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March
My fingertips rested on the strings, feeling the grooves of the steel.
The subtle feedback of the mic whistled and hummed low, scratchy notes.
It echoed throughout the arena, the stage on which we stood firmly belonging to the small club we had rented out. The atmosphere was thick and smelled of cigarette smoke, adding to the suffocating tension that was harnessed onto the five of us. The deafening silence fueled my passion to begin.
I turned my head to the right to see Eden.
Her back was to the audience and both of her paws were gripped tightly around the base of her microphone.
I took a step back, looking at Rian, who stood close behind Eden, his glossy, maroon bass shimmering under the luminescent spotlight.
Beside him stood Torrence, his sage-green, Squier Bullet guitar resting firmly within his grasp, his fingers, too, pressed against the strings like mine. Beside him, eighty-eight black and white keys of a digital electronic keyboard, situated formally.
Behind the two of them was Harley, sitting on a stool before a stacked drum set, two beaten and worn down sticks lying in the palms of his hands.
I felt the heat of the moment.
The plastic guitar pick between my fingers became moist as my paw grew sweaty with anticipation.
The rush of adrenaline was enough to shoot off a cannon inside of me.
I couldn't waste this feeling.
I nodded at Harley, who nodded back similarly, then I nodded to Eden, who nodded back likewise. I nodded at all of them, who all repeated the same action back. It was time.
I turned back towards the front, facing the spotlights that blinded my vision and irradiated every speck of dust that emanated from the medium-size, compact stage we all stood upon. I couldn't see the audience; probably for a good reason.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
Harley raised his drumsticks in the air and clicked them together, four consecutive times.
"ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR!"
And just like that, we were off.
Our song started with a power-chord progression from me and my guitar as Harley repeatedly tapped his drumsticks against the cymbals, leading into the beginning verse. Everyone else stood aside, at the ready with their own instruments, waiting for their cue to chime in.
Eden began to bounce her hips to the tune of the guitar-strumming and drum beat combined, and when it was time, she turned around immediately, planting her feet firmly onto the wooden stage, facing the audience. Harley stepped his foot to the pedal of the kick drum, prompting Eden to take control.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
She began to sing into the microphone, pointing her finger out to the audience courageously.
She's gonna kill me!
She's got a gun behind her back and I got a feeling...
That I'm gonna get her back, gonna get her back.
At that time, Rian and Torrence had chimed in with their instruments. Rian fiddled with his own strings, waggling his fingers as if he were clawing at them, echoing a baseline that carried the weight of the entire song. Torrence produced a small riff with his electric guitar as I began to strum my own even louder, melting into the intertwining moment of lyric and melody.
Eden kept subtly grooving with her joints and shoulders as she continued to sing, adding a lively-ness to our performance.
And it's not what she needs,
but in every failed attempt, I'll find pity,
because I really had her back,
I had her back.
Eden smiled, doing a little dance in the spotlight—pep to her step, kicking her feet as she rocked across the stage in front of us. Rian bobbed his head up and down, Torrence shook his own back and forth, and Harley went mad on the drums.
And when Eden started to jump, we knew it was time for the chorus. Our favorite part of every song we've ever written.
At that moment, we all let loose; I tore up the guitar as Rian viciously grated the bass—Eden jumped rampantly up and down, banging her head through the air with ferocity as she sang—Torrence, similarly to Eden, lost control of his limbs as he tacked the strings—and Harley flailed his arms about, slamming his sticks onto each and every surface of the drumset in a complex, yet violent rhythm.
My baby's got a gun!
I'm afraid of her love!
My baby's got a gun!
I'm in looooove!
When compared to normal indie grunge bands, Eden's tamer, more innocent-sounding voice ripping up the vocals provided such an atmospheric and harrowingly-pleasant sound to our music. One that screamed out youth and the freedom of it. The idea of living life while you're young inspired the sound we create, the lyrics we write, and the feeling we generate.
Our songs don't necessarily promote our own stories, but the ones common in our generation. We wanted our band to represent the now and the new.
Us, kids, all together.
The energy melted off of the five of us as I tossed my head back and forth rapidly, shaking off the sweat in my already damp fur. I live for this.
We continued into the second verse with the same amount of vitality as the first, with some added arrangements. Eden ran over to where Harley was and jumped onto the platform that lifted his drumset, singing the next few lyrics at a new, heightened position.
She's gonna kill me!
She's got a gun inside her chest and I got a feeling...
That I'm gonna get it bad, gonna get it bad!
Eden shook her body sporadically as though the words spilling out of her mouth caused spasmodic reactions inside of her. She jumped off of the platform and skipped over the wires on the floor, her feet barely dodging them.
