476 C.E.
Anacrusis: The note or sequence of notes which precedes the first downbeat in a bar.
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The sun was fully down when we were loaded into the two tour buses, segregated by band. I was kind of glad to be avoiding Sophie, even if I was on pretty good terms with Jane, Rebecca, and Clif.
The buses were rolling away, down the mountain, and I was watching out the wide window as the lodge faded into the shadows, looking strangely sad, now that it was empty. Oh well. We could be coming back. October said so, and he was pretty damn good at keeping his promises.
To keep myself from being stupidly depressed, I explored the bus. Immediately after stepping in, all my college-band-trip inspired bus fears had been squashed like the roaches in my old apartment. I was…impressed. The front half was like a really long, skinny living room-slash-kitchen area. No stove or anything, but there was a mini-fridge, a sink, a table, and a microwave. And the black leather couches and armchairs looked really comfortable. The back half, which was separated by a sliding door, was made of six bunks, against either side of the bus, which could be closed off with heavy curtains that felt kind of like velvet.
The bathroom, in the very back, was bigger than the one in my old apartment had been. Seriously, that was awesome.
And apparently the bus had its own wifi. October exclaimed this happily, with his laptop on his chest, already settled into his second-tier bunk. I didn’t have a laptop, and I probably checked my email once every four months or so, but I guess that was pretty cool, too.
The driver was an oldish man named Benny, who was super nice and a little reserved. He said that we sounded like an easy bunch to handle, which would be a nice change from some of the artists he’d driven for. I was too scared to ask which groups those had been.
After the day I’d had, I should have been tired, but I was honestly kind of really excited (and more than a little nervous) about going on tour, so I flopped down on the couch and tried to focus on a novel. It was kind of failing, I discovered, after I read the second paragraph for the fourteenth time. I sighed and closed the book, setting it on the table beside me. I scrubbed my hand back through my hair, noting idly that it was getting kind of shaggy. I would need to get it cut, soon.
Grey and Denmark decided to save me from my boredom by coming in and taking the two chairs. It was kind of weird to see Grey voluntarily using the seat, what with the whole anti-furniture “parkour sitting: Brit style” thing he had going on.
The three of us made small talk for a while, discussing what we thought the tour might be like, and how live performances were from the not-audience side. By the end of that conversation, I decided that they were probably a lot like classical recitals, except, as Denmark put it, “a fuckton less formal.”
At some point, October and Kenya wandered in as well, and I was forced to sit on the couch like a normal person. When we had arranged ourselves, Denmark sat up in his chair and cleared his throat.
“Now that we’re all assembled, I’d like to call a quick meeting of the secret Existential society to order.” In reply, the purple-haired drummer got four rather blank stares. He continued gravely, “I have two points of order. First, and most important, I shall be dying my hair blue tomorrow. Will someone help me?”
No one replied. Denmark sighed, and I relented. Wasn’t like I’d be doing anything better on a tour bus all day. “Sure,” I caved, and his face lit up eagerly.
“Thanks Rome! You know, we can do yours, too, while we’re at it,” he said, and the look on his face was nothing short of malicious.
“No thanks,” I said quickly. He looked like he was about to press the issue, and knowing Denmark, some comment about how I should dye my hair rainbow would be made. And knowing Denmark, he probably wouldn’t even intend it as a gay joke. But knowing Denmark, he’d realize that it could be made into one halfway through, and he’d change tactics mid-joke.
So, I interrupted him, “Didn’t you have a second point of order?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, and the look on his face got uncomfortable. “You know Sophie, the tall blonde chick in The Collective Marge?” We all nodded, so Denmark went on. “Did she…uhh…hit on any of you?”
I answered immediately. “Yes, and it was terrifying. The only way I escaped was by telling her I’m gay.” I’m not sure if it was my tone or my words, but they all laughed a little.
Denmark said, “I had to tell her that I’m married, and when she didn’t believe me, I went through a whole photo album of pictures of Felicia and me to convince her.”
“Did it work?” Kenya asked.
“Eventually,” Denmark answered.
There was a pause, and Grey spoke up. “She…ah…hit on me, too. Said that she’s into tall men. And accents.”
“She told me she’s into unnatural hair colors,” Denmark said.
“She told me that she likes short guys with glasses,” I admitted, then asked Grey, “How did you get rid of her?”
He shrugged. “I told he I wasn’t interested.”
“And that worked?”
“No.”
“So, what did you do?”
“Told her that I’m terrible in bed,” Grey answered flippantly.
Kenya laughed out loud. “Are you serious, Captain Britain?”
