"Don't you feel it growing, day by day
People getting ready for the news
Some are happy, some are sad
Whoa, gotta let the music play"
"Listen to the Music" by The Doobie Brothers
"How were we supposed to know that you two would show up?" Kathy asked. Her fists were planted on her hips and her cheeks were splotchy with red. Bash could tell she was as angry as she was embarrassed.
Tonight, Wolgemoth & Sons did not ring out with music. Tonight, it upheld the arguments and emotions of the past few hours and seemed to be tipping ever so slightly beneath its weight.
"At least Bash and I didn't plummet down from the roof!" Smiley retorted.
"At least Syl and I weren't trying to slither our way into enemy territory like snakes!"
"That is enough," Syl said. Even though her tone was low, Kathy and Smiley stopped their argument to look at her.
Syl had recovered from her violent outburst and now a dangerous sort of calm had overtaken her countenance.
"What's done is done," she said. She absently swirled her pinky finger around the rim of her tea mug before setting it to the side. "None of us should have been snooping our noses into other people's business."
She glanced at Bash and he detected something in her gaze like an apology.
"But we did. And we got our...karma?" She looked at Bash again, but for a different reason this time.
He nodded and she went on.
"Now we know who we're dealing with. They are rich mu'daks who don't know their arse from a microphone, yet somehow get hundreds more listeners than we do."
"Not to mention their lack of taste in music," Bash added, still upset over the one boy's comment about Jimi Hendrix.
"They were just ever so rude to us." Kathy drug her hand over her face. "And Jim...I thought he was so nice and all this time, he's been working for them."
"You didn't spill any of our information to him, did you?" Smiley asked.
Kathy glared at him sharply. "I'm just about tired of your–"
"All right," Bash interrupted. "We've had enough arguing for one day. Maybe even three. Why don't we try and get some rest? We have a radio station to run in the morning."
"For now," Kathy, who was not usually the pessimist, muttered.
She left first, followed by Smiley.
Bash assumed Syl would go in after them, but she didn't. Bash was too tired (or, rather, too afraid) to go over the day's events again, so he said, "I've been working on a new song."
"I'll get my guitar."
While she brought back her bass, Bash fished out the legal pad paper he'd stuffed in his pocket and unfurled it for her.
Syl took it and mused over it for a long time, nodding every once in a while. She'd absently slide her fingers up and down the neck of her guitar without picking the strings, envisioning the bass lines.
The water was particularly quiet that night. Even the wharf didn't bustle like it usually did. Everything was so peaceful; so unlike the storms brewing inside The Crumbs.
Finally, Syl nodded a final time and scooted her chair to sit beside Bash.
"The bridge," she said, "needs some work, but the chorus is brilliant."
Bash smiled in spite of himself. "Thank you."
He picked up his guitar, expecting Syl to count them off.
"Bash?" she said instead.
Her voice was soft, which scared him. He could only imagine her next words: what if the Mad Teddy's run them out of business? What happens to them? Where will they go?
What she actually said was, "I am sorry."
The words didn't register at first. Syl rarely apologized because she was rarely ever in the wrong.
"Why?" he asked, adjusting his guitar strap uncomfortably.
Instead of avoiding his gaze guiltily, Syl locked eyes with him as if this confession was as serious as a blood pact. "I tried to sneak behind your back because I knew you wouldn't approve and I ended up making it all worse."
Bash shrugged a shoulder. "I should apologize as well–"
"No," Syl said sharply. "You would have gotten away with your plan if it hadn't been for mine. Because now we've made an enemy, Sebastian–not just rivals. Do you realize this?"
Bash bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn't considered the weight of their debacle. Or the stupidity of either plan. He'd been trying to play it off as a mere hiccup in their career in front of Smiley and Kathy since they were already at their wits' ends, both with each other and the events of the day.
But this was Syl. And as he looked at her, he saw reality.
"What do we do?" he murmured, allowing his shoulders to finally sag. "If the Teddy's take Manchester...we're out."
His own words echoed through his heart.
"We're out," he repeated, true fear in his voice.
Syl gulped and finally broke her gaze.
She put her guitar to the side and drew her knees to her chest. She was silent for a long time and Bash was too deep in thought to make conversation.
When Syl did speak, however, her voice sounded as if it were on the brink of tears, though Bash didn't think that could be true.
"I am worried, Sebastian. Very worried. I don't...I can't lose you and Smiley and Kathy. I just..." She pursed her lips and dropped her gaze to her lap.
That was the first time she'd ever admitted her feelings to Bash without him prying her to the brink of insanity.
He gently nudged her knee. "Why'd we call ourselves The Crumbs?"
"You know why."
"Remind me."
"Of that long speech you made up?"
"Yes."
Syl shrugged. "Fine. It's because we're growing up in the sixties. Everyone's healed from the war and–what's the word? Oh, surged forward in society. Everything is new and moving ahead quickly in pursuit of greatness, I guess. But like when a vacuum runs too fast over carpet, there's always crumbs left over. That's who we are–the crumbs of society. The ones that greatness forgot."
