You Should Have Been Here Yesterday

Turns out my Guitar Player's an Asshole

"Looks like it's gonna be one of those days, where you can't get enough or no, you don't get paid.  You can't write a song, no rhythm, no rhyme, and you can't get a lyric and you can't keep time..."  I looked up from my notebook momentarily.  No one else was looking at me, so I continued reading.  "And the sun shines through your window pane, but before you know it, it starts to rain."

        Slowly, Joey looked up at me.  He began to clap with a little grin plastered on his face.  I like Joey; he's always been my favorite.  Joey's always got a joke to brighten things up, and his blue eyes are always light and cheery.  The other ass-clowns, however...

        "What're you calling it?" Peter scoffed.

        "I dunno," I said, shrugging and looking to Jerry, sitting on top of his bass amp.  Jerry wasn't paying much attention.  "The Sun, or something?  I mean, it's your guys' song, too..."

        "The Sun?" Peter asked.  I shrugged again.  "I already wrote a song like that!"

        "W-Why didn't you show us, then?" I demand, surprised.  "It could've saved us like, three weeks!"

        Peter frowns.  "Because.  I wrote it with the other guys."

        Ah, yes.  The other guys.  Thee Strangeurs.  "And... These... Other guys," I say, "did they like it?"

        "As a matter of fact they did," Peter says.  "And so does Date."

        "Who?" Jerry asks, looking up finally.

        Peter grins.  "Date Records.  Why do you think I've not been able to make it to every rehearsal?"

        "You're... Recording?" Joey asks, astonished.

        "Well, yeah," Peter says like it's nothing.  "That's actually what I wanna talk about..."  I raise an eyebrow, suspecting the worst.  "Things're getting pretty–erm–serious with The Stranguers, and, well, I think I need to just take some time and be with only them."

        I'm frozen in shock.  The worst has happened.  "What're you talking about?" I demand.

        "This is my senior year of high-school, guys.  I've gotta make some sort of decision and soon.  I know for you it's different, you've got a few years, but... Steve's in his last year too.  We're takin' off.  We're gonna be big."

        "Are you," I say flatly, vexed that he would quit on us like that.

        "Yeah," he says, turning off his guitar amp.

        "W– Like– Now?"  I ask, stuttering.  Jerry watches with mild interest.  Joey looks hurt.

        Peter nods, taking off his guitar and placing it in his case.  "I've got a session to go to.  Second song, you know.  Maybe today it'll be perfect..." he adds under his breath.  I heard from their drummer that it's been like three weeks because the singer is a perfectionist freak.  "Sorry," Peter mumbles as he walks out the side-door of my garage, shutting it behind him.

        I wanted to say, Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out, but I managed to control myself.

        I flipped the switch on the power strip that had probably too many things plugged into it.  I blew some hot air into my hands, rubbing them together.  My mom doesn't let us practice inside, so we use my garage because I've got all the equipment.  Oh, and it's the middle of winter so it's like twenty degrees, which means that the riffs aren't as tight as they should be because if Jerry or Peter were to bend his fingers too fast, they'd break off probably.  It also means that I'm constantly tuning guitars and trying not to get my lips stuck to my harmonica again–that wasn't fun.