Ger headed home after the break-up. His mum was in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette as if he had never left.
"Hi love, how was your concert?" she asked him.
"A disaster. The band's broken up," replied Ger sadly.
"It'll be alright son, you'll see. Your dad's left and reformed groups so many times I've lost track," Ger noted that his mother still talked about him as though he were around.
"Talking about your father. He rang when you were away."
"What does he have to say for himself?" Ger asked.
"He said... He said he wants to come back and that he's on the wagon, never been drier."
"He's been saying that for years and every time he lets us down," Ger answered.
"Yeah, I know, but I want you to think about it. I think he's sincere this time. I told him I'd talk to you about it, could ya at least sleep on it and think it over?"
Ger was tired and didn't feel like arguing with his mom over this.
"Yeah OK, I'm tired I'm going straight to bed."
"Alright, Night love."
"Night Ma."
Ger fell into a restless sleep, his dreams haunted by mice, purple pills, and booing audiences.
When he awoke the next day, he swore he could feel a presence in his room. He glanced up at his bookshelf, just above the desk where he studied and did homework, and noticed that in his collection of bobblehead figures, one was missing. Mickey Mouse!
"OK; I know you're in here," he whispered, afraid his mother would hear him talking to himself.
Jerry Lee mouse emerged from behind a copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, like some magical creature leaping off the pages.
"Kid, you've got to get your band back together and play that talent contest!" said the mouse.
"Easier said than done," Ger said.
"Let me continue the story and you'll see how," the mouse replied mysteriously.
OK but make it quick, I've got to be at the music shop soon," said Ger who worked at the shop every day during the Summer since his dad had left.
"Where was I? Ah, yes the cheesemaker."
The cheesemaker seemed surprisingly well... not angry, to Jerry's relief.
"Yes, you poor boy, you shouldn't have run off like that," he shook his head, not in disapproval, but in pity at what had happened.
"Stinky cheese intolerance or S.C.I. is a more and more common condition. It's quite natural, although it will make your cheese-making career impossible, I'm afraid." The cheesemaker continued.
"I'm sorry about your clothes," Jerry said.
"That's quite alright my boy, it wasn't the first time and it won't be the last. I always carry a change of trousers for just such an occasion," the cheesemaker said with a smile.
Gerry's father thanked the cheesemaker and took Jerry back to the
car in silence.
"Sorry dad, you know, about the classes," Jerry said trying to break the silence.
His dad snapped around to face him "Where did you go? I was worried sick," he yelled out.
The truth might always come out in the end, but Jerry was determined to keep running with his lie. Rock was everything to him and he felt his dad just didn't understand.
"Sorry, I was embarrassed and I went to the park. I came straight back!"
His dad looked at him, fur bristling, chest heaving, eyes searching for something in his son's face that he couldn't seem to find. Jerry felt like all children felt when lying to their parents; surely someone who saw him every day and should know him better than anyone was at the point of staring through everything and seeing the real story underneath. His father gripped his paws suddenly and felt their tips. The ends were callused from playing. "The park, huh?" he said accusingly.
"Get in the car," he said at last.
They got in the car and his dad stared out the front window, driving in the opposite direction of home.
"Where are we going, dad?" Jerry asked.
"To see your uncle Eddie." His dad answered.
"Uncle Eddie?" Jerry said. They hadn't been to see Uncle Eddie since he was small. His mum had once let slip that his dad and his uncle didn't get on.
"Yes, I want you to see that Rock, this music of yours, it's not all about drugs and... girls!" the car jittered a little as his father got anxious and seemed to let go of the steering wheel for a second. Jerry gripped his seat belt and decided to keep quiet in case they didn't arrive in one piece.
Drugs and girls were his dad's constant fears about the world of rock. Jerry didn't know why. He certainly didn't want to try drugs, even if he knew where to find them, and he didn't know any girls who liked rock. Besides he was too busy practicing at the dump.
They arrived at Uncle Eddie's place. Uncle Eddie lived above a bar in the grimy (well in the sewers everything was a little grimy, there was dirt everywhere, but here somehow the filth seemed well... filthier) neighborhood. The bar was made from an old guitar amp. A lady Rat with the highest heels Jerry had ever seen and far too much make-up passed them as they went to the door.
"Hi sweetie," she said, winking at Jerry.
"Come on Jerry," his father commanded.
