Completely (Un)expected

Chapter Two

Wishing You Well

As my dad got settled behind the sound board, headphones on, wires jacked, I claimed my spot next to him, leaving ample room for him to easily move between each piece of equipment. My dad always engrossed himself fully into his work during a show, not letting the sound or sight of the board slip his mind for even just a moment. Normally, I avoided talking to him while he was working the board so as not to cause any slip ups or unpleasant mistakes in the sound and so that my dad didn't lose even an ounce of focus.

Sometimes it got really boring, especially if the band wasn't that good and I was stuck with nothing to do in a hall filling rapidly with shitty R&B. I had been around the board for enough years to know how basically everything worked and though I still liked my little 'lessons' concerning this button or that, just watching got old kind of quickly.

Tonight, I was feeling a little daring, and though the music had been amazing, I was starting to get a little antsy and my cigarettes that I had stowed away in my purse were calling my name.

I waited for a pause in between songs when my dad's vigilance was significantly lessened. He slid down a few levers and, in the few seconds before the next song started and I'd lose his attention again, I turned to him.

"Hey, Dad," I practically screamed over the cheers of the audience. "I'm going to go sit up front for a while."

"Sure, okay," he replied, already needing to focus his attention back on the gear, but managing to add, "I'll see you back here in a bit."

By this point my dad had already become too involved in the second set to realize whether or not I had left yet, or if I'd bothered to respond to him at all. I stood and slipped on my jacket before grabbing my purse and heading towards the back of the club.

Instead of going to sit up front like I'd told my dad, when I reached the bottom of the bent staircase, I hung a left and walked to the back door. The brisk night air rose goose-bumps all around my body, despite the fact that I was wearing a jacket; a light one albeit.

I pulled my arms in close to my body and adjusted to the sudden temperature change. It wasn't particularly cold outside, seeing as it was nearly the end of August, but compared to the hot, sticky interior of the club, the outside air might as well have been arctic.

I warmed myself up in the best way I knew how, reaching into my bag to pull out a pack of smokes. My dad didn't know that I smoked considering I kept it fairly well concealed, making sure to also carry gum and mints for afterwards, but I was also pretty certain that he had suspected it for a while, though he never brought it up. He used to smoke too, but quit when my mom passed.

She'd been diagnosed with kidney failure in her twenties and had been on dialysis even before I was born. I never remembered a time when she wasn't sick, and though she'd always put on a brave face, I always knew she was dying.

She finally passed when I was eleven. We all knew it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. My dad became reclusive, throwing himself into his work and I felt lost without the only woman in my life.

My dad and I got closer and that was about the time I'd started going to shows with him. I still miss my mom, but it comforts me to know that she's not in pain anymore and I think more than anything, she wanted my dad and I to be able to move on.

I lit up my cigarette as I thought of her and took in a long drag. I held the smoke in my lungs for a moment, letting the poisons and nicotine burn slightly before letting out a puffy, white cloud into the busy, New York City night air.

No one was outside. The night was quiet around my little stoop save for the faint sounds of music and clapping coming from the club behind me. I could hear the people on the inside bustling about as the band transitioned into another song and I brought the smoke back up to my lips.