Instead of returning to the chorus like every other song, we transitioned into an interlude that included only: me, my guitar, and a simple, yet, complex fingerpicking riff. We had written it that way on purpose.
Eden, Rian, and I wrote this song together at Rian's apartment in under one hour, about a year ago. We had fallen in love with it so much that we didn't even add a bridge. All it was was this:
Harley came back with his drumming pattern, Rian resumed his baseline, and Eden sang small 'oohs' as I continued with my riff.
We had so much fun—creating the lyrics and testing our instruments—when we initially wrote the song that it didn't have the need to stick to some 3-minute-radio-single formula. Sure, it was almost over before we knew it, but it was a wild time while it lasted.
This track has always been one of our favorite songs.
We eventually worked our way back to the chorus, but this time, stronger than the last.
MY BABY'S GOT A GUN!
I'M AFRAID OF HER LOVE!
MY BABY'S GOT A GUN!
SHE'S IN LOOOOOVE!
As if we were all haunted by the same unrestrained force, the five of us rocked our bodies to the hardcore tune. We must've looked like we were throwing a whole damn rave from the audience's perspective. Eden made high-kicks with every step she took across the stage, having the time of her life.
LEAVE ME BE!
OH, SHE'S... OH, SHE'S... OH...
SHE'S GONNA KILL ME!
Harley had gone insane, thrashing his limbs as he smashed the drums with extreme power. Torrence and Rian faced and approached one another, their guitars close together as if it were a mirror dividing them. I spun around, smacking my paw against the strings, careful not to slip on the wire.
LEAVE ME BE!
OH, SHE'S... OH, SHE'S... OH...
SOMEBODY KILL ME!!
For the last twelve seconds of the song, we used up every ounce of energy we had left. Eden was having the most fun, flailing her arms around to the quick, rapid tempo as we all committed assault against our instruments, our bodies loosened and free.
Eden screamed out at the top of her lungs, causing us all to howl the same way.
And just like that, we all played our last chord and immediately went dead silent, the hum of our guitars' reverb faded into a silent buzz.
Three minutes can feel like forever when playing in a band.
We looked out into the audience, the blinding lights atoning for the pitch-black environment ahead. We waited for the house lights to switch on, expecting an applaud.
And we did get it.
"WOOO!" We heard the high pitch screaming of Levi, and only Levi, fill the room.
The stage lights shut off with a clunk as the house lights lit up the arena, showing a vast, empty venue. Levi—our so-and-so 'manager'—was sitting in the middle of the uninhabited area of vacant seats just beyond the mosh pit.
I let out a sigh of relief, a smile curling onto my face as Levi screamed his heart out. We all looked at one another, proud of our rehearsal performance.
"GO, DOGTOOTH!" He kept shouting, throwing his arms in the air. We all couldn't help but smile and laugh. He was adorable.
"I still hate the name of our band," Harley quipped as we all rolled our eyes, tossing his sticks into the little pouch that was attached to the floor tom. The big, circular base drum had our band name written on the batter head with a pencil: 'Dogtooth'.
"We're all dogs, that's why we picked it," Eden responded, immensely out of breath, tugging off a black hair tie from her wrist and pulling her short, golden locks into a ponytail. Sweat was pouring down her face, but it didn't do anything to ruin the way she looked. "It's kinda our brand, don't you think?"
She was right.
I, myself, was an eighteen-year-old coyote by the name of Harvard Northwest. The name sounded pretentious, so I always went by—
"You sounded great, Harvey," Eden whispered to me as I unplugged the wire from my guitar, our band rehearsal now over. Everyone else began to pack up their equipment and unplug all the microphones, our session nearing an end.
"So did you, Edie," I returned the compliment, lifting the guitar strap from my shoulders.
My father had gifted me this Fender Stratocaster for my fifteenth birthday, the year before he passed away. Yeah, I know, bombshell, but I can't not pay my respects in my head whenever I look at the instrument.
My mom, Hayley, and my sister, Rosie, took it hard, but we've tried our best to recover. And we have. We've always had a strong relationship with one another. We've always loved and cared for each other, you know, the 'ideal family bond'. Me and my sister, with the help of my dad, even became fluent in sign language in order to communicate with my mother... who has been deaf her entire life.
"You think people are really gonna come tomorrow night? To our show?" Eden wondered, still catching her breath.
"Tomorrow's Friday, the club will likely be stacked with drunk teenagers making questionable decisions, but I'm sure we'll get some people interested in our music. Maybe even investments for our first EP, who knows?"
"Whatever you say, Harv," Edie chuckled, wrapping the microphone cable around her arm. I loved the way her laugh sounded.
Eden Pedretti was a collie and our proud, lead vocalist. She, Rian, and I were the ones who initially started the band, actually.