Grey blinked at the nickname, then accepted it and nodded. “That one worked.”
Kenya kept giggling, shaking her head slowly. “Well,” she prompted Grey, who looked confused.
“Well what?” he asked.
“Well, is it true?” Kenya asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Grey smirked. He actually smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” And in that instant, I had no trouble at all believing that he had been a complete slut a few years prior. It also brought to mind a few images I didn’t really want to be having about my best friend.
Kenya laughed harder. “Saucy! I like it!”
October cleared his throat, desperate for a subject change, and said, almost in a whine, “Am I the only one here that she didn’t try to seduce?”
Kenya, finally having quit laughing, shrugged, and answered, “She didn’t try to seduce me.”
He rolled his eyes, and the meeting of the secret Existential society was brought to an unofficial close as we moved on to other frivolous topics. We were all stoked about the tour, but eventually our abused circadian rhythms called, and we decided to turn in for the night.
October, Grey, Denmark, and I went to perform nightly rituals, while Kenya stayed behind to finish her cup of tea.
We fought our way into the bathroom to brush teeth, and Denmark jumped in the shower, being the only one of us who preferred to shower before he went to bed, rather than in the morning. When Kenya walked in, the three of us remaining were getting dressed for bed.
“This isn’t awkward at all,” she commented, and boldly walked into the compartment…room…thing anyway. I had one leg in a pair of well-worn shorts. Grey was shirtless with his jeans undone. October was in a pair of black boxer-briefs. And nothing else. We got dressed much more quickly after that, and even October put on a shirt to sleep, which had to be just a huge sacrifice for him.
When Denmark came out of the bathroom as naked as the day he was born, it was decided that we would have to do something about the sleeping situation.
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The smell of hair dye was permanently in my nostrils, and my fingernails were stained the same bright blue as Denmark’s hair when we arrived at our hotel in San Diego, the city where we’d be playing our first show. It wasn’t a moment too soon, because poor Benny seemed like he was about to drop at any second. We wouldn’t always get to sleep in hotels, but we had gotten lucky this time around, and Maureen-bless her heart-had the suites all ready for us, and was waiting in the lobby when we arrived.
“Hey boys and Kenya,” she greeted us as we collectively approached her. “I’ve already got you checked in and all. You’ve got a few hours before you need to head to the venue. Spend them as you see fit.” With that, she handed October the two room cards, said something about waiting for the Marges, and the five of us piled into one elevator. I was ready for a nap, myself. Between the fact that I am an insomniac and the motion of the bus, I hadn’t slept well overnight, even though the bunks had been surprisingly comfortable.
So, when we got in, I tossed my bag aside and dramatically threw myself onto the couch, face-first, so that my glasses dug into my face painfully.
“Sleepy?” October asked, prodding my shoulder.
“Mm-hm,” I answered, nodding vaguely. He wandered off, and I stayed on the couch for a few minutes, summoning the energy to move into one of the bedrooms. Finally, I rolled off, landing painfully on the floor, and was on my feet in a flash to make sure that no one had seen. Of course, they all had, and Denmark was laughing openly at my misfortune.
I made a show of it by dusting my shoulders off and strutting through the nearest door, ruining the effect by turning around when I discovered that it was a bathroom. After strutting through the next closest door, I took off my glasses, whirled about and collapsed onto the double bed, not even bothering with the covers. To my own surprise, I was asleep in a few minutes.
I was startled awake roughly half an hour later by a female voice bursting into the room and exclaiming, “Hey, Rome! Rome! Rome! Rome, hey!”
I put my glasses back on and scowled, muttering a creative stream of swear words that ended in a loud, “What do you want?”
Jane, with her bright blonde pigtails, looked down at me innocently. It was the most guilty expression I’d ever seen. “Us girls were gonna hang out. Come with us.”
“I’m not a girl,” I reminded her.
Jane shrugged, and said, “Next best thing.”
“I’m not a girl,” I repeated, this time with more force in my voice.
“Eh, whatever,” Jane said facetiously, “You like cock, we like cock, it all works out. Come on.” It was then that I realized that ‘girl time’ was unavoidable. Grumbling, I got out of bed and followed her out the door, where Rebecca was waiting. Sophie and Clif were also in the suite, though the latter stayed in his chair while Kenya and Sophie followed the three of us to the door.
“Where are you going?” October called over his magazine.
“Girl time!” Jane replied, overly enthusiastic.
“Then why is Rome going? He’s not a girl,” October asserted for me, for which I shot him an intensely grateful look.
“He likes cock, so he counts” Jane repeated simply, and my face matched the shade of a ripe tomato.
