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Colton
Another night.Another dive bar.
We’ve played here before, though I don’t remember it smelling this ripe. Like someone took a piss in the corner, and instead of mopping it up with soap and water, they used stale beer. Then there’s the faint scent of body odor lingering in the air. And every time the front door opens, the chill of the winter air pushing in, all the toxic smells swirl around me and cause my stomach to churn a little more.
If Nash didn’t love this place so much, I’d never step foot back in here again. But we always put it to a vote when we’re offered a gig, and since Nash and Ace are best friends, I tend to get out voted.
Like last night, when the owner of the bar called, begging for us to play tonight after their regular Thursday night band backed out. I immediately sent the guys a text, even though I knew what the decision would be.
ME: BJ’s is asking if we want to take the ten o’clock slot tomorrow night.
NASH: Hell yes! Love that place.
ACE: I’m game.
Normally, I’d use homework or frat bullshit in an attempt to back out or convince them to turn the gig down. With classes ending today for the semester and winter break in full swing, I couldn’t come up with a valid excuse quick enough.
I’m not going home for break—they know this.
I don’t have any other commitments.
My schedule is wide open until the semester starts back up.
NASH: I know it’s not your favorite place, but we could use the money, Colt. We don’t have any other gigs coming up unless you booked us something and failed to mention it.
I have not.
For them, it’s always about the money. I’ve been scrimping and saving for years. I don’t spend a penny I don’t have to. Not because I don’t want to either. My financial aid allots me only a certain amount to live on each semester, and I stretch it as far as it will go. I know how to make a dime feel like a dollar. And I’m not ashamed of that.
My frugal ways have allowed to me save a good chunk of change for after graduation. It’s not enough to sustain me very long, so any extra cash would be a bonus. Which means taking the gig, even though I’d rather not.
ME: I’ll start putting out feelers after the holidays. Try to see if I can book a few gigs for January.
ACE: BJ’s pays the most. Maybe they’ll let us fill Thursday nights regularly.
That’s what I’m afraid of. As much as they want to see our name in lights one day, to tour the country and play the big arenas, that’s not my dream. Writing music is my passion. Singing for large crowds, touring… it’s all a distant second place.
Not to mention, it’s a pipe dream considering no one outside of Lake State has ever heard of us. And I’m afraid at the end of the day, our fate is going to be similar to our name.
Fade Into Nothing.
NASH: Can’t hurt to ask.
Nash’s final text from last night rattles around in my head as I watch him fiddle with his drumsticks. He and Ace finished setting up a few minutes ago and are currently sitting on the edge of the stage flirting with two girls. I’ve seen them before. They’ve been to a few shows. I’m not sure how they heard we were playing tonight since it was a last-minute thing, but I honestly don’t give a damn either. That’s two more people in the audience cheering, riling up the crowd.
“This place smells like shit.”
What the hell is he doing here? I purposely failed to mention where we were playing tonight so none of the guys would come. If I can’t stand to be here, and I grew up in places like this, then I doubt any of my brothers would be caught dead here.
“No worse than the house after a few of the parties over the years.” Turning to face Max, I’m not surprised to find his nose wrinkled in disgust.
“It’s worse, man. Way worse. Why the hell did you take this gig?”
“Out voted.”
“Doesn’t your vote count more than the others? You’re the lead singer.”
That should mean something. Once upon a time, maybe it did.