The idea struck at a karaoke party, freshman year. Eden was singing and dancing her heart out on the floor to 'Misery Business' by Paramore, and Rian and I were so amazed by her cute, wildly boisterous performance that we accommodated her talents with ours with high hopes. She could also play piano, like Torrence. Rian and I initially played music beforehand, but we never really had planned to start a band.
We were all, currently, seniors in the prime month of March, graduation slowly treading towards us at a lengthy pace.
Edie was honestly one of the most beautiful girls I've ever met in our grade. She wore a lot of dark-colored clothes that gave off a bruting grunge vibe, but not one that would scare people. She was actually really fucking hot and made almost every boy in our school turn their heads when she walked the halls.
For example, presently, Eden wore a black jacket that was torn to shreds at the sleeves, pure-black skinny jeans with tiny jewels sewn over the back pockets, and a black, lace crop top under her jacket that only covered her chest region. She even adorned black eyeliner, a nose ring, and some strands of black-dyed hair. Her hair itself was cut short, reaching the middle of her neck, straight at the top, wavy at the ends. Even though her hair was down, she pulled some strands into a messy bun, sporting a half-up, half-down hairdo, which made her look even more adorable and flirty. I loved her style, which always seemed to contradict her fun-loving attitude. It was also probably the reason I had been crushing on her for almost two years.
We met in elementary school and became actual friends in middle school. We've been close acquaintances ever since. Like, we've never been that close, considering that there have been rumors that she's been dating some guy that's homeschooled, but I still kept a keen eye out for her.
She never talks about her personal life. She's a mystery. A mystery that I'd love to involve myself in.
Eden was always closer to Rian. They had a relationship that I couldn't really describe. I knew almost nothing about her, but what I got for the most part was enough for me to secretly adore her on the sidelines.
Other than that, she's really easy to talk to and has such a sweet manner. She's willing to befriend people, unlike most kids in high school.
She picked up the rolled-up cable, taking it backstage to where we left the cases for our equipment. I offered to help, but she declined kindly. She was pretty tall, being only a few inches shorter than me. I was 5'11, the same for Rian, Harley being the tallest at 6'0.
"Hey, Harvey," Rian came up to me as I disconnected another microphone on the stage from its wire, twisting the grips to de-extend the stand. "Is it okay if you lay off the strumming for just a bit during the first verse? It, kinda, overshadows the bassline melody which is supposed to give the song, like, depth to it."
"Oh, no problem, noted," I returned to him as he nodded and winked, walking offstage in Eden's direction. "Good job today!"
"You too, man. You killed it. I can't wait for tomorrow."
Rian Cameron is a wolf and he's been one of my closest friends ever since we met in middle school when he moved here. Similar to Eden's clothing, his fur was a deep, midnight black, his eyes a bright yellow. You could mistake him for a werewolf at times, but when you get to know him, he's really just a calm, well-mannered dude.
Rian's the more sophisticated one in the group, caring the most about the band. He gave himself the job of paying attention to our music and its production; for example, the way our lyrics hit sonically, or the way an instrument sounds in the context of both reverb and echo. As I had said, we started the band together during our freshman year of high school and have been enlisting the help of others one by one, starting with Torrence.
I watched as Torrence Miller, a Shiba, placed his own guitar carefully into its sleek bulk casing as gently as possible, slipping his arms through the straps and carrying it on his back. He then de-extended the legs of his Yamaha piano and picked the keyboard up with his arms, ready to carry it backstage.
Levi walked up to him and patted him on the back, which frightened him for a small moment, almost dropping the keyboard. Torrence's arms tensed up at his side from the appearance of the fox, and as he released them, he shot a death glare at Levi.
Levi Miller is Torrence's adopted fox brother. Though they are of different species, they are very alike, including the way they dress. They both wore blue flannels and jeans, plain white T-shirts underneath. Even then, Levi was definitely the more hyperactive one while Torrence, though still pretty energetic, had more control over his own behavior. Torrence was about the same height as me, Levi about 5'7. They were the same age and same grade. Well, Levi was seventeen, but he would be turning eighteen in a few weeks.
Torrence was basically the Jack Antonoff of our band. He used to be just another backup guitarist, but after he learned the trumpet, piano, sax (and other instruments for our school's marching band), we decided to throw his multi-faceted talents into the mix. He also was the one who taught Eden how to play the piano if he was ever playing another instrument during a performance.
He was like the technical/miscellaneous opus of our band. He'd be the one to record our demos and test out different production tactics in his sound design programs. We'd use several of his instrumental talents in our music, thinking his range of skills made it sound more unique. I mean, the trumpet wasn't something you'd normally hear in everyday rock music.
