on my back, directing me up the stairs after Kat. “Of course, we can look around.”

“Hey, I didn’t say ‘no,’” I said, catching up to Kat and holding open the heavy door.

The whole building felt stuffy, like an old library, which was probably exactly what they were going for. I was been picturing classrooms like we had at Carr. Instead, all the ones on the first floor were more like auditoriums, with large whiteboards spanning one side and facing rows of long, counter-like tables. They could probably fit a hundred or more students in here at one time, which I guess worked for something like Math where it was students just writing stuff down as the teacher talked.

I had always known that I wasn’t the kind of person who loved school, even the idea of college. But Kat? She loved it. The same huge, beige room that I found impersonal, she saw as a refuge. She moved from one seat to another, pretending what it would be like to be in this class. I didn’t get it, but it was good to see her so happy.

The upper floor housed classrooms that looked a lot closer to what I’d been picturing, with a desk and whiteboard at the front of the room and individual desks for the students facing it. Some of the rooms still had problems up on the boards, which Kat excitedly tried to solve. She was taking Calculus Two this year, but that was still a high school-level course, and most of these problems were a little beyond her current level.

“This is just a start,” Hanna said, as we finished exploring one room and moved on to the next. “Talk to your professors and get to know them. If you can find one to mentor you, you can really learn things. The things Professor Cross has taught me are better than any actual class.”

“You got lucky,” Kat responded.

“Maybe, but you’re ten times smarter than I am. Once they figure out that you’re a genius, they’ll be falling over each other trying to make you their pet nerd,” Hanna said, and then dodged a push from Kat, both girls laughing.

Kat suddenly held up her phone, pointing at the doors to the building.

“Stand up on the steps,” she instructed. “I want to take a picture for me.”

Hanna looped her arm through mine while Kat backed up to the sidewalk, holding her camera up, when a bunch of what I could only think of as frat guys, dressed a lot like Troy dressed, came walking down the steps, laughing and being generally loud.

I’d never been one to mingle with frat guys; although Hanna’s ex Marcus had flirted with the idea before he headed off to college. But Troy had really soured me on them. It probably wasn’t fair to judge them all using him as a standard, but so far I hadn’t been overly impressed by any of them. This group did nothing to change my opinion.

As they walked past Kat, still being loud and obnoxious, one of them swung out and smacked her on the butt. I knew how Kat was with confrontations and how she froze up whenever anyone got physical with her or made advances at her. Walking by and doing that would have been bad enough, but three of them had broken off and huddled around her while the rest of the group kept going, which was going to make it worse for her.

I charged down the steps, ready to intervene when Kat surprised me, putting up a hand in a stop gesture while still looking at the guys.

“… wouldn’t wear them so tight if you didn’t want it, baby,” one of the guys was saying as I came jogging up.

“How else am I going to find a guy, am I right?” she asked, running her hand lightly down the arm of the guy to her left.

To an outsider, her voice might have sounded flirtatious, but knowing Kat as well as I did, I could hear the seething anger underneath.

“The right guy’s right here, gorgeous,” the guy in the middle said, making some kind of gesture that I guess was supposed to make him look cool but really only made him look like an idiot.

“I should have guessed,” she said in that seductive voice she used to use to win guys over, stepping in close to him, putting a hand playfully on his chest. “Were you the one who slapped me? ‘Cause, I don’t know. It was kind of weak. I need a guy who can really make me feel something.”

He grinned at his buddies. It amazed me they bought her act and actually thought they were making headway. How anyone thought this move would work, or that an actual woman would talk like this, blew my mind. Maybe they only had experience with drunk girls and porn and thought this was what women were like all the time.

“I was just getting your attention, but if you wanna come with us, I can show you what’s up.”

“Ohh, I know what’s up,” she said and brought her knee up hard, driving it straight into his groin.

I swear, the guy went cross-eyed as he crumpled over with a wheeze.

“Hey …” his buddy on the left said.

He’d barely moved an inch before her arm arced down and back up, giving him the same treatment his friend had gotten. Swimmers weren’t bulky, but they built a lot of arm and shoulder strength, and I knew firsthand, having been on the receiving end of her playful punches, how that could hurt.

The last frat buddy put his hands up and backed away, making it clear he wasn’t interested in being victim number three.

“We should probably go,” I said.

Kat had handled herself well, but the rest of their group had just turned the corner, and it wouldn’t take much for us to find ourselves massively outgunned. Kat let us lead her away, but she had this proud little smile on her face.