Bash nodded slowly. "Right. So, we have to do what we've always done–survive. Those Teddy's might have better technology and a better boat, but none of them have gone hungry. They haven't lost everything before. They probably don't even tie their own shoes."
Syl snickered at that. "And we don't only love music, we make music. That's why our station's special."
Bash let out a long sigh. Then, like the dawning of the morning sun, his expression changed from sadness to hope.
He shot to his feet. "We make music! That's why our station is special!"
Syl squinted one eye. "Considering that that's exactly what I just said, I would agree."
"We make music!"
"I feel like I am just hearing the same words," Syl said, baffled. "Are there different tones in English that I don't know or something? What is it that you are thinking, Bash?"
"I don't know," Bash replied truthfully. It was as if he was on the brink of...something. But he couldn't tell what just yet.
Bash took in a breath try and explain explain, but something stopped him. He and Syl had grown close over the years, being the two oldest Crumbs, and he'd gotten used to telling her most things. But there was only one person in the entire world to whom Bash told everything.
He needed to talk to Smiley first.
So instead of explaining, he said, "We're going to be okay, Syl. I can feel it."
Syl gave him a suspicious once over, but if there was one thing Bash could always count on her for, it was not prying.
He realized he was still holding her hands and immediately dropped them, clearing his throat. "I just have a few things to run by Smiles first," he said.
Syl shrugged. "All right, keep your secrets. I have a painting to finish."
"Good luck."
"Good night." Syl turned to leave, and Bash watched as she opened the hatch and disappeared down into her room.
He couldn't help but feel like he'd seen a different side of Syl tonight. A Syl that was, for once, vulnerable. Scared. Just like he was.
It was as if he'd been unexpectedly handed a key to yet another corridor of Syl's mind; a key he would add to his collection. Maybe one day he'd receive the last one and finally unlock the mystery that was Syl herself.
He ran his hand through his hair and went down to their rooms. Smiley's cot sat in the corner of a perfectly organized space. There were exactly three books stacked on his nightstand from largest to smallest, his clothes folded neatly in the corner, and his school backpack hung up on a peg.
Bash never remembered being so orderly when he was Smiley's age. He always kicked his shoes off in haphazard ways (that purposefully annoyed his mother), left his schoolbooks on the kitchen table, and his room, he recalled, always smelled faintly of socks and ancient tombs.
Bash was surprised Smiley was asleep. He and Kathy must not have had their evening argument, which meant they were both in lower spirits than Bash first thought.
"Smiles, wake up," he whispered, jostling his brother's shoulder.
Smiley sat bolt upright; his eyes bleary with sleep but wide open. "What? Have the Mad Teddy's attacked already?!"
He flung off his covers before Bash could respond and went to his cabinet. To Bash's shock, Smiley pulled out a baseball bat with nails sticking out of the sides.
Smiley gaped at Bash, half-asleep and bewildered. "Well? Where are they?"
Bash held up his hands. "There's no attack, mate. I just wanted to have a chat. Where did you get that thing?"
Smiley drug his arm over his eyes and yawned, seemingly disappointed that he wasn't going to be able to use his weapon.
"I made it," he said.
Bash decided not to press any further.
Smiley followed him up to the wheelhouse since a slight chill had settled outside. They sat at the breakfast table near the window, beyond which was darkness. The moon wasn't out that night, so the floodlights from the boat were the only thing that illuminated some of the water around them.
"I know how we can save the station," Bash began.
What was left of Smiley's drowsiness immediately evaporated. He smoothed his flop of hair away from his eyes to reveal a look of hope and skepticism on his face. "How?"
"When we started this station, the only edge we had on our competitors was that we're a youth-operated radio. Young music brought by young people, right?"
"As I recall, that is correct."
"Now, of course, there are new cats in town."
"So I've heard."
"Which means we need a new angle." Bash rubbed his hands together conspiratorially. "And I believe that new angle is to play music."
"Play...music?"
"Yes, play music." Bash got up from his seat, unable to stay still any longer. "We already make our own music. All we need to do is perform it for other people. Not even Radio Carolina has anything like that."
Smiley squinted an eye. "You mean a concert?"
Bash nodded. "We could have it here. On the boat. The people would love it and we'd be advertising the station the whole time."
Smiley considered his brother heavily. Whenever his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth turned down as he thought, Bash saw their father, which brought a familiar twinge to his heart.
"Also," Bash added before Smiley could reply, his voice soft, "I think maybe Mum and Dad would want us to. We'd be bringing music into people's lives, no matter who they are or where they come from."
Smiley picked at his cuticles. "You think it'll really help the station?"
"What do we have to lose?"
Bash was surprised to see doubt in Smiley's face.
Smiley shifted in his seat, not meeting Bash's gaze. "You think...do you really think we're good enough?"
Bash put his hand on Smiley's arm.
He said, "I do, Smiles. I really do."
The Mad Teddy's had every advantage possible, except for this. Music was something nobody could imitate with money or an inflamed ego. Music was like a chromosome–some had it and some didn't.
Smiley's chin firmed with resolve. "Alright, then. A concert it is."
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Hey guys! I hope you're having a good week!
~What do you think of Bash's new idea?
~How will the other Crumbs respond?
~General thoughts?
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