“Then why didn’t you invite Grey?” Denmark asked lazily. Grey started from his place on the floor and sent his cousin a glare.
Kenya turned to him. “You’re gay?” she asked bluntly, “I was sure you liked girls.”
Grey shrugged lightly. “I do. Just not exclusively.” I could tell that he was uncomfortable with the conversation, despite how he was playing it off.
“Why didn’t you tell us?!” She demanded, somewhere between hurt and gossipy.
Grey looked up with an odd expression on his face. “It never came up. What did you want me to do? Bring it up over breakfast one morning? ‘Oh, bi the way,’” he said, emphasizing the important syllable. Kenya had the shame to look abashed.
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” she said simply, turning away again. Grey didn’t reply and went back to the book that he was balancing on his knee. I guessed that meant he wasn’t interested in girl time. Can’t say I blamed him.
I followed The Collective Marge sans Clif plus Kenya to another suite down the hall from ours. Theirs opened into a bedroom, and as soon as the door was open, Jane tackled Rebecca onto a bed identical to the one I had napped in.
“Say I’m dominating you! Say it!” Jane yelled, while Rebecca squeaked, trapped under the smaller blonde girl. If I was one of those guys that was into girl-on-girl, it would have been hot.
“Fine! You’re dominating me!” Rebecca finally replied. Jane lightly slapped her across the face, replying, “That’s right, bitch!”
Even if I was terrified of Sophie, I had to ask. “Um. Is this normal?”
Sophie looked over. “For Jane, yes. Her one consistent trait is her complete insanity.”
I sighed. “And here I thought she was one of the sane ones.”
Sophie smiled widely and shook her head as Jane finally got off of Rebecca. “Nope. Becs and Clif are the normal ones. Jane’s a crazy hippie and I’m a slut.”
I felt that the only thing that I could do in that situation was to smile and nod, wondering all the while if this would be a good time to escape. Apparently it wasn’t, because Sophie walked over to the other door, which led into a living room that was a mirror of ours. We arranged ourselves on the furniture, myself ending up trapped uncomfortably between Jane and Sophie. Kenya and Rebecca took the two chairs.
Jane took out her purse and brought out a handful of bottles of nail polish, all in excessively bright or glittery shades. She started passing them around, ignoring the death glare I gave her when she tried to hand me a bottle in a neon pink shade. She saw my blue-stained nails and grinned evilly as she cackled, “One step ahead of the game, aren’t you?”
The girls chattered aimlessly as they got to painting their nails, Sophie doing each one a different color. Jane microwaved a mug of water, and brought it over to set on the table in front of the couch. Then, she pulled a plastic bag of green…something out of her purse, and I became terrified.
“Jane! Put that away! If you get busted, I want plausible deniability!”
Jane looked startled for a minute, then laughed. “No, Rome, this isn’t weed,” I sagged in relief, “These are my tea herbs.” She set the baggie aside and pulled out a nearly identical bag. “This is my weed,” she said, and I saw that the bag was, indeed, labeled ‘Jane’s weed.’ I made a weird noise and covered my eyes, and they all laughed at me. When I opened them, the illegal substances were safely out of view again. Jane began steeping her tea (not her weed) and began girl talk in earnest.
“So,” Jane began as she painted her nails sparkly purple, “Girl talk. Orlando Bloom. Yay or nay?”
Kenya shouted, “Yay,” and Sophie exclaimed, “Oh, yes! Mm, I’d love to let him handcuff me to a bed, no, a desk, and take off my clothes with his teeth…”
“Oh, yes please,” Kenya agreed when she trailed off.
“Meh,” I added. “He’s okay.”
“Crazy boy,” Kenya shook her head at me, painting her own nails black.
“Not really my type,” Rebecca said after a pause, waving her hands with their now-lime green nails.
Jane scoffed, sipped her tea, made a contented face, and rolled her eyes. “Well, duh, Becca.”
Rebecca cracked a smile. “Now, Keira Knightly, on the other hand…” Ah. I understood. Rebecca was a lesbian. Well, between our two bands, we totally had all the bases covered. Two homosexuals, a bisexual person, a slutty female, a crazy female, a relatively normal female, a relatively normal male, and a married crazy male. Just needed a transsexual.
Silence fell for a while, and I was beginning to think that girl time was more awkward than horribly embarrassing. Until Jane brought up a new topic.
“So, I totally know all about Rebecca and Sophie’s first times, but we don’t know about yours, Kenya. Or yours, Rome.” She and Sophie pinned me with a stare.
“Isn’t that a little personal?” I asked.