We liked to classify our band's genre as Alternative Rock, or, that's what Levi classified us as. He was a fan of ours before we even became a real band. He would sit in and watch as Rian, Eden, and I rehearsed our music and wrote our lyrics. Once we became official, he was the one who got us gigs and planned our schedules. As I said before, Levi was basically our manager.
We haven't played a lot of concerts, though. Our gigs comprised of DIY home shows, street performances, local music and arts festivals, and just plain rock jam sessions at Rian's house.
We've been down on our luck for a while, but Levi had somehow managed to get us a gig at this small club in town tomorrow night.
We were all very excited about it. And nervous. A mix of the two.
As Torrence and Levi both left the stage together, Harley made his way up to me.
"Harvey," He greeted.
"Harley," I greeted back.
Harley Brownstone joined after Torrence, being our latest addition from three years ago since we obviously needed drums. He didn't really care about his appearance, he just wore the same graphic purple sweatshirt everywhere he went. Although he was half-fox, he was also half-wolf, a hybrid species. His mother was a fox and his father was a wolf, so they fucked and reproduced to create his unique breed.
He seems to like his fox side more than his wolf side since he liked his mother more than his father. He was also more romantically attracted to foxes. I think he even dated a male fox at one point, but I can't remember his name. We were all accepting people, of course. We didn't mind if he was gay, we couldn't care less actually.
"Hey, listen... I know this is sudden, but I couldn't help but think about it during our whole rehearsal. I've got some... news," Harley told me with an unsure tone of voice once the stage was empty, leaving only us two. I raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if it's good or bad, sort of halfway."
"Oh, I'm worried now," I joked, laughing as I brushed my paw through my fur, feeling the sweat collect on my hand. It grossed me out, driving me to wipe the damp paw against the back of my pants.
"So... I got into to CIVA."
The moment I had heard the news, my face lit up in exuberance. My whole body jerked suddenly as my eyes bulged, throwing my hands in the air.
"DUDE!" I shouted aloud, reaching in his direction for a hug.
"Harv, shh!" Harley pressed, grabbing me by the shoulders. "I just found out today and I haven't told anyone else."
"That's fucking incredible, man!" I burst, ignoring what he had said before, pulling him into a hug anyway. "How could this be 'halfway' news?"
"Well, first of all, the tuition is fucking insane," Harley began, pushing me away. "My parents can't afford it. And we're not too keen on taking out loans. So, they're forcing me to get an actual job. Like an all-day, high-paying job."
"Okay?"
"That means... I have to quit the band."
"Oh." The realization struck me like a wrecking ball.
Harley has been a part of the band for three years. I met him through Rian in middle school, but he has always been a valuable friend of mine.
It would be sad to see him go, definitely, but... I can't trap him into something he could be stuck doing unhappily for the rest of his life.
None of us really had any plans for college. School was barely a thought in our minds, as evident by our withering GPAs. Music was always going to be the long haul.
But, Harley always made it clear that the band was just a hobby for him, and we respected that. His heart lay somewhere else.
"You really want to go, right?" I asked him, placing my paw back onto his shoulder.
"It's my dream school."
"Then, fuck the band. It's your life, your future. Don't let us drag you down with us when you actually have a shot of getting out of this damn town."
"But... tomorrow night might be my last show with you guys. After that, you'll need a new drummer—"
"—I'm sure we'll find one—"
"—And you, Eden, Rian, and Torrence are in the middle of writing the band's first EP. I don't want to throw you guys off your path."
"It's okay, we'll hold auditions and find someone capable."
"Are you sure?"
"Harley, you've dreamt of this for so long. Don't waste it."
"Thank you, Harv."
"Don't sweat it, dude."
"You really love this band, don't you?"
"Of course, I do. One of the few things I've done that's been worthwhile. We built it from the ground up."
"I'm sorry for pulling a piece from your Jenga tower."
"It's okay, Har. We'll make sure to celebrate your acceptance and give you the best goodbye party ever. Now, go tell the others. They need to know. It's good news."
Harley laughed, flustered. I could tell he was glad about the way things had turned out. He began to take steps backward, leaving me alone on the stage.
"The drummer who replaces me better be fucking good."
"You know we'll find someone."
"You always do. See you, tomorrow, Harvard."
Harley saluted his fingers from his brow in my direction. He then turned around and exited the stage, disappearing into the wing with his drumsticks.
I stood still, glancing back at the empty venue, the many seats that compiled and filled the arena. The floor before the seats was an abandoned wasteland, some litter dancing across the wooden floorboards like a tumbleweed in the desert. Soon, it would be filled with audience members, jumping to and applauding our music.
I took a few moments before heading out.
I breathed in the air and exhaled, shifting into a state of calmness.
The silence was loud. The silence was eternal.
Suddenly, the house lights shut off, leaving me in the dark.