Cocaine (parts 1-4 repost for contest..)

It was hard for me. One night in Berlin, the next in Paris, and a week after we’d wind up in Japan. The traveling seemed so endless, perpetual movement that seemed to take everything except the minimum of what you needed to keep going. Looking out the window I can see the far reaching ocean, an infinite gray sea that no one should have to gaze upon so often as I without ever getting a chance to really see it.

I look over to the mop of blonde hair across the aisle. His eyes are closed and his brow is furrowed slightly. He must be asleep, I figure. Even as I think this I know it isn’t true, but still I get a spark of jealousy that he can seem so calm when feigning rest. How I wish I could muster that ability, the way he seems to escape in peaceful slumber, even the merest shadow of a true complacent sleep would be worth more than the plane we flew in.

Yes, not even restorative sleep could help me now, for I was too tired for restoration. Sleep for me now was as wearisome as the days following, the lines betwixt the two blurred together so flawlessly I can never hope to distinguish them. I find my hand slipping itself into my right pocket and I sigh as my finger grazes plastic. My other hand fumbles the pocket knife in the opposite side. I untie the opaque bag and look at the white powder within. I gaze momentarily at this release. Heh, my only saving grace. As fine as the sand lining a celestial beach, I dip the tip of the knife inside and raise it again. I stare at the mound on the shining blade even as my dull eyes stare back at me accusingly. I ignore them, because I know that this is all I have. I don’t have this plane. I don’t have the stadium we’re headed to. I don’t have me. All of those things have long since blurred into obscurity and I can never retrieve them. The only thing I have a grip on is this small bag clutched in my left hand, and I’ll be damned if it’s going to get away from me like everything else. No, this is my last line of distinction, the only thing that sharpens the edges enough for me to continue discerning them at all. Without it I would spiral far down into nothing, where all is gray like the endless ocean beneath me. I bow my head to the blade and inhale sharply through my nostrils.

Footsteps sound behind me and my shaking hand closes and replaces the thin blade as my other hand holds onto my prize with a vice like grip. The footsteps pass me and I do not raise my eyes. Tears prick the corners of those eyes but my hand does not let up. I gulp with self conviction. Don’t think I don’t know what I’m doing. I know the powder in my fist is nothing more than a lie and that it can’t possible offer any solace to my troubles. But asking me to let it go would be selfish and barbaric for I can see no other alternate in this gray sea before me. Knowing this is a path of self destruction, I choose to embrace it full on, as if it were a lover threatening flight from my arms.

My grip soon lessens and I draw my eyes to the window. Far off, I think I see shoreline to yet another foreign country. Or, maybe it’s home… Maybe it’s nothing but the trickery of my weary mind hoping for a break in the vastness; some symbol in the tired monotony that embodies every aspect of this excuse for living. And regardless of what lies before me, I fear that the outcome will be painfully the same, and that my only hope lies in a little opaque baggy, crushed tightly at my side. The figure nearby me shifted, as if subtly demanding my immediate attention. I turned my head to face him as his eyes stretched lazily across the aisle. He spoke after a moment of deliberation.

“You gotta sleep sometime, Jamie,” he said with a repetitive air. I nodded understandably.

“Yeah, I just woke up, turbulence or something.” I felt as much remorse for such a lie as Daniel felt concern for my restlessness. The heavy footsteps returned and interrupted any possibility of a continuation to our little exchange. The tall lithe figure stopped abruptly just in front of my seat before flopping unceremoniously into the row in front of mine. Long legs clad in dark denim lifted heavy brown boots across the aisle unto another seat.

“Je-sus, man..” he muttered with exasperation as he tossed unruly brown bangs from his face. “Next time, we fly without Bobby.”

I manage a smile at this often-spoke-of never-carried-out resolution of the bassist in front of me. One could easily understand his frustration at our manager, who had the demeanor of a used car salesman and the appearance to match, in addition to the countenance of a venomous reptile.

I try to recall the exact circumstances that involved us with this shady character, but it all seems foggy and so far in the past that it scarcely should matter. At any rate, the man is in a constant state of self-appreciation and admiration, which is likely attributed to the increasingly large amounts of cash he continues to obtain through our funds. He struts with the idea that he is committing these acts unnoticed; little does he know the three of us are well aware of his dishonest transgressions.

Daniel replied with as much eloquence as ever,

“Fuck him,” he shrugged. “We’ll get the bastard someday, Mitch.. For now he can just complain to himself about the unsatisfying amount of money we’re making him.”

Suddenly being struck with unrest, I stood up and stretched my arms, glancing at my wrist as a tattoo peeked out from long shirt sleeves. The fleeting silence was broken this time by me.