“Your point?” Sophie asked, and I sighed. She relented, and said, “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll tell, first. Well…I went to an all-girl Catholic school until I was fifteen. Then I switched to public school, and there were boys there. I went a little crazy. In the boy’s locker room. It was sweaty and messy and awesome. Was that too much information?”
“A little bit,” Kenya said, “But whatever. I was dating Darrel all through high school, and after graduation, I went to his house, and…you know… We broke up three weeks later. But not because of that. Because we were going to different colleges.”
“What about you, Rome?” Jane pressed again. I gave her a look. This really wasn’t information I wanted to share with people I’d met the day before. Jane sighed. “Well, as for me, it all started in my college algebra class. There was this guy I sat next to all semester. Jack. We flirted for months, and he invited me to a Christmas party. I went, and afterwards, went home with him. Never saw him after that. I was pissed, but I got over it about two days later.”
That was a surprisingly normal story, given what I’d come to expect from Jane.
Rebecca cleared her throat, and said, “I was a junior in high school. He was a senior, and asked me to prom with him. Afterwards, well, let’s just say that I decided I’m a lesbian. He thought it was because he was bad, which, well, he kind of was, but not the reason I like girls…”
That left just me. Great. I sighed, and began awkwardly, “Um, so, my freshman year in college, I went to this drag show. I found out that night that I make a terrible drag queen. But also that I’m naturally skilled in the bedroom arts.”
“Unlike Grey, apparently,” Sophie muttered, and I choked on my words. Right. He had said that to her. Gah. I still didn’t want to think about that.
“Can I…leave now?” I said, having already had more than enough girl talk.
Jane and Sophie shared a look over my head. Then, Jane shrugged. “I suppose you’ve been sufficiently tortured. For today,” she added the last bit ominously.
“Awesome,” I muttered and got off the couch.
Jane called after me one more time, “Oh, a tip. If you wanna make Clif feel really uncomfortable, talk about kiwi fruit. It’s unbelievably fun to see his reaction.”
“Kiwi fruits…? What do those have to do with anything?” I asked, but at Jane’s expression, I amended my question with, “On second thought, I really don’t want to know.”
Awkward girl talk over, I all but fled down the hall to where the guys were. I knocked on the door, since I didn’t have a room card. Clif answered. “Ah, Rome, I see that you survived.”
“Barely. It was terrible and embarrassing,” I said as I went into the room and shut the door behind me. October was still absorbed in his copy of Rolling Stone, Denmark was furiously texting, and Grey was still on the floor, though he’d moved to lean against the couch. I sat on the middle cushion and recuperated from my harrowing journey into the depths of estrogen hell.
Without looking up from his book, Grey asked me, “That bad, huh?”
“They asked me how I lost my virginity. What do you think?”
“Yep. That bad. Sorry I didn’t offer moral support.”
“I’m altruistically glad that you didn’t have to suffer through that, too,” I replied, turning so that I could stretch out on the couch. I rolled onto my side, but discovered that doing so gave me a faceful of the back of Grey’s head, to I turned onto my back again.
“Well, thank you for that, I suppose,” he said, putting a battered index card in his book and closing it. That meant I had his full attention.
I fished for a topic. “So, uh, first show tonight. Nervous?”
Grey shrugged. “Not really. I mean, if I had to speak, maybe I would be but…I’m the bassist.”
“Fair point,” I agreed, “I’m still nervous, though. You know…first time and all.”
Grey snorted a laugh, and I drawled, “What?” He calmed down and said, “Sorry, just the way you phrased that. Combined with what you said the girls asked you about. It was ironic.”
“Oh, hardy-har har,” I said sarcastically, lightly smacking the side of his head, which set him to laughing again. He had a nice laugh, I couldn’t help but noticing. I didn’t get to hear it often, so I didn’t even mind that it was at my expense.
At length, he said, “But seriously, Rome. You’ll be fine. I know you will. You know the music better than any of us-you wrote most of it.” I grinned awkwardly, even though I knew that he couldn’t see it.
“You helped. I quite literally couldn’t have done it without you,” I replied, grimacing at how inelegant the sentence sounded before it was even all the way out of my mouth.
Denmark saved either of us from having to continue that conversation. He perked up like a dog that’d heard its owner get home.
“What is it?” October asked over his magazine, raising one sculpted eyebrow.
“I hear ice cream,” he said, expression glazed over.
“I don’t hear anything,” October said, but Denmark was over to the window in a flash, flailing and pointing wildly at the street below. Curious myself, I wandered over to take a look. Sure enough, there was an ice cream truck with a line of kids extending from the service window.
