Unsustainable

Your A-Game

My hands are shaking. If I were standing my knees would be wobbly, but my right leg is only bouncing up and down right now. My eyes couldn't stay focused on the page of the music. First on the notes, then to the crowd, then to the guitarist next to me. Now back to the page.

There's one-no, two- missed notes because of my frantic hands. The guitar next to me screams, the base drum pounds. As hard as I try, I can't play the piano. Not with this amount of pressure, these loud sounds, this looming thought. I play chords out of time, my right hand is a whole two measures behind my left. The crowd is displeased with me, just me. The guitarist did everything right, he hasn't missed a note this entire time. The drummer is on point with every movement. But me? My piece in the band, Infinite Decisions, is unsustainable.

Finally, the guitarist and I hit the final chord, with the final base drum pounding and snare hit. The crowd cheers, the guitarist bows, and the drummer salutes. I pull myself up, and rush off the stage.

Pushing the crew aside, I go behind stage into the bathroom. I find the closest stall, and my innards become outtards as I throw up what little I've had that day. I'm in there for an eternity, can hardly stand, my entire body shaking. Finally, after dry-heaving for the fifth time, I hear the voice of Max outside the stall.

"Ace, you okay...? You fell apart the last sixteen measures. Something on your mind? Peter and I could always talk if you needed, just not in here."

I try to say 'I'm okay' but all that comes out of my mouth is more throw-up and spit.

"Adam, I'm coming in. Open the stall."

I reach behind me and slide open the lock. The door slides open, and the guitarist is standing there.

"What got to you? This is the worst I've seen you in, like, a long time. Not since we started the band."

"It's...I'm..."

"Come outside. We can talk in the waiting room. Let's go." he said as he grabbed my arm and pulled me from the stall.

As I sit down on the leather couch in the backstage area, Max sits across from me in a small stool. Peter, with a soda in his hand, leans on Max's shoulder.

"Dude...you're one of the best in the band... what happened out there?" Peter asked. " You, of all people, should not be getting stage fright. You're the most outgoing person out of all of us."

"I...There's been something on my mind the past few days. I had been meaning to tell you guys but..."

"Adam...every time you mess up you make an excuse like 'I was tired' or 'today isn't my day' and it's annoying. You need to get your game together. You haven't been practicing well whatsoever the past few days. We should've cancelled the gig." Max burst out.

I looked at him with a glare that could kill a mouse. "What did you just say?"

"I said we should've cancelled the gig. You weren't on your A-game today."

I stood up from the couch, walked over to where he was sitting, and looked him dead in the eye. Through gritted teeth, I mustered out,"I created this band. I'm the leader. I decide what shows we play and what we don't. I'm going home. Practice is cancelled tomorrow."

Peter called out after me,"See you Monday Ace." I turned to look at him, and he gave me a small wave. All I did was grunt and walk out of the stadium.