The last time she’d stood up to someone it had only been with words, and she’d been a complete wreck afterwards. This time, she’d gotten physical, had clearly been ready for more and, didn’t seem fazed at all. I knew she’d been working hard at her therapy, but I didn’t know it was going that well.

It wasn’t until I put my arm through hers and felt the slight shaking that I realized she was still putting on a brave face. I think she knew I figured her out because she gave me a small, apologetic smile. I put my hand through hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. I wasn’t going to out her to Hanna if she didn’t want me to, and I was still proud of how well she was holding up. This was a serious victory for her on her road to recovery.

***

The space was just as big as Warren promised. It was probably the largest indoor location we’d played so far. I guess because it used to be a warehouse. There were big roll-up doors that we could drive the van right through and double doors that lead to the far corner of the building, on the stage side, where we could haul our stuff in and set up.

This wasn’t the kind of place that kept a drum kit set up for us to use, so we had to haul Seth’s in, but it was still a step up from the van being double parked on a small street or parking half a mile away and hiking everything in, both of which we’d had to do at previous shows.

The tech crew was already setting stuff up as I headed for the stage. The familiar hum of amps greeted me on my way up to the stage.

“Watch it, man!” Marco snapped behind me,

I looked over in time to see Seth nearly drop Marco’s new keyboard. Marco had been super sensitive about it ever since he brought it back from Asheville. I understood, since I was particular about my guitar too, but it didn’t give him an excuse for being a dick, especially to Seth, who was the only person in the band to always have his back. Seth, for his part, shot him an annoyed look, but said nothing.

I set my guitar case down next to the front mic and turned to Kat and Lyla, who were setting up Lyla’s bass.

“Need any help?”

“We’re good,” Lyla said. “Just seeing if I can talk your girl into some alone time.”

She winked, draping an arm around Kat’s shoulders. I just shook my head. Lyla loved teasing Kat and Hanna, both of whom were straight, every chance she got. She usually had good luck getting a rise out of Hanna, who never knew what to say to that kind of teasing, but it never fazed Kat, who always took it in stride.

“Their coach said I had the fastest time they’d put up this year. I didn’t break the school record, but it was close,” Kat said, pushing Lyla’s arm off her shoulder and continuing to tell her about the training session.

I hadn’t realized that Kat and Lyla had become friends at some point; I guess ’cause I never saw them hang out or anything. The two were getting along famously though, and I was happy to see it. Between how she’d stood up to those frat guys and now socializing with someone not in her immediate circle, Kat was making some serious strides in her recovery.

I left them to chat, heading over to where Seth and Marco were setting up Marco’s synth.

“Dude, quit complaining. Jesus Christ,” Seth snapped just as I got there.

I had no idea what Marco was complaining about, but I’d never heard Seth get mad once in the year that we’d been playing together, and especially not with Marco.

“I just want it done right,” Marco shot back. “We can’t afford to keep replacing these.”

“Seth, why don’t you go set up your drum kit,” I said, intervening. “Marco’s almost done with this, anyway, right?”

“Yeah,” Marco said, glaring at Seth, who stalked off in a huff.

“I don’t know if your goal is to piss off everyone you know; but if it is, you’re doing a damn fine job of it.”

“Whatever,” Marco said.

I don’t know if he realized I was right or if he just didn’t want another lecture from me, but either way, he stopped bitching which was all I really wanted.

I went back to where my guitar case was and looked at the cables stretched out across the floor. This was definitely the messiest setup I’d ever seen in all of the shows we’d played, and that included some spectacularly crappy dive bars. It took me several minutes to trace them back and to find the one that connected to my direct box, which would balance out the signal from my guitar, and then connected through whatever wiring this place had to the mixing board in the sound booth. Wherever that was.

I’d just gotten my guitar all hooked up and ready for a soundcheck, setting it on its stand in the middle of the stage near my mic, when Lyla and Kat wandered over from Lyla’s side of the stage.

“… you’re going to do amazing,” Lyla was saying.

Kat smiled shyly.

“Seriously. College was never my thing, but you’re a huge nerd. That place will be lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, I think,” Kat said, laughing as the pair sat on the edge of the stage in front of me, waiting for the soundcheck to start.

“You’re welcome. And that doesn’t even count you getting into the Olympics. You’ve got to be the nerd version of a first-round draft pick.”

“But just like every other nerd, she really wants to be up on stage with us. Everyone wants to be a rock star,” I said, dropping down next to them.

“Damn right they do!” Lyla laughed.

Kat gave a mock look of horror and said, “I don’t. No way. All those people looking at me? God no.”

But she was smiling. I swear, Lyla’s enthusiasm was irresistible. She was going to force Kat to be her friend even if it killed her.

