Walking After You | Dave Grohl

twenty-one

AFTER A SUCCESSFUL merch sale, Nessa, Shelli, and Jimmy stood by the side of the stage while Dave worked on the set-up of his kit, always a full-blown perfectionist about the way his drums were positioned.

An inch to the right and, according to him, his entire ‘feel’ would be thrown off. Either way, he would be showing no mercy to the poor thing for two hours straight, some of it already beaten up and held together by thick duct tape.

“What a helpful drum tech you are mate,” Dave muttered sarcastically from behind his drums, although his sour mood was nothing but a facade. “Glad I’m paying you to do your job.”

“You’re not even paying me,” Jimmy laughed and approached him, patting him so hard on the back that dave nearly tumbled over the toms, hissing a complaint about being sore.

“You wouldn’t let me come near your kit even if I wanted to, man. You’re super iffy with that shit,” Jimmy laughed and walked back when Dave moved to punch his arm, but his elbow grazed one of the cymbals and almost knocked it off if Shelli hadn’t been fast enough to stop it.

“That’s why…” Dave said, getting up from his stool and shoving Jimmy, which led them to start a pushing match like children.

Nessa shook her head and grimaced. “Two complete spazzes.”

“Throw Krist in the mix and you’ll get yourself the perfect recipe for chaos,” Shelli teased, nodding agreeably.

Ironically, Shelli was then nearly lifted off her feet when Krist's long arms hugged her waist from behind. He was holding a water bottle in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other, and Nessa wondered if that was even safe among so many electrical wires.

“I don’t even know why he bothers,” he said. “Kurt will probably end up throwing himself at it or smashing it by the end of the night.”

Nessa widened her eyes, imagining that scene in her head. “Ouch, that’s got to hurt.”

“Not so much as getting hit in the eye with a piece of his guitar after he inevitably smashes it on the ground,” Krist added with a shrug and Nessa giggled.

They were crazy, indeed. But it seemed like the good kind of crazy, at least for someone seeing it mostly from the outside.

“That’s why they’re all fucked up,” Dave whined, freeing himself from Jimmy’s grasp and running his hands through his hair to somewhat tame it. “John won’t let me get new ones”

“Because he knows they’ll end up shredded,” Shelli said but, like a child being told no, Dave rolled his eyes at her, earning a soft snap on his arms by both Shelli and Nessa.

“It reflects on the sound. it’s cool,” Kurt’s raspy voice sounded from behind them, and they all turned to meet him. He recognized Nessa standing amongst them and folded his lips into a thin smile, waving.

She waved back, grinning. They hadn’t actually spoken to each other yet, but Dave had warned her that he was reserved but meant well. When talking about the guys to her on the phone, actually, he’d described Kurt as ‘special’. Nessa remembered finding that description interesting -- and endearing.

“It gives character.”

Dave looked back at his drums for a couple of seconds, contemplating that maybe Kurt was right. What was more punk rock and anti-norm than the dissonant look and sound of shredded instruments?

Then, he shrugged. There was still a little materialism in him after all. “Nah, I still want new drums,” he said, making everyone crack up.

“Let’s grab a bite,” Shelli invited after checking her watch.