“We’ve never played Mexico City before..” I stated simply.

“It’ll be a good show,” reassured Mitch, “If we can sell out in Madrid we’ll manage in Mexico. “ The words were hollow sounding, and I could tell he knew that really wasn’t the reply I was angling for. But his good intentioned avoidance was enough for me, and I allowed the subject to pass completely.

I linger in silence for several minutes, Mitch and Niel splayed in their seats as I paced around the cabin nonchalantly, feeling my heart rate steadily increasing with a new-found reservoir of energy being expended . Sometime later, the curtain separating the compartments was swept aside and a loud almost offensive voice shattered the silence like fine glass.

“We touch down in forty minutes, boys. “ The gruff voice of our manager attempted to sound cordial. “You probably won’t have time to warm up on the ground if you plan on starting on time.” The curtain fell and footsteps retreated.

Mitch stood up and reached into the overhead carriage, pulling out a deep blue bass and a nice sunburst guitar. I wrapped my fingers around the neck of the instrument and pulled it to me as I reclaimed my seat.

We spent the rest of the flight tuning our instruments. Niel taped his hands as Mitch and I struck a few chords in harmony. The plane began its descent and we strapped ourselves in.

We walk down the steps. Camera flashes penetrate my amber sunglasses and I don’t bother to look up. Mitch on the other hand absorbed the attention like a sponge, waving madly and grinning jovially at small band of journalists and photographers outside. I decided when we first started out that I’d never dance for the press. I may be the front man, but when it comes to publicity I won’t allow them to think for a moment I’m do what I do for fame. No, my reasons are more selfish than that.

The limousine is close but the walk seems much longer with the incessant chatter of reporters eager to get a quote from one of us. Niel obliges with a few characteristically obscene comments that I know the newspapers will eat up. Always eager to make a quick buck off of the typical debauch rock star.

I slide across the black leather interior with my band mates close behind. Mitch slips a cigarette from his shirt pocket and elegantly twirls it around his fingers before lighting the end and taking a long drag.

“Two more shows boys..” he commented, “We’re winded- But we can pull it together and still give ‘em hell right?”

I’d thank God for Mitch’s pre-show pep-talks if I thought He was listening to me. It’s probably about the only thing that’s keeps me from falling apart on days like this.

“So, what’s the set then? Same old, same old?” inquired Niel.

“Yeah, “ I replied, “Just like the Brazilian show. They seemed to get into the acoustic more.” We went on with that casual banter all the way to the venue. Mitch updating us on the wiles of his kid sister, but the three of us treated it like filler. ‘She’s thinking about law school, actually. ‘Oh really, that’s quite endearing, Mitch. Do send her my well wishes. ‘’Of course, James- Oh, by and by, would you mind recounting that news story to Daniel and I?’

The language was casual as any of us could muster, but it was formal in attitude. It was always like this before shows, or at least, that’s how it had been for this tour. It had been four months ago since the waves of change broke on the shore. Those ripples began long before that and took over a year to spread and to show their intent. My mind wanders back and recalls everything from that exact moment only a few months ago.

I had a week off and I went home to my family. That is of course to say, my mother and aunt. My father had died just a few weeks before that, and I hadn’t heard until it was too late to even attend the funeral. I had been on tour, naturally, a bus tour across Eastern Europe and I hadn’t been able to be reached.

I had a week off, and now it was time to return to work. I entered the recording studio, with an objective that was more than just working on a new contracted album. I could hear Mitch and Daniel laughing down the long hallway and I finally half stumbled into the room. They looked up at me with leftover smiles as I closed the door behind me and sank to the floor in front of it.

“Jamie- you okay?” Mitch made a motion to get up, and I quickly waved off his concern.

“We need to talk.” I said simply. Looking back, I feel a wry smile playing on my lips at the thought of that phrase. Never has that seemingly innocent string of words preceded anything of good news. Apparently even at the time they were spoken, this thought had not escaped Mitch and Niel. I remember watching them furrow their brows and looking at each other for explanation a long time before I spoke again.

“I can’t do this anymore..” I said quietly. When I wasn’t interrupted, I continued. “This isn’t what I wanted and I just.. don’t think I can handle it. I have to quit.. .I’m sorry.” I said the last part so quietly I wasn’t sure they had heard it at all. I almost repeated myself but Daniel spoke up.

“You’re kidding right? We’ve just got everything- You’re fucking drunk- You’re drunk off your ass right now aren’t you? “ He kept going, quietly trailing off after I didn’t reply. Mitch stood from his seat and joined me on the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of me. He managed to prompt from me an explanation by that mere gesture.