His dad knocked on the door of Uncle Eddie's apartment. The muffled sound of clinking empty bottles and thrash being hurriedly moved came through the door. Jerry also thought he heard the screech of feedback from a very small speaker. Jerry couldn't remember what his Uncle looked like, so he got quite a surprise when the door opened and the gauntest mouse Jerry had ever seen looked at them, with blinking eyes that appeared to have a great deal of difficulty focusing on what was in front of them. Uncle Eddie looked like a skeleton of a mouse over which someone had stapled fur on in their best attempt to create the illusion of a mouse. Those helpful people had then dressed the copy of a mouse in as much denim, leather, and snakeskin you could get in such skinny sizes, as was possible.
It was apparent to Jerry that Uncle Eddie seemed to do everything with a slight time delay. He looked at his brother as though he was searching through a thousand memories to find the right one. Even after Dad said hello, there was a short pause before the clue of a name helped Uncle Eddie find what he was looking for in his head.
"Hey! Francis! Good to see you! What a surprise!" he croaked out. Francis? That was a surprise. He'd never heard anyone call his dad that, he'd always told everyone his name was Frank.
"And this must be little..." Uncle Eddie went into his time delay, making forgetting his nephew's name that little bit more uncomfortable. Jerry heard the small screech of feedback again and realized that his uncle had a hearing aid. It was held in position in his ear by a safety pin, when Jerry looked carefully at it he could make out the brand name BONO written down the side.
"Jerry," Jerry decided to help him out.
"Yeah! Right! Jerry!" his uncle said. Jerry couldn't help noting that he had never seen anyone so happy, that he could remember something.
"Come on in!" he welcomed them into his home. It was fairly dark in his uncle's apartment and Jerry had to carefully navigate around all the piles of junk and trash on the floor. Jerry couldn't help thinking that his room wasn't nearly as bad as his mother made out. There was a strange smell in the air, a strange not cheesy smell. Jerry suddenly thought of the incense Jimmy and his band was burning in the photo.
"What a surprise!" Uncle Eddie said, as he swept a pile of papers off the coffee table and put down three glasses, and started opening a bottle of whiskey. Jerry's dad cleared his throat as Uncle Eddie unscrewed the cap. Uncle Eddie looked up, then at Jerry and then at the bottle in his paws. He had a time delay, while Jerry's Dad tried to say "He's only eleven" with his face only, so as not to draw attention to the fact that Uncle Eddie was offering alcohol to a minor. This of course, only drew more attention to the fact.
"Cup o tea?" offered Uncle Eddie.
"No, this is a flying visit Edward" his Dad replied, using his brother's full name with a tone that suggested only he ever called him that.
"Young Jerry here has got it into his head that he wants to be a rock star, I thought since you spent your whole life on the road, you could tell him that it's a hard life."
"I didn't know you were a musician Uncle Eddie," Jerry said
"Musician! No, no, no I was a roadie. We traveled with bands all over the world, me and your Dad, Lose sprocket, Rat Trap, and the Periodic Table from Mars,"
"You were a roadie Dad?" asked Jerry. His dad looked uncomfortable and nodded.
"It was before I meet your mum and you were born," he answered looking a little uncomfortable.
"What's a roadie?" Jerry asked.
"A roadie sets up the band's speakers, lighting, and other things while they're touring on the road," his father answered.
His father had been a roadie! Jerry looked at his father in a new light and wondered what other secrets he didn't know about him.
"We had some good times, didn't we Francis? Do you remember the time Chris Cheddar refused to go on before a show unless we got him five hundred blue sweets? Well, we..."
"OK Edward, I didn't bring Jerry here to listen to your old war stories, I want you to tell him about the bad side of rock. That it's a hard life on the road and no place for a young mouse," Jerry's father interrupted and again seemed to practice the strange art of face communication that all adults did when around children.
"Hard life! Hard life, if you're a roadie, but dem Rock stars, they live the life." He said spluttering into a heavy smoker laugh.
Dad looked at his brother again and reinforced the glare with another throat clear. Jerry wondered if his father was getting sick.
"But stay in school, kid you don't want to end up like your uncle Eddie or your dad scavenging above ground. You should aspire to something better" his uncle said, glancing up at his brother, aware that his last comment might have hurt his dad a little.
"Why don't you make us some tea Francis? And I can have a quick chat with my favorite nephew, and warn him about the dangers of life on the road." It was Uncle Eddie who now took over the family tradition of eyeball communication, indicting to what could have been the kitchen.