“Rome, I declare it ice cream time! Let’s go!” he said, grabbing the front of my shirt and dragging me forcefully after him. I stumbled and almost fell, but eventually managed a running walk after him. His legs were longer than mine. It wasn’t fair.
We bypassed the elevator and took the stairs down from the third floor. Denmark didn’t let go of my shirt, but I managed not to start tumbling down the stairs, which would unavoidably ended in my death. Somehow.
By the time we got to the bottom floor and into the lobby, I was sore from being forced to awkwardly hunch over. We left through the whooshing glass doors, only to see the ice cream truck slowly drive by, playing its happy little jingle.
“Oh, hell no!” Denmark yelled, yanking me forward and running. He finally let go of my shirt, but when I tried to stop and turn around, he screamed, “Run, midget, run!” I scowled and glared, but I ran after him. Inevitably, I fell behind, but he had managed to flag the truck down at the end of the block, and I was only half a minute or so behind him.
The young woman operating the truck seemed endlessly amused by the fact that a grown man had just chased down an ice cream truck, and offered him his delicious frozen treat free of charge. Which was a good thing. Denmark had forgotten his wallet.
He got a chocolate coated drumstick. I got a strawberry-kiwi popsicle. I had to pay for mine.
A few minutes later, we were back in the suite, Denmark practically purring in enjoyment of his ice cream. I was surprised to see that Kenya was back with us, though the rest of the girls weren’t. I sat on the couch again, disheveled and rumpled from being dragged around and the running down the street.
I opened my popsicle, deciding that I was going to get some form of enjoyment out of this goddamn ordeal. For a while, I did just that. Until I realized that Kenya was laughing. And that it was at me.
“What?” I asked her, not in the mood.
“You, uh, you enjoying that popsicle, Rome?”
“Yes,” I answered shortly, slurping the juice that was running down the side. Kenya snorted, and kept laughing. By that point, all eyes were on me. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no. No problem, froggy lips,” Kenya said in between giggles.
I sighed. “I know I have a big mouth. You don’t have to point it out.”
Kenya shrugged, and said, “Well, it has to be handy, you know…”
“I know what?” I asked stupidly, catching another drip with my froggy lips.
“You know…for when you…” she made a really obscene gesture, and comprehension of the entire conversation dawned on me. For the second time that day, I turned bright red. I decided that the humiliation I would experience finishing my popsicle would outweigh the deliciousness of its consumption. I got up and threw the thing away, pouting at Kenya all the while. I tried to get Grey to back me up, since he usually took my side, but he adamantly avoided my eyes.
“Strawberry-kiwi isn’t even that good of a flavor, anyway,” I grumbled as I sat back down, crossing my arms.
“Oh, God,” Clif said, blanching. “You said the dreaded k-word.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, “Jane said something about you hating hearing about kiwi fruit.”
“Um, yeah. I’m guessing she didn’t tell you about the horrible kiwi incident, then…” he trailed off, looking sick.
I shrugged. “I started to ask, but the look on her face told me that I didn’t want to know.”
“It was awful,” he intoned, stretching out the words as he covered his face with his hands.
“I’m kind of really curious, now,” Denmark said, eating the last of his cone.
Clif took a deep breath, and began the tale. “Jane and I…we had a fling back in college. Nothing serious. Just dinner, some movies, and a few really awkward sexual experiences in the back of my car. But the incident that ended it all…involved kiwi-flavored syrup. Do you want me to continue…?” He asked with trepidation.
Denmark said, “Aww, it was just getting good!” Clif paled further, and nodded weakly.
“Jane hates giving blow jobs. But she agreed if she could…use the kiwi-flavored syrup…on my…yeah.” He hesitated, and I really, really wanted him to just stop. I had been right. I didn’t want to know. “Well, first of all, she got a little overly enthusiastic and bit me…broke the skin. And then I had an allergic reaction to something in the stuff. End result? Most awkward doctor’s visit ever, and more stitches than I want to remember in a very uncomfortable place. Ugh, there’s scarring!” He finished dramatically.
“Really? Can I see?” Denmark asked, seeming confused by the disgusted looks the rest of us shot him.
Clif didn’t dignify the request with an answer, as he sat on the couch next to me and curled into a fetal position.
October rustled his magazine to get our attention. “So, um, now that we’re all scarred for life-Clif especially, and most literally-who wants dinner? We have to leave for the show in about three hours, so this would be a good time to get it…”
“Um, yeah, sure,” I said, as the other people in the room made various agreements. There was a restaurant on the first floor, and we agreed to eat there. Then, there would just be time to get dressed before it was time to head over to the venue.
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