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It was mainly Reed that I wanted to check up on. We’d had a lot of respect for each other in the early days of the band. We were both equally nerdy about music, though he was far smarter than me in most topics, always reading some massive tome of philosophy or literature.
His lyrics tended towards the cerebral. We co-wrote most songs, and my bold, brash lyrics had given his careful, clever lyrics the edge they needed to be popular. He would write the most delicately held together song, with so many deep meanings. I would essentially come up with some edgy sounding phrases and insert them loudly into the chorus.
Yet my lyrics were the ones most people remembered. The true fans, sure, had a deeper appreciation, and it’s true I wasn’t popular amongstNeedlehead’s remaining true fans. But I was the most widely known.
It didn’t take me long to find out what he was up to these days. According to Wikipedia, Reed was in a new band, and it appeared he was the frontman as well as the lead guitarist. We had always clashed on ego a little, so it made sense he’d want the control that being a frontman afforded.
His new band,Unspeakable Bats, seemed to be doing okay. Not well enough that I’d heard of them before, obviously, but popular within their own little scene. They were even going on tour soon.
I shut down the browser window. For some reason, I thought the rest of the band must have quietly given up music, like I had, when we split. It weirdly hadn’t occurred to me that they were still out there, doing what we’d once all loved best.
Needleheadstill had a lot of fans. I missed playing. If we reunited, we’d have a ready-made audience for us to play to.
I thought I’d never reach the day, but... I kind of wanted to reform the band.
If only I wasn’t universally despised by not only my bandmates, but all of the diehard fans of the group.
Ah well.
Luna
Twenty-five years ago...
I’d been walking down the school corridor, trying to look as pissed-off as possible so that everyone would leave me alone, when someone dared to break through my forcefield of apathy and call out to me.
The voice came outta nowhere. “Hey, nice t-shirt.”
I’d hardly been present in my surroundings. Some guy had thrown me a compliment in passing, so I was obliged to acknowledge it in return. “Thanks.” I smiled a tight smile intended to be polite but that I knew always came out as a grimace – I’d seen it in photos.
The guy stopped walking. I stared at him, surprised. This was Sylvester Hart, also known amongst the girls of our school – and some of the guys – as ‘The Hartthrob’. Why was he stopping? Had the compliment been a joke – was he now gonna laugh at my musical taste?
But instead, he smiled. It was such a dazzling and genuine smile that, in that moment, I suddenly understood why half the girls in the school were smitten with him.
He feigned a stern frown. “Favorite Bowie album, and favorite Bowie look. Go.”
“Trick question. It’s the same. Album:Low. Look: the orange floppy hair that’s iconic of theLowalbum.”
“Hmm.” He stroked his chin. “Sounds like you’ve only heard or seen that one album.”
I rolled my eyes and started walking down the corridor. I was already done with guys who thought they could quiz me on music and somehow one-up me. They always got schooled, and I’d long since stopped answering the questions.
He jogged to catch up with me. “Hey – sorry. That sounded like I don’t believe you’re a fan. But I do. You’ve got that serious look to your face. Like you both despise me and know all the secrets of the universe.”
I kept walking. “That’s just my face.”
“Maybe you just hate everyone and do know all the secrets of the universe. Er, my name’s Sylvester.”
Was he feigning humbleness, pretending not to know that everyone in school knew his name? I answered blankly. “I know.”
“Well, what’s yours?”
“Luna.”
“Nice to meet you, Luna. We share the same favorite Bowie look. But for album, I gotta go withZiggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.”
I stopped and looked at him. “Oh, so you’re a drama queen?”
He beamed at the insult, for some reason, and jabbed a finger at me. “And you’re an eccentric recluse.”
