The Who - Short Fiction

Is It Me, For a Moment?

SEPTEMBER 1978

In the sitting room of your brother's Twickenham house, you were curled up in the wingback chair that served as your reading space whenever you came to visit. Your young nieces, Emma and Minta, had gone to bed hours ago, and your brother and his wife had followed shortly after, physically and emotionally exhausted by the activities of the week. The circumstances of your visit weren't ideal; your brother's bandmate and long-time friend Keith Moon had died of an overdose the week before, so you had come to town to support Pete as he grieved, and to attend Keith's funeral.

The room was chilly, so you pulled the blanket on your lap higher, tucking it beneath your arms before moving on to the next chapter in your book. Like your brother, you handled grief in a way many found atypical. Your strategy was to try to understand and give meaning to death; as such, you found yourself reading a book authored by a physician who specialized in death and dying. It calmed you to learn that your friend had likely fallen asleep and passed without pain or awareness.

While you and Keith hadn't been particularly close friends, you still felt a hole in your heart now that he was gone. Really, you had grown up around your brother's bandmates, and idolized them each in a different way. Instead of imitating Keith's reckless behaviour, you had grown up to have a hearty laugh and a wicked sense of humour, both influenced by the late drummer. The two of you had gone to a number of comedy shows together over the years – there was a photo of the two of you at the Montréal Comedy Festival on Pete's wall to prove it.

Keith's ridiculous laugh, sometimes a giggle, and other times an uproarious howl he'd never had to force, had been echoing through your thoughts all day and night since you'd received that fateful call from Pete. You hadn't been sleeping well at all, but the knowledge that you'd see Keith in your dreams made the idea of giving in to your exhaustion almost unbearable. It was one thing to see photos and share stories about the man, but to wake up after your dreams had you convinced that this was all some sort of cruel joke was too much.

A shadow in the sitting room doorway shifted in your peripheral vision, drawing your gaze from the book in your lap. You looked up from your page to see Pete's close friend of 20 years, Who bassist John Entwistle, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes, rimmed in red, were trained on far wall, but it was clear from his glassy expression that he was a million miles away. You cleared your throat to let him know you were in the room, but he didn't seem to hear you at first.

"John, are you alright?" you asked gently, finally catching his attention. He blinked hard and shook his head to clear whatever thoughts were spinning around beneath his skull, invisible to everyone but himself. His eyes met yours, devoid of any light or life. If he were to take a few steps across the room, he might have fallen right over; he'd been drinking alone in the kitchen since your brother had gone to bed, doing his best to respect Pete's latest attempt to kick the bottle.

"Hmm?" John replied, his eyes settling on you. When he noticed the book in your hand, with your thumb tucked between the pages to save your spot, he frowned apologetically. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Was just headed home, anyways." He turned back towards the hall to leave the room, but you called after him, not wanting him to leave. Out of all the band members, John had been closest to Keith. He wasn't able to voice the pain he was feeling, and instead of grieving alongside his bandmates, John was relying on alcohol and other substances to keep himself upright – as counterintuitive as that seemed to you, it appeared to be working.

"You should stay here tonight, John," you urged him. "There's plenty of space, and no reason to leave." When his icy blue eyes met yours, you held his gaze, hoping that he would listen to your suggestion. "Maybe it's best not to be on your own just now." This came out quieter than your previous words. It was not an order, but a pleading request to stay within reach of those that could help if things became too much for him to bear alone.