“We’re ready,” one of the techs called out.

“Time to make the muffins,” I said, slapping my thighs and hopping back up.

I wasn’t sure what that meant, and Lyla rolled her eyes, but it had sounded good in my head. Picking up my guitar, I tapped the mic, and a thud echoed across the warehouse.

“All right guys, let’s do this. We’ve only got a couple of hours until doors open.”

I waited a minute while everyone got in their places and looked ready to go. We practiced together enough that this part was easy. Seeing everyone in place, I gave a nod to Seth, who counted us in with a swift click of his drumsticks.

I had just launched into the opening guitar riff of One Night Stand, the first song on our set list for the night, when a burst of sparks shot up from the front edge of the stage.

We all jumped back a little in surprise except for Marco, whose synth was set up closest to the edge of the stage and closest to where the sparks shot up. He yelped as sparks landed right at his feet, stumbled several steps backward, and almost tripped over a coil of cabling.

“What the hell was that?” he said.

“Sorry,” a voice came up from somewhere below us, under the stage.

When an explanation didn’t follow, we all kind of looked at each other and shrugged. In all my years touring around with Dad, I’d never seen anything like that. Admittedly, he didn’t play at places that would have pyrotechnics, but it was pretty clear that whatever happened hadn’t been on purpose. We didn’t even have pyrotechnics in our show.

The most advanced we had ever gotten was when Warren had someone at the label sync up some lighting with most of our songs, and then sent a file over to the venue techs that they could load into the system. When it was working right, the lights flashed and swung around in step with the rhythm of our songs, which was pretty cool. What didn’t normally happen was lights catching on fire or shooting out sparks.

We’d just started counting off again when I heard two people yelling at each other from under the floor, and then all of the lights around the stage cut off. The overhead warehouse lights were still on and light was still coming in through the open doors to the loading area, but all of the floodlights and spotlights cut off simultaneously making it feel like everything went pitch black for a second.

We reflexively stopped playing, again. The yelling under the stage increased to the point I was finally able to make out what they were saying, now that the music had stopped.

“… happened?”

“I don’t know. It shorted out, I think. Don’t look at me, I didn’t set it up.”

“I don’t care, unhook it. It’s smoking.”

After a beat, there was a yelp of pain, followed by a string of cursing.

Kat and Hanna were off to the side, both staring at the bottom of the stage, although the thick black fabric that circled the stage, hiding all the wire cabling, would have made it impossible to see what was actually happening.

We tried to push on, and we actually made it through One Night Stand, since the sound system was still working. We did lose the beat halfway through for a moment when suddenly all the lights came back on, and again when more sparks flew out. Marco kind of leaned away from them but didn’t actually run away from his keyboards this time.

We got through Country Roads and were just starting on The Little Things when we got yet another completely unprecedented shock as a thick fog began billowing out of the edge of the stage. It took me a minute to recognize that it wasn’t something burning, but the kind of smoke you’d see from a smoke machine. This I had seen before, and I recognized the acrid smell of the artificial smoke.

This seemed at least halfway normal, if unexpected. I had Seth count us in again, then it became apparent that the smoke wasn’t going to stop. It just kept billowing out in puff after puff, faster than it could drift off into the rest of the warehouse. The entire stage became hazy, until I gave up trying to play.

“Cut!” I coughed, blinded by the fog.

The sounds of panic intensified below the stage, with one of the voices from before saying, “I don’t know, it just turned on!”

“Just unplug it!” replied the other voice I had heard earlier.

There was a loud pop and the smell of burning wires, but at least no yell of pain this time.

A head suddenly popped out from under the stage and a guy significantly younger than I expected to be working under there said, “I’m so sorry; we’re having some technical difficulties! Hold tight, we’ll sort it out!”

Before I could say anything, or even register anything, he disappeared under the fabric as another shower of sparks went off. I grimaced, but tried to power through, until I realized that there was no sound coming from my guitar. Whatever he’d done, they’d blown the sound system, or at least our connection to it.

Marco must have realized the same thing because he flung his hands up in exasperation and yelled, “This is ridiculous!”

For once, I didn’t actually blame him for his outburst as he stormed off the stage and onto the loading dock, presumably headed for the van. A wispy black smoke began to drift up from under the stage.

“Just cut all the power,” a voice from under the stage said, “and see if Ronnie can come down. We need help.”

“I’ll see if I can find him,” a staticky voice replied, probably over a walkie talky.

