Red Dirt Rocker (13 page)

J
ake, Randy, Cody and I gather around the bales of hay that make up the seating at the jam barn. The trip to New York City had been so thrilling that it lit a fire under us and now we’re practicing harder than ever.

Our manager enters the practice barn with the look of an important announcement on his face, which peaks our curiosity. We’re told to gather our families and wait for him there.

Frank drags open the old barn door and shakes his head as he surveys our families, seated on the bales of musty, pale yellow straw. Mojo nickers from his stall as three barn
cats
dart under Frank’s Italian leather loafers, nearly tripping him. He laughs with frustration and says that there is no way he could ever explain to others in the industry just how "down home" this situation is. They would have to see it to believe it.

"Bales of hay for chairs…really?
Wild cats running everywhere…seriously?
Mr. Ed as a mascot…Judas Priest!”
Frank grumbles as he tries to regain his balance. Bits of straw and fur fly in the dusty air as the
fraidy
cats vacate the premises. He sneezes twice, clears his throat, coughs and tells us in a nasally tone, “Oh, fantastic, I think I’m allergic to hay and cats!" He coughs a few more times.

Our manager finally composes himself, and takes a long draw from his emerald green bottle of Pellegrino sparkling water. Eventually, he begins to speak with great enthusiasm.

"Okay, rock stars…you cats were a mega hit in The Big Apple. I’m stoked to tell you boys that your single, "Rocket," is getting heavy radio play. It’s made it to the top fifteen on the active rock charts. We think it just might be a bullet! I wanted to gather you boys and your parental units together today to tell you about our next trip.”

Frank clears his throat dramatically one last time and pauses for what seems like an eternity. “Believe it or not, my young dudes, we are traveling to Stockholm, Sweden…to open for the one and only legends of rock, KISS!” He exhales and begins to clap.

There is a collective gasp in the barn and then looks of shock and disbelief all around. KISS is one of my band’s rock heroes. Several of our moms and dads had seen KISS in concert back in the day, and they are as thrilled as we are.

The boys and I bound from our seats and snazzy-dressing Frank becomes a victim of a Cellar Door Is Gone takedown. We throw our arms around our manager and give him our classic, extreme group hug, which knocks us all backward over a hay bale.

Frank gets back onto his feet and begins picking straw from his brand new Ed Hardy t-shirt imprinted with a ferocious, fang bearing tiger.
“Congrats, young rockers!
We’ll be leaving a week from Thursday. You rock stars will have to miss a couple of days of school, so let your teachers know.” This news brings even bigger smiles to Jake, Randy and Cody’s faces.

“An MTV camera crew will be coming along to film the whole trip. You can each bring one parent as your chaperone, so let me know
who’s
going and we’ll shoot the passport info through on the fast track. We’ll get the airline tickets, as well. All right—this is how we roll, baby!” Frank spouts as he shoots index finger pistols at us.

My celebration experiences a hiccup when I suddenly remember that if my football team wins their game this Friday, we’ll be vying for the State Championship. My elation turns to confusion, and when my eyes connect with Dad’s, I know he’s thinking the same thing. Dad sits quietly, nervously tapping his fingers on his Levis. He has a blank look of apathy on his face. I suck a deep breath of oxygen in and replay the words in my head that Mama always tells me when I am worried. She says, “Just remember the old song, 'One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus,' and change it to ‘one hour at a time’—anything can be managed that way.” So I guess hour to hour, Sweet Jesus it is.

The next morning at school, the news of my band’s trip to Sweden to open for KISS is already spreading like wildfire. It’s another head-spinning day. I feel like I’m in a bubble floating as a spectator away from reality. There have been so many changes.

I haven’t been spending much time with Heather. She’s started driving herself into school for the past couple of weeks. I’ve started going in thirty minutes early to put in extra time on my geometry. We still eat lunch together most days with mutual friends, and meet at our lockers after sixth hour. Each and every time I try to talk to Heather about a break up, she just won’t have it. She pouts. Her green eyes become liquid with tears and she says how much she likes me. Even though I don’t believe her sincerity, I’m soft-hearted, and am not ready to go to drama city. I decide to put the confrontation off until next week. I’ll make the break official after Sweden for sure.

