Daron's Guitar Chronicles: Vol 4

311 STAND BACK

STAND BACK

The next morning I climbed out of my bunk and realized I couldn't bring myself to flush out my eye. I needed to get my courage up. That wasn't happening without some coffee and breakfast.

You know you've been on tour for a while when you have no idea where your wallet is, but you don't leave the bus without putting your laminates on your neck.

I walked into the venue, found the production office, and found Digger sitting there with the phone to his ear. He appeared to be on hold since he wasn't saying anything and was staring into space. He waved me to come in and I sat down in a wooden chair against the wall. The walls were cinderblock, covered here and there with tour posters.

Digger was in a peach-colored polo shirt and khakis, like he just walked out of an ad for a golf course. Except something about Digger always made him look more like the guy taking bets on the shots than playing actual golf.

He hung up, apparently tired of waiting. "How you doing?"

I made a sound like "Ugh," then decided that wasn't the most communicative thing I could say. "I feel hungover and I haven't even been drinking."

He nodded like he knew what I was talking about. "Drink some water. Catering will be setting up in like two hours but there's drinks in the fridge in the green room."

I leaned back against the wall. "Any news?"

"I was just on hold for Mills. Patty's got the number here, though. She'll call if he comes up for air. Speaking of which." He shuffled the scraps of paper on the desk. "Here. There's a message for you."

He handed me a pink message slip with the name field filled in: "Jonathan" And a phone number. And the time he had called. Nine a.m. I chuckled inwardly. Like I'd be awake then, even if we weren't on tour. More likely he knew he could get the venue to take a message then.

By the clock on the wall it was almost noon.

I wasn't about to call him back with Digger sitting there, though. "Water," I said, sticking the message in my pocket and going into the green room.

The smell of fresh paint and new carpet filled the room. I guessed all the noise we'd heard the day before had been renovation. The smell was actually kind of headache-inducing, which might explain why the door was propped open with a box fan blowing air into the hallway. I wondered if that was secure and then I noticed Antonio sitting in a chair a few feet down the hallway.

We gave each other the "'sup" sign, and I stood there and chatted with him for a few minutes before I went into the green room.

I took a bottle of water out of the fridge and sat drinking it. My eye didn't actually hurt right at the moment, but the mere thought of getting in the shower was worrisome. Then I thought to myself, you think you have it bad? How's Ziggy going to manage?

It suddenly struck me then that in three hours we were supposed to do a soundcheck and then tonight do a show. I mean, I know, it's obvious, but with so much happening, it was almost like I'd lost sight of what was going on. I hadn't picked up a guitar since the accident and I flexed my left hand inside the wrapped bandage around my palm.

It was one of those "oh shit" moments. My ring finger was stiff and the whole thing was painful. Would it be better or worse without the bandages? I started trying to strip them off, then realized scissors was probably the better way to do it, didn't know where to find some, gave up with a bunch of the tape hanging loose and went to pick up the Ovation instead. The case to Ovation #2 was sitting off to the side of the couch.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I tried to play through a little of Candlelight and all I can tell you is it wasn't good. My hand was weak, some of the fingers didn't want to move right, and it hurt. My immediate thought was this: how the fuck am I going to get through tonight?