Sailor's Choice

Chapter 5 - First Outing, Overthinking.

"Franklin, what do you mean by that?" "I mean we have a show, are you deaf?" He seemed a tad bit annoyed when he answered. I assumed it was because I had called him Franklin, not Frank. "I only just joined the band, man. I don't know your riffs, I can't do a show!" I exclaimed. Frank realized he fucked up. He stared into me with his ocean-blue eyes, in a state of confusion and shock. He couldn't have planned for someone new to join, but now he was stuck with me unless he felt the need to boot me. He seemed to have forgotten that I was not familiar with their music. "Do you at least have a set list?" I asked. "No, haven't thought of it yet." He said. "Make one. Now." He hurried to his desk, swiftly grabbed a piece of paper, and began to jolt down random words. After a minute, he stood up from the table and handed me the list. He had written a 12-song setlist. Which read,

It's a Hectic World, My Dad Sucks, Telltale Signs, Hey Hey, Lullaby, Like the Way I Know, It's My Hair, The Statue of Liberty, Yore Disgusting, Grudge, Ride the Wild, and Glad All Over.

"These are simple... enough" Frank mumbled while his eyes shifted from song to song on the paper. "I don't recognize the songs other than the very few I was taught." Although true, it was partially a lie. I recognized Telltale Signs. Tony had played it for me after my 11th grade "graduation", and then taught me how to play it. He was always celebrating the small things in my life, and he was always treating me like his kid. I knew why. He didn't have any kids. No one would stay with him long enough to have any. I broke my train of thought about the song and focused more on the moment. "When can I learn these?" I asked. "Tomorrow. Everyday. I don't fucking know." He responded, looking stressed. "Just practice something. I don't want you embarrassing yourself and us on stage." He followed with. Taken aback by his words, I simply said. "I won't embarrass you, I suppose." He huffed. "I want people to see us before we become massive rockstars." Rockstars? That's what this is about. He wants to be some punk rocker. "At least it's what Bill wants." Never mind. "You don't want to be a rockstar?" I asked, trying to understand what he had said to me. "I do, yeah, but it's Bill's thing. I'd be fine enough leaving this hell dump and fishing." I was curious about his aspirations, but I couldn't understand why he would choose to spend his time here instead of pursuing his passion for fishing. "Where do you want to go? New town? Country?"I asked. If I wanted to learn about this rockstar life dream, I'd ask Bill. Right now I wanted to know about what Frank wanted. "Never thought about it." He responded. "Somewhere like Maine, or Oregon. I like this though, so it doesn't matter." His last statement seemed very hesitant as if he wanted to tell me something. What was it about this "Rockstar" life that he didn't like? Why did he push himself through it? I wished I had the answers. "Frank if you don't want to d-" He cut me off. "Enough." He said, raising his voice, as he turned to leave the garage. He swung open the door and stood halfway in it. "Don't make me regret this." Then he left, slamming it behind him. What got him so angry?  He had left the setlist with me, and I continued to study it as I had been doing.

"I wonder how these sound," I said under my breath. The page was already stained where he had held it. The page was somewhat soggy, which led me to believe he was sweaty again. I picked up my guitar, which was resting from the strap on my shoulders. I knew hundreds, maybe even thousands of songs, but I couldn't think of just one to play. I was aching to play but was defeated by the emptiness of the cave living in my head. I slid my fingers across the fretboard, even forming them into chords and strumming them. I kept hoping a song would come from one, or a chord would remind me of even just a lick, but I was presented with nothing. My mind had completely shut down, and I remained in the vegetable state my body gave me for a short period. 45 seconds, to be exact. Maybe Frank has his lines written down. I thought to myself. I knew anything I learned in full would serve as useless since we were splitting up our lines anyway, but I still wanted to learn whatever he wrote, if he wrote anything. I made my way to his desk by slithering past his guitar. I grabbed the stack of papers placed at the right corner of me and went through it. The logic I had was if he had all these lyrics, he must've had at least one, possibly two lines written down. Even if it wasn't a Descendents song, I would've been content learning it. I was so needy for something to play. The more I looked through, my logic seemed to prove me right. I found a bunch of lines written in his... wonderful.. handwriting. The one that caught me off guard was The Statue of Liberty, which he had been writing yesterday. How did he already have a line for it? I didn't want to question it much, so I took it out of the pile, placed it on the main table, and put the papers away properly. I sat on the seat next to the table and looked over the line. "Easy enough." I assume it was close to 10 minutes I had been there, learning, but by the end of it, I knew the line well enough to play it on my own, and I was going to. I placed the paper face down to challenge myself, put my fingers on the right chord and... SLAM! The door to the house swung open, hitting the wall. "PIZZA," Bill said. "FOOD. PIZZA. EAT." He was completely out of breath. I sat there, stunned by his sudden appearance at the door, and he caught on. "What are you doing.." He asked. "Nothing, just go back in I'll be there in a second," I responded. "Oh, fuck no." He smiled. "You're doing something." He left the door frame he stood in, and walked towards the table, inspecting it. My nerves weren't just wrecked but destroyed. "Bill don't." I tried to say as he grabbed the paper, flipping it. "Ohhhhhh." He chuckled afterwards. He placed the paper down and headed towards the door, still chuckling. "Come eat when you can, Mr. Navetta." He laughed as he ran inside. He knew I was going to hit him, which was the only thing on my mind. I put my guitar on the table and chased after him yelling "BILL." When I caught up to him, I slapped him pretty well in the back of the head. He almost fell forward. "OW!" He yelled. "You deserve it, you little shit."