The lights around the stage went out again. It would have been funny if we didn’t have a show in a few hours. Instead of getting our soundcheck, we were standing on a stage with no sound, no lights, and the air filled with the ozone smell of burned electronics.

“Marco’s right, this is ridiculous. I’m going to call Warren,” I said, setting my guitar down and heading off stage.

I was moving away from the stage to call Warren when I ran into one of the technicians, who was inspecting the smoldering remains of the wiring under the stage. Even from a few feet away, the acrid smell of burned plastic and metal was overwhelming.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

The tech looked up at me, his expression a mix of annoyance and embarrassment. “The pyrotechnic stuff we were adding to the stage shorted out, and fried a bunch of the connectors, taking everything else with it.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me? We don’t use pyro. Why would you guys add that to the stage?!”

The tech just kind of shrugged and said, “I don’t really know. This is my first week. I just do what they tell me.”

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ was the first thing I thought, but I pushed it down. Yelling at this guy wasn’t going to make things better.

“Can it be fixed?” I asked. “We go on in less than two hours.”

The tech grimaced. “They told me it’d take at least two hours to replace everything. I’ll see if we can speed it up, but no guarantees.”

I dragged my hands through my hair again, frustration boiling over. This was a disaster. Before I could respond Warren, our manager, came out of nowhere.

“What’s that smell?” he asked, frowning.

I sighed in frustration. “Pyrotechnics. Someone decided to add them without telling us. Now the whole system’s fried.”

Warren stared at me in confusion. “Pyro wasn’t part of the deal we negotiated. What are you talking about?”

I quickly explained the situation. Warren’s expression went from confused to furious. He rounded on the tech, who had gone back to tinkering with wires coming out from under the stage.

“Who authorized pyrotechnics? That wasn’t part of our contract.”

The tech held up his hands defensively. “I don’t know, I just work here.”

“Well, someone must know what the hell’s happening. Go find your boss for me,” Warren said. When the guy didn’t move fast enough, Warren yelled, “Go!”

“Yes sir,” the tech said, hurrying off.

Warren watched him go, shaking his head. “Amateurs. I’ll see if I can get this sorted out. Start getting the guys back together so that as soon as I get this cleared up, you can get back to your soundchecks.”

“Got it,” I said, relief flooding through me.

I walked back into the dimly lit loading area, the smell of smoke still clinging to my clothes, with dread filling my stomach. The rest of the band was hanging around, bored and confused about the delay. When they saw me, a mixture of relief and concern crossed their faces.

“Dude, what’s going on? Are we going to get to do the soundcheck?” Seth asked, always the worrier.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “There were some … technical difficulties. They decided to try and add pyrotechnics to the stage without telling us. It shorted out the entire wiring system under the stage.”

There was a moment of stunned silence before a roar of protests went up. Questions and outraged comments flew at me from all sides. I held up my hands, waiting for everyone to calm down.

“Guys, guys, I know. I was just as shocked. It’s okay. Warren just got here, and he’s sorting it out. He’s talking to the venue managers now, trying to get them to remove the pyros so we can still perform tonight.”

“I’ll go see if I can help him,” Hanna said, heading off to find Warren and the management.

I tried to reassure them, while we waited, but it didn’t seem to do any good. We were all on edge; the normal pre-show excitement had morphed into restless anxiety and anger.

An hour passed with agonizing slowness. Marco continually paced the length of the loading area, unable to stay still. The rest of us just pretended to make ourselves busy, even though there wasn’t much we could do. Kat, bless her, kept trying to make us laugh, but it wasn’t working. I appreciated her perseverance, though.

Finally, Warren returned with Hanna in tow, looking tired but relieved.

“All right gang, I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is that the new owners of the venue have agreed to remove the pyrotechnics and they’ve got the sound and lighting sorted out and working again. However, they’re keeping the smoke machine they had installed. I tried to get them to remove that too, but they wouldn’t budge. I want you all to seriously consider whether you feel safe performing under these conditions, after what just happened. They are in breach of our contract and I’m willing to walk away now and let legal have a go at them, but I’m leaving the final decision up to you. We can walk away now with no penalty, although probably without pay either, if you want, or you can still do the show.”

We looked around at each other, a silent debate passing between us.

Marco finally broke the silence, throwing up his hands and saying, “This is insane. We should just cut our losses and go.”

“It’s fixed and we didn’t drive all the way out here just to burn gas. We’re here, it’s fixed, so let’s do it,” Lyla said.

Seth looked back and forth between them, torn. That was one for leaving, one for playing, and one not voting, leaving it up to me. I took a deep breath, hoping I wouldn’t regret this.

“We go on,” I said firmly.