“It’s.. It doesn’t mean anything anymore to me. We started doing this because it’s something we all enjoyed doing, because everyone said we couldn’t, because we didn’t want to be Mr. Nine-To-Five. We didn’t want to get stuck doing the same shit day after day after day, just to make a living without actually living the moment. “ I looked up to see Daniel rising from his spot to join Mitch and myself on the cement floor. I continued on after he had settled. “I wanted to live day to day.. I needed the excitement and uncertainty that being a musician provided. That’s why I enjoyed playing- it was always the feeling.. and it’s so hard to feel anything anymore.

“I wanted chaos, to be thrown at the whim of luck and chance, not to have a stable forty hours a week job like my father. But that’s not what we do anymore. We work harder than that, and we never have a chance to grab our bearings before we’re thrust into something totally different.. It’s.. like we’re puppets. We dance for someone more with no chance of doing something on our own.. and..” I slowed.. “I can’t do it anymore. “

Seconds passed like years in the silence that followed. I came prepared to be yelled at, cursed at, even hit, but I was in no way prepared for what actually happened.

Mitch clasped my shoulder and patted it. “It’s okay, man… Don’t worry about it anymore.”

Neil chimed in, “Chh, if you felt that way, all you had to do is speak up- we’re not monsters, ya know.. We understand. “ His brow furrowed then. “But we’ve got a contract, one more album, brother. “

I nodded. “I think I have one more left in me.”

“Then, here’s to the last.. Let’s not break the hearts of rebels everywhere until after it’s debut… “ Mitch said with a wink.

I don’t know how long we stayed in that room, making small talk and pitching ideas for the new record back and forth. We’d decided not to write anything new for the record, but instead to dig into the cache of unpublished songs we had amassed in our days as a cover band.

Pretty soon, only one thing was left to be decided.

“So, what do we call it then?” Niel asked as he looked out the window where faint dawn light began to creep in.

“One more time?” shrugged Mitch in his chair.

“I’ve got it..” I spoke up from the cool cement floor. “Paradise lost.”

I can’t help but smile as I feel the limo stop. Just two more shows, and it’s over. We don’t talk about it like it will be, but we know it’s the end. We put on our masks, and we play our parts, and we get on the stage and play from our hearts. The truth is in three days, the last show will be over. We’ll all be going home, for me probably the last time. I don’t know if Mitch and Neil will continue with what they do for a little longer or a lot longer, but I have the feeling neither of them can keep it up forever regardless.

We all walk back stage, Mitch pats my shoulder and Niel gives me a high-five as they walk off to their respective dressing rooms. I do the same, sliding out of my long sleeved shirt and donning a ripped black muscle shirt and obscenely low leather bellbottoms. It doesn’t take long until I’m ushered into hair and makeup, and I let my thoughts return to where they left off as powder and hairspray cloud around me.

It bothers me that we’re still acting like all is well. To some degree, it really has made things simpler for me, but I can tell it won’t be for Mitch and Niel. I can’t help but think that they are just avoiding the situation to make me feel more at ease, and that makes me even more worried about what they’ll do. I’m not the only sinner amongst us; we all have our demons. I can see that they are breaking down just as much as I, and I dearly hope, for their sake, that they can pull out of the spiral and escape before they crash into obscurity. Daniel, his many personality flaws could probably be attributed to his unacknowledged bipolarity and it certainly isn’t helped by his alcoholism. Mitch, of course admits that his chief defect is his insatiable hyper-sexuality that has seemed to increase proportionally to the amount of fame we procured. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that these things are like anvils constantly looming over their heads held up only by an unraveling rope, just waiting to cause an immediate harsh and hard downfall for the both of them.

I’m roused from my daydream as the blonde girl who has been meticulously painting on my eye shadow addresses me.

“You look good, Jaime,“ she grins nicely, “Now get out there and make those girls scream..” I offer her a big grin and a forced wink for her good-intentioned words as I rise from the chair.

“Of course, babe,” I say convincingly as I trot off backstage. Mitch and Daniel are already there, Mitch has on ripped denim jeans tucked into his worn knee-high boots. He has opted to not wear a shirt, but has instead adorned himself in a necklace with pictures of various women he’s only met once. Daniel looked somewhat out of place next to him with his partially buttoned and untucked dress-shirt. He had a yellow tie draped under the collar and his drum sticks were held at his side.

I was immediately tapped on the shoulder and my beautiful sunburst guitar was placed in my hands. At that point, everything else really didn’t matter. I was high, and would be higher after the show, possibly during, if I got jonesing. It didn’t matter that Mitch would be sharing his motel bed with someone he hasn’t met yet. And it didn’t matter that Niel would only sleep because he passed out. Right now all that mattered was that we were going out there doing the only thing that made me last as long as I had. We were going to play.