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“I’m sure a lot of people do.”
They passed a group playing hopscotch on a game grid etched into the ground with neon chalk. Brilliant drawings surrounded them, paint and chalk, all glowing was the most common medium. Their food was consumed well before they made it back to their RVs, where they were met with a cloud of bubbles. Zakk batted his hands in front of his face, trying to move aside the swarm that engulfed them.
“What the hell?” Tripp muttered, looking up to see the members of both of their bands perched on top of their respective RV’s, with all manner of bubble guns, cannons, and what even resembled a Gatlin, actively firing back and forth at one another.
“Bubble war!” Damien yelled down from atop his RV, his words proceeding a volley of bubbles fired their way.
“Hey, what the fuck man, friendly fire, damn!” Zakk said, putting some distance between him and Tripp, even as bubbles popped against Tripp’s face.
“Oh you’re gonna leave me to face the enemy alone?” Tripp said, reaching for Zakk, who moved a little further away.
“Looks like this is band versus band, babe, which means that in this case, you’re the enemy.”
“Is that how it’s gonna be?”
“Yup.”
“Hey, we got you a blaster too,” Riley hollered down to Zakk. “Come on up and help us.”
“Be right there.”
“Got you one too,” Winter called down to him. “Now get up here and help even the odds.”
“Oh, I’ll even them out alright,” Tripp promised, as he headed up to join in the fun. He felt twenty-two again, fresh on the road with his band and his brother and all the antics they got up to. As he accepted the bubble cannon his brother passed him, he vowed to hold on to this moment, the camaraderie, the lightheartedness, the fun that he felt as he sent bubbles spiraling off the neon adorned roof of his band’s RV. This was what they’d been after all those years ago. He fired another volley of bubbles, trying to target Zakk and getting Riley instead. Laughing, Riley returned fire again and again and again, until bubbles clung to Tripp’s, shirt, hair and even the hand he grabbed the bubble mix with to reload his weapon. They could drown him in it for all he cared. He just never wanted the feeling to end.
Epilogue
Watching Winter on stage with Wild Child was breathtaking. After all the exhilaration of the shred-off, Bleeding Dawn’s performance, and watching Zakk’s with Tattered Angel, it was nice to be just a blip in the crowd. Adorned in dark hoodies, neon armbands and necklaces, they rocked out to the music like any other fan. Colorful lights reflected off the bubbles the fans blew and the fog steadily covering the stage from the fog machine. Every time they moved, Winter’s feet vanished below the layers of rolling white, like he was a ghost swirling up from them, the effect aided by the gray and silver clothes he wore, and the pure white he’d died his hair. All but the tips, which were edged in a pale pastel blue.
With Jesse singing and handling all the lead guitar work, Winter got to play base and hang back a little, something his twin had professed to be grateful for. It had stunned him a little, to hear Winter echo Zakk’s question to him when they’d spoken about it. It had driven home the point to him that he’d been taking Winter for granted, and contributed to some of his brothers feelings about not mattering aside from the music.
Hugging Zakk to him, he let the song wash over him. He had so much to thank this man for. He was just grateful that he’d have the rest of their lives together to make sure Zakk knew just how much he appreciated him.
“I love you!” he shouted, making certain Zakk could hear him over the crowd.
“I love you too!” Zakk, along with several people around them, replied. That was okay to. The vibe was wild, electric, everything he and Winter had dreamed of back when they were performing for family and friends at their old man’s barbeques. They’d fallen in love with the music together. Sat face to face in beanbag chairs, guitars in their hands, working through songs they’d heard on the radio long before they’d gotten good at reading notes and tab.
There were quiet moments of working out the beginnings of their first songs, soft, silly ballads about the family dog, and even one about the adorable boy with the dark red hair that had lived just up the block from them when they were kids. He’d loved listening to them play and would sometimes add his voice to theirs in song. He’d been so shy in the beginning, but the more he got to know them, the more he’d opened up. If his parents hadn’t split and his old man hadn’t taken off with him, he might have been an original member of Bleeding Dawn. He was certainly the first crush he and Winter had shared. It felt good to look back on that moment without a twinge of jealousy.
A lot of bands didn’t have bass solos, but then, a lot of bands didn’t have a bassist as talented as Tish, and now Winter. His brother’s eyes were closed, his fingers moving over the long fret board as his hair dripped sweat.
An image of Winter headbanging so enthusiastically he’d smacked his head on his guitar flashed through Tripp’s mind and a bubble of laughter welled up, spilling over as he watched his brother play.
How many music magazines had they left in tatters to they could live moments like this? How many nights had they played while he was making supper, so he could listen to them practice and see how far they’d progressed. While he no longer had the energy to brave a crowd like this to watch them play live, they were constantly sending home videos, providing him with a collection of shows spanning the past eight years. Their pops had worked way more years than he'd planned, just for them to be able to launch their careers. Just for moments like these, where they could be at their freest.
The joy on Winter’s face was something he hadn’t seen in years. It only dawned on him now that while Winter’s playing had always been phenomenal, and grown more so each year, there had been something missing, like a shadow hanging over him. Tripp was proud of him, and though it meant they’d see less of one another, he was glad Winter had chosen to take this step and play with Wild Child. He’d found his inner glow again, and with any luck, and a lot of help from Zakk, Tripp hoped to one day do the same. For now, he pulled Zakk tight to him and swayed like they were on the dance floor. Was like the creators of the universe had molded Zakk to fit in his arms. He kissed the side of Zakk’s head, then tipped his face up so he could claim his lips. Didn’t matter that they were being jostled, or that the tempo of the song had kicked into high gear. They swayed together like they were listening to an old love song, making out among a sea of neon bejeweled concertgoers. When they finally broke apart, the brilliant blue and silver pyro of the band’s set highlighting Zakk’s face.
“I love you to the stars and back,” Zakk said.
“It’s always gotta be something in the sky with you, doesn’t it,” Tripp said.
“Yup, now do me a favor and remember that line.”
“Why?”
“’Cause we’re gonna turn it into the first song we write together.”
“I’m all for firsts. Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That from this day forward, we’ll share all our firsts together.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
