Rock-And-Roll Eyes

Chapter Twenty-Six

I'm not sure if I only began to notice it now, or if the sexism in this city had truly soared skywards, especially with our shows. It seems, now, that I can't get through one show without getting demeaning glares or objective comments. Perhaps the conversation I overheard made me more hyper-aware, or, perhaps, it woke me up.

When I think back, I can't tell whether or not this has always been. I've always been so infatuated with the music, I didn't notice much else. I could have always been getting resentful glares or comments and just not realized.

I tried to ask Vincent, but he danced around the subject. He kept changing it to new songs or new ideas. He tried to make me believe he didn't realize, but I knew he did. The look in his eyes told me that he knew. He just didn't want to tell me because he was afraid of what I would do.

Benedict and Oscar were the same. I tried to ask them, but they wouldn't give me straightforward answers. Benedict told me not to let what other people think get to me, and Oscar told me not to 'bloody care what those shits say'.

As much as I wanted to ignore it, now that I knew it was there, I couldn't. It was like staring an elephant in the face and claiming it wasn't there. These people were obviously against me, but only me. They would clap, cheer, and whistle for Vincent, Oscar, and Benedict, but when it came to the only girl of the group, nothing but silence. Even during my drum solos, I only had two, there was complete silence. The entire crowd simply stared at me, a few whispered amongst themselves and snickered. Most stood with placid expressions and waited for my solo to be over and the lads to play once again.

It hurt to know they didn't like me because of what's between my legs. Just because I was born female, they don't think I can properly play the drums. As if being male or female affects your ability to hit a drum with a stick.

The fact that our audience was against me didn't only hurt me, it also hurt the band. There were only four of us, four pieces of a whole. You can't love three, hate the other, and still expect to get somewhere. It's like having three wheels on your car and the fourth being a square rock.

I didn't want to admit it, but I knew, I was weighing the band down. All because society believes women are less than men because they're missing a few parts, I became a problem for our group. It was a huge problem, one that only had two answers, neither of which were good. This time, we couldn't solve our problems with music.

There was a chance, small as it may be, that I was making all of this up. Overhearing the conversation between those two men could have put an idea in my head that wouldn't go away. This could all be in my head and everything is really fine, but something told me that wasn't true. The look in Vincent's eyes when I asked him spoke volumes.

I sloshed the golden brown liquid around in my cup. The whiskey splashed against the sides. I watched it, studying it as if it held the answers to all my problems. In a way, it did. It offered an escape. With just a few sips, I could blur my senses just enough to where all I knew was the music, not the people I was playing for.

We had just finished another show, and, yet again, I was met with the same demeaning glares and degrading whispers. My drum solos were met with the usual silence, save for derogatory whispers. At that very moment, I was doing my best to ignore a group of boys just a few seats from me talking about how much they loved the band, except for the drummer. 'She's out of place' 'An eyesore' 'Women shouldn't play with men.' All of these words, these insults, bounced around in my cranium. Had I listened any longer, I might actually have believed them.

"Hello."

A man sat down on the stool next to me. He placed himself directly between me and the boys I was about to pummel. He was older than me, but not by much, nine or ten years at the max. His hair was almost identical in color to mine but much shorter. He had a face that reminded me of the dolls Mum gave me. His skin was like porcelain, and his features were perfectly aligned. His eyes looked tired like he hadn't slept for a day or two, but they sparkled with life. In the wrinkles beneath his eyes as well as his rosy cheeks and perky ears, I saw kindness.