Finding His Voice

5) Is This Actually Happening?

      I walked into work with a smile and a-little-more-than-average amount of pep in my step. This caused a couple stares and oddly placed whispers. For once, though, those things didn't bother me. I talked to my boss--Tom--on the phone yesterday, and he had immediately agreed to change my availability. He was a father figure in my life, and he'd been that way since my fathered split, re-entered my life, and then died shortly after.

      "Good morning, Evan," the assistant manager chirped from behind the counter.
I smiled and clocked in. I was more than ready to serve my time stocking the shelves, among other miscellaneous activities, at Barnes and Noble and then finally leave.
  

                                                                           ~.~

       Halfway through my shift and more than halfway through stocking the religious section of the story, I heard a few familiar voices and the guys from Catch A Case turned the corner. I waved and smiled.
       "This is where you work? What a coincidence! We were just looking for a couple books about how to get saved," James said, winking at me.
I didn't have my whiteboard with me so I just nodded and smiled. I can only imagine that James was making a joke. They don't seem like the type.
  As if reading my mind, Derek said, "That was actually a joke. None of us believe in institutionalized religion. Load of bullshit."
      "But anyway," Luke interrupted, "We just came to ask if you wanted to jam a little after you get off work?"
     I nodded and mouthed, "I'd love to. I'll see you around 8?"
  Derek nodded, "Sure, sure. See you then and have fun with the religious freaks who come through here."
     I chuckled and shook my head as they left. I couldn't believe that I was in a real band with real people about to really jam. I have to get out more.  

                                                                                          ~.~

      That night, I slipped out of work just after 6:30. Tom let me go early whenever he 'read' that I was hanging out with people other than my mother and him after work. Tom always kept a marker board and marker with him whenever I was at work.
I didn't have to be at Sam's until 8, so I killed time by brewing a pot of coffee and then jumping in the shower. The water was warm against my cool skin. Fall was definitely starting to creep into the days more and more. We'd gotten to the point where it was sweater weather in the morning and hotter than hell in the afternoon's followed by a chill factor at night. I despised weather like that. So inconsistent. I hated inconsistency.
     

  I slipped out of the shower at 7 and stood in front of my bedroom closet with just boxers and socks on. I decided that instead of fretting on what to wear, I would just pick up the first two items of clothing that didn't smell too bad off of the floor. I resulted in grabbing a pair of black skinny jeans and an grey, fitted shirt. It was long sleeved which meant I didn't have to haul a jacket around. I ran my fingers through my damp and unruly 'butterscotch brown'--as my mother called in--hair.

     Finally, I practically jumped down the steps and downed a cup of coffee before grabbing my keys and jetting out the door. I was excited that people actually wanted to hang out with me. I was excited that this wasn't a silly pity party. But I was nervous because I could screw all of this up by being the way I am. What band wants a kid who doesn't talk?
At 8:02, I pulled into Sam's driveway and take a few deep breaths. I shouldn't been letting negative thoughts affect me. These guys chose me for my kickass guitar skills and I wasn't going to let anything put a damper on my mood.
     

"Do you always do that," Sam called from behind me, a cigarette between his fingers.

      I shrugged and pulled my whiteboard from between the door and my seat. I wrote, "Do what?" and handed it to him. He squinted to read it in the poorly distributed light from the moon.
He took a puff of the cigarette and said, "Kind of stand pretty much frozen in deep thought. Oh and want a cig?" He pulled out a cigarette from the pocket of his brown, leather jacket and I took it from him.
      

Before I have time to have 'thank you' on the marker board, he'd already said don't worry about it and walked back into the house. I decided to keep the cigarette for later. I followed him moments after grabbing my guitar from the backseat and locking the doors.

     The boys waved me over as soon as I stepped foot in the house. James had a beer in his hand, Luke was downing shots, Derek was sipping on something in a Styrofoam cup, and Sam was returning from the kitchen with a beer in each hand.
   

Sam raised an eyebrow, "I'm not sure if you drink but I figured it'd be rude if I didn't at least offer something to do."

   

I chuckled and mouthed, "Never done it."

    

     Derek chuckled and patted the seat next time him, "Well, my friend, this is only the beginning. When we jam, we all like to get out our minds a little. With all the serious rehearsals, it's nice to just sit back and chill. Do covers and shit like that. Once you get the material down, we'll start doing shows and cut back on the practice... probably start writing some new shit. Sound cool?"

     I nodded and took the beer from Sam. Without thinking, I downed the whole thing in less than 6 seconds. The band went crazy after that and brought me two more. I didn't think much about it until the alcohol started hitting me. By my 5th beer, I had James's drum sticks in my hand and I was recklessly banging on anything I could get my hands on. James was jamming on an a-very-not-plugged-in microphone; Derek and Sam were both trying to play the rhythm guitar, and Luke was passed out on the floor with empty beer cans and shot glasses surrounding him. I passed out sometime after that with James's sticks still in my hands and a bubbly feeling in my stomach.