Thanks for coming out tonight! Are you ready to rock?”
A couple of people in the audience indicate that yes, they are indeed ready to begin the process of rocking. A few others don’t look up from their cell phones, but I’m confident that they’ll discover their readiness to rock as soon as we start playing. The rest of the eleven or so people in the club haven’t bothered to walk over to the dance floor. Presumably, they’re waiting for the headline act before committing to whether or not they’re mentally and physically prepared to rock.
“We’re Fanged Grapefruit,” I say into the microphone. “This first song is an original called, ‘You Can’t Train a Goldfish to Catch Popcorn in Its Mouth, So Don’t Even Try.’ One, two, three, go!”
I can’t remember which of us came up with the name Fanged Grapefruit. I think it was Clarissa, our drummer. I consider myself the creative driving force of the band, but if you see Clarissa, you’ll understand why she doesn’t lose many arguments. She’s at least six foot three (though I’ve never measured her), and you wouldn’t want to arm wrestle her unless you were willing to lose an arm. When she really gets going, her drumsticks become a blur. And when she’s done with a set, the sticks look like they’ve been gnawed on by beavers.
Mel, short for Melvin, is lead guitar and background vocals. I’m lead vocals and rhythm guitar. Ironically, Mel is a worse guitar player and a better singer than me. Not everything we do in Fanged Grapefruit makes sense.
Mel doesn’t look like he should be in a punk rock band. He looks like he should be president of the Chess Club. Which he is, but I assure you, the guy plays chess with attitude. He also gets straight A’s and is likely to be our class valedictorian, and if so, I hope he’ll pause his inspiring commencement speech for a wicked guitar solo.
I’m Rod, short for Rodney. Nice to meet you. I’m pretty much average, I guess.
Other band names we’d brainstormed included Untidy Reptiles, Autocorrected Text Fail, Rod & the Whacknuts, Carnivorous Vegans, Impolite Music for Unruly People, The RMC Experiment, Say Goodbye to Your Ears, Pawn Takes Rook, Crunchy Noise, Crispy Noise, Chicken Fried Noise, (The Parentheticals), Apes with Monkey Faces, Hairnets Gloriously Aflame, Dog Eat Dog Eat Munchkin, The Self-Diagnosing Hypochondriacs, Sequel II, and Sushi Gun.
We play at this club, the Lane, every Monday, which is the only day you can get in if you’re under eighteen. We go onstage around eight, and we’re home by nine fifteen, so all our parents are cool with us being out on a school night. It also helps that they’ve never actually been inside the Lane, which is a bubbling pit of health code violations. If you have to go to the bathroom, hold it. Trust me.
I’m sure we’d have a much bigger audience if we could play on a Friday or Saturday night, but Clarissa, Mel, and I are only sixteen, so we’ve got a couple of years to go. (Sorry if it was insulting that I did the math for you.) We hope that by the time we’re old enough to play there on a weekend, we’ll have upgraded to venues where your feet don’t stick to the floor as often.
Anyway, we begin to rock out on our guitars and drums, and select members of the audience begin to move to the music. Well, okay, only two of them. And one is my girlfriend, Audrey. You might say that she doesn’t count, but we got together because I was in a band, so I think she does count, thank you very much.
Audrey runs our merch table. We never sell anything, though she gives away free stickers to people who look like they might be band managers. She’s as tiny as Clarissa is non-tiny. You won’t believe me if I say she’s the most gorgeous girl at our school, so all I’ll say is that if you look at her and look at me, you’d say, “Wow, how did that happen? He must be in a band.”
By the end of our set, three people in the audience are bopping their heads to the music. That’s a fifty percent increase from when we started. Fanged Grapefruit rules!
* * *
After dropping off Clarissa, Mel, and then Audrey (because I always pick her up first and drop her off last, even though she lives the furthest away), I go home, take a shower, and start packing my lunch for the next day.
“How was your gig?” Mom asks, walking into the kitchen.
“Great! Every show gets a little better.”
“I was going to do that for you,” she says, pointing to the sandwich I’m making.