I
hope I see Sophie today on my way to the field house sixth hour. She’s the band director’s aid. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her through the small rectangular window in Mr. Brandt’s band room door as I pass by on my way to football.

Today I’m feeling brave. I peek in the door and see Sophie sitting at the piano. She’s playing a soft, hypnotic melody. I stand for just a moment getting lost in the piece with her. I sure don’t want to appear to be a creeper, so I crack the creaky band room door open further. She is all alone.

"Hey, Forrest!"
Sophie senses the door opening, stops playing and greets me cheerfully. I grin widely as I enter, casually surveying the room. It’s filled with shiny brass instruments, bongos, drums, xylophones, bells, and black, mottled music stands.

She smiles back and gushes enthusiastically, "I heard about your trip to Sweden.
Wow, Forrest
!! You’re opening for KISS!"

Her friendly face is all lit up. "I also heard "Rocket" on the radio this morning. The song is
soooo
catchy! It’s really great. I know you’ve got to be beyond excited,” she adds.

I’m listening to her voice, but find myself distracted by the fragrance of her orangey-vanilla perfume.

“Oh…oh, man, you know it! I can't believe how things are
takin
’ off for us. It's just
kinda
freakin
’ me out. Sometimes I don’t know whether I’m
comin
’ or
goin
’,” I reply. “How’ve you been, Sophie?”

I can’t believe it, but my palms are actually sweating. I can play in front of hundreds—shoot,
thousands
—of people and keep my cool, but put me alone in a room with Sophie and I begin to sweat, stutter and generally just fall all over myself.

“I've been good,” Sophie says with downcast eyes, making me feel as though this isn’t exactly the truth. “I hope you don’t think I'm stuck up when I don't speak to you in the halls sometimes. It’s just…Heather’s usually around and I don't think she likes me much. You two make a really cute couple…she’s
so
pretty.” Sophie replies with a bit of hesitation.

I’m certain that Heather would add Sophie’s compliment to her “daily list” if she had heard it.

"No way Sophie…I know you better than that. Yeah, Heather’s pretty and popular…but I don't know," I stammer. She's just not very
nice
," I blurt out. "I’ve been trying to break up with her—for sure
gonna
call it quits after I get back from Sweden.”

As I explain in muttering fashion, an acoustic guitar sitting in the corner of the band room catches my eye. I had actually been working on a song that I’ve written with Sophie as my inspiration. I started writing it the night after the Metallica concert.

"I just can’t thank you enough for the amazing seats you got us at the concert. You mind?" I ask, as I cross to pick up the glossy black Ibanez resting in a guitar stand.

"Be my guest," Sophie says, not knowing exactly what to expect.

I can see that she’s picked up a pair of nicked drumsticks from the top of the piano and begins fidgeting with them.

Could she be nervous, too?
I wonder to myself. I try to keep my cool. "This is a song I've been working on. It's really different from what I usually play," I explain as I strum the first chords.
Do
not
sing off key
, I mentally order myself as I begin the song.

There’s a girl in my eyes

And she’s
lookin
’ my way

I feel so close to her on a windy day

This girl I’ve fallen for is a light in my dark world

Her smile carries me away

Her smile carries me
awaaay

I sing from my heart as I continue the soft, heartfelt ballad that I’ve secretly named "Sophie's Song." I can see Sophie blush slightly as I finish the last line in my song. I strum the last note, letting it ring out invisibly and soft as it dissolves in the air. Ending with a sheepish grin, I glance in her direction.

Sophie is smiling, too. I can spot that hopeful smile of hers from twenty lockers away in the hall. It always makes my heart beat a little faster.

I stroll back across the room and replace the guitar gingerly in the stand. I suddenly become very self-conscious. I hope I look cool in my skinny jeans and Pac Sun tee. I really hope Sophie liked the song.

“Forrest…oh
my gosh
! That was
amazing
!” Sophie exclaims. “You should definitely record that one!” she says earnestly. Her eyes are clear and truthful.

Whew…she liked it!
I think with relief.
Gosh, her eyes are so beautiful!

“I’ll pray for you guys to have a safe trip.” Sophie continues thoughtfully.

The more time I spend with Sophie, the more I can see the beauty inside her heart. She’s truly a special girl—one-of-a-kind for sure.