The Prettiest Thing
The weeks dragged on and turned into months. Mige remained faithful about his letters and phone calls, telling horror stories about the Sarge and funny ones about army pranks. Ville was full of lyrics and pretty words, band news and gossip about various friends and acquaintances.
The weeks dragged on and turned into months. Mige remained faithful about his letters and phone calls, telling horror stories about the Sarge and funny ones about army pranks. Ville was full of lyrics and pretty words, band news and gossip about various friends and acquaintances.
There were letters full of longing, phone calls filled with passion. Conversations ended in frustrated tears and letters were pored over, wanked over, cried over.
Tommi shared photos and stories about his girlfriend, and was never put off by Mige’s besotted ramblings about Ville. He was the sympathetic ear the way Linde was, and Ville’s jealousy soon turned into a feeling of gratefulness that his lover had such a friend.
“It was so funny,” Mige was proclaiming. “One of the lads crimped one off and stuck the log behind Sarge’s radiator. The office stank for a week, at least!”
Ville made a face, never having understood his friend’s proclivity for poo jokes. “That’s just disgusting.”
“Ah, you had to be there.”
Grinning, Ville shook his head. “Glad I wasn’t. So, Juska knows all the songs now. All we need is our gorgeous bassist, and we’ll be all set.”
Mige snorted self deprecatingly. “I can hardly wait. Five more weeks, babe, can you believe that? Only a bit more than a month before I get to hold you and kiss you and fuck you to within an inch of your life.”
“Fuck is so crass,” Ville said, wrinkling his nose. “Make love with me, instead.”
Voice soft, Mige smiled. “You got it, babe.”
“I’ve been thinking about quitting the band.”
Linde looked up, vaguely horrified. “For how long?”
Patka shrugged, looking away. “A while now.”
“I didn’t ask how long you’ve been thinking about quitting the band, I asked how long you’ve been thinking about quitting the band for.”
“For good.” Patka caught the slightly hurt look in the guitarist’s eyes. “My girl is pregnant, Lin. We’ll be moving soon.”
Shaking his head, Linde tried to smile. “Congratulations.” He finally smiled for real. “I mean that. Even if Ville is going to have kittens.”
“Speaking of Ville-“
“Oh, no.” Linde shook his head firmly. “No way am I going to tell him.”
“Tell who what?” Ville plopped down between them, running a hand through his hair and wiping away faded eyeliner with one finger. He took in the looks on their faces. “Who died?”
Patka sighed, seeing he would get no help from Linde. “I need to quit the band, Ville.”
Mouth dropping in shock, Ville shook his head. “What? No way. Where are we going to find another drummer like you? What the hell are you thinking, anyway?”
Explaining himself once more, Patka saw Ville’s expression soften. “I need a real job. I’m gonna have a kid to support.”
Deflating, Ville nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, but I still hate you just a little.” He sighed heavily. “Well, fuck.” He leaned over to kiss Patka’s cheek. “Congrats, mate. Come jam with us sometime, hear?”
Smiling a little, Patka let the kiss slide. “I will. Hey, you’ll find someone better than me.” He grinned, slinging an arm round Ville’s shoulders. “You’ll find someone who’ll let you boss them.”
“I don’t boss!”
Patka and Linde burst into laughter.
The next four weeks were spent in endless auditions for a new drummer, and Ville fretting over Mige coming home.
“He’ll get here and we’ll have no bloody band!” he wailed. “And I’ve put on weight; he’ll think I’m fat. And.. and.. my hair sucks.”
Linde snickered as Juska hid a laugh behind a cough. “You look fine, and you weigh nothing. We’ll find a drummer.”
With his words, a chubby boy with a shaved head shyly poked his head in the door. “Uhm, are you still auditioning?” he asked with a heavy Swedish accent. “Only that I’ve been waiting, and-“
“Sure, sure. Come on in.” Ville waved the boy in, sighing a bit. “What’s your name?”
“Call me Gas.”
Arching a brow, Ville tilted his head. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Uhm, so… Gas. What do you want to play?” He stood and stretched, reaching for the microphone. “We’ll just jam it out, yeah?”
Nodding, Gas sat down behind the drum set Patka was loaning them. “Ah, I have my own kit, so… Well, I can play for you, maybe… some KISS?”
Linde nodded as Ville lit a cigarette. “Sure, name a song.”