“I know.” Mom works two jobs, both of which suck, so I’m always happy to make my own lunch. Plus I’m very specific about the spread of my peanut butter. It should be as close to the edge of the bread as possible without spilling over, and the thickness should be consistent. Generally, I’m a pretty casual guy, but not when it comes to peanut butter application. We all have our quirks.
“I’ve got news,” she says.
“Dad got out of prison?”
Dad isn’t really in prison. He left us two years ago. We joke about him being in prison as a coping mechanism.
“I’m finally going to get a baby sister?”
“Ha. You wish.”
“You got a raise?”
Mom shakes her head. “I did get a five-dollar tip on an eighteen-dollar meal though. That was nice.”
“Wild panthers have run amok in our neighborhood, gobbling up people left and right?”
“Maybe you should stop guessing.”
“Maybe I should. So is this good news or bad news?” I ask.
I set down the butter knife. “That doesn’t sound like a good ‘well…’”
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it bad news,” Mom says. “It’s definitely not the worst news ever. Nobody died or anything.”
“You know your aunt Mary and uncle Clark?”
“Of course.” I don’t think I’ve seen Uncle Clark since I was six. We live in Florida, and they live in California. He and Dad never got along, so every couple of years, Aunt Mary would visit us by herself. With Dad out of the picture, I assumed we’d see more of our extended family, but it never really happened.
“Aunt Mary and Uncle Clark are going on a cruise.”
“That’s cool.” I consider that for a moment and then get very excited. “Are they taking us with them?”
“It’s one of those around-the-world cruises. Three whole months. Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Did I mention that Aunt Mary and Uncle Clark are rich? You probably picked up on that when Mom said they were going on a three-month-long world cruise.
“Is Blake going with them?” I ask.
“No. He’s not.”
Suddenly, I have an idea where this conversation is headed. It doesn’t make me happy. “Maybe you should spell this out for me,” I say.
“Your cousin Blake is going to live with us for three months. Isn’t that exciting?”
I stare at her for a few hours.
(Possibly, I’m exaggerating.)
“Starting when?” I ask.
“You mean before the school year ends?”
“Yes. He’s going to transfer to your school.”
“That’s messed up!”
Mom shrugs. “They got a good deal on the cruise.”
“Where’s he going to stay? We don’t have a guest bedroom.”
“Well, I thought…you know…”
“He can’t share my room!” If I wasn’t almost an adult, I would have stomped my foot.
“Honey, it’s only for three months.”
“That’s a quarter of a year! I thought we were broke,” I say. “How are we going to pay for all that extra food?”
“We’re not that broke, and obviously, your aunt and uncle will help pay for groceries.”
“Isn’t he a spoiled brat?”
“You haven’t seen him in ten years,” Mom says.
“Well, ten years ago he was a spoiled brat.”
“I’m sure he’s fine now.”
“Doesn’t he have any friends he can stay with in California?”
My mom sighs. “Rodney, he’s family. Family is always welcome in our home.”
I hope I’m not coming off as whiny and selfish. If a hurricane tore the roof off their house and they lost all of their worldly possessions, sure, I’d happily donate half of my room to Cousin Blake while they rebuilt their lives. But asking me to give up my privacy so Aunt Mary and Uncle Clark can go on a luxury cruise seems kind of unreasonable.
However, I’m pretty sure this is a done deal, and my mom has enough stress in her life without me continuing to protest.
“All right,” I say.
“Thank you.” Mom gives me a hug. “I think you’ll enjoy having him here.”
Who knows? Maybe I will. Maybe my cousin is a really cool guy. Maybe he has good taste in music. And maybe he’s witty and entertaining. And maybe he’ll be willing to help with emergency cleanup if we’re having a wild party and Mom calls suddenly to say she’s on her way home early.
We might end up being the best friends that any two cousins could ever be. We’ll giggle and frolic and be inseparable.
But probably not.
I can’t believe I have to share my room.
I return to making my lunch. I’ll try to be optimistic and pretend that these will be the best three months of my life. How bad could it be?