Elegy - Chapter 10

I loved performing and this latest gig might be one of our best yet. We’d sold more merch than any other single show, and there had been a line of people wanting to stop and talk to us, which was also new. It wasn’t as big as opening for House of Graceor the New Year’s Eve show, but there was a big difference between headlining and just being an opening act.

While I’d do a show like this again in a heartbeat, I was also completely wiped when we finally got back home. We were still going cheap on the travel arrangements since we wanted to keep as much money from our shows as possible, which meant the four of us in one budget hotel room. I appreciated my bandmates, but Seth and Marco snored, and while we gave Lyla her own bed, we faced the choice of trying to share bed space or sleeping on the floor, neither of which offered decent prospects for sleep.

And it wasn’t like we could sleep on the five-hour van ride back, either. We learned on our first tour how much it sucked to get to a show and then find that the venue didn’t have something we needed, so we made sure to carry everything we could possibly need with us, which didn’t leave a lot of room to stretch out.

I gave Mrs. Philips a half-hearted wave as I dragged myself up the stairs to my room, collapsing on the bed. I’d already texted Chef on the way home and told him there was no way I was making practice, but we still had to play at the Blue Ridge that night, and if I didn’t get some sleep, there was no way I’d make it through.

Instead, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, not sleeping, even as tired as I was. If I was being honest with myself, the cramped and uncomfortable conditions weren’t the only reason I couldn’t sleep the night before. My conversation with Hanna kept rolling round and round in my mind.

I’d handled it wrong. My temper was getting worse. I recognized it after Dad came back and all the chaos he created. I’d started getting angrier faster, reacting instead of thinking through how to handle situations. I’d lost my cool with Hanna, and I’d made it worse. Criticizing her and demanding she change was only going to make her dig her heels in more. She needed empathy, not judgment. It wasn’t going to fix the problem, and she was still going to make the mistakes she was always going to make with Troy, but I couldn’t control that. The only thing I could control was my own reaction, and I had to manage it better.

I was still lying there, unable to turn my brain off enough to fall asleep, when my phone rang. I really didn’t feel like talking to anyone and almost didn’t pick it up. I reached over, all the same, picking up the phone to at least see who it was. Warren was one of the few people I had to take a call from, no matter how tired or upset I was, but especially following a gig.

I kept saying that in my head, trying to convince myself I had no choice but to answer, as I hit accept and lifted the phone to my ear.

“Yeah,” I said, my words slurring together.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked.

“No, I just got home.”

“Good. I didn’t want to bother you last night, but I wanted to check in about the show. I already got a call from the Pavilion last night, but I always like to hear how you felt it went too.”

“I think we did okay, all things considered. Did they mention we had to shut down for almost fifteen minutes in the middle of the show when Marco’s keyboard broke down?”

I had thought I’d covered the delay well, but it wouldn’t surprise me if the venue called to complain. The issue had definitely been on our end, so any problems from it would land on us. Which was too bad, because I really liked that venue and we’d gotten one of the best reactions from a crowd yet.

“They did. They also mentioned how well you covered it. They’ve already started getting calls asking when you’re coming back, and I’ve seen a bunch of positive posts about the show on social media. It was a hit.”

“Really? I was worried the venue might have been upset, since it was our equipment that broke down.”

“No. These things happen and they’d only have a problem if you’d ended the show then or lost the crowd. You did exactly the right thing. As long as the crowd is happy, the venue is happy. They said you put on a guitar clinic for the crowd, playing crowd requests. The manager told me they’ve even started talking about adding something like that as an occasional event, where the crowd could call out requests for a band to cover. I’m not sure how well something like that would work, but if they’re discussing it, then you made an impact.”

“Good. The crowd seemed to eat it up, but you never know how reasonable a venue is going to be, even if the people are having a good time.”

“That’s true. Don’t worry. You did good.”

“Good, because we really liked that place and would like another shot at playing there in the summer, when it’s not freezing. We had the best sell-through of merch we’ve ever had at one show. We sold most of those CDs I bought.”

“Really? That’s the kind of thing the execs will like hearing. Be aware that if you start doing really well on merch, they might decide to take it over. It’ll mean less work for you up front, since they’ll hire people to run the merch table for you, but you’ll also have to take a smaller cut.”

“Damned if you do, damned if you don’t,” I said.

I’d already accepted that someday we’d lose control of the merch, but I’d hoped we could put it off a while longer. We were just starting to figure out the process and, while we didn’t make as much on it as we did for actually playing shows, it was starting to bring in close to what we got on our cut of record sales. If we handed over all of our merch to the label now, we’d see a noticeable decrease in the actual money we took home. I guess if it was just the four of us, the trade-off that the label would be taking over the work of getting it produced and selling it would make it worthwhile to handle, but with Hanna’s work getting it made and her and Kat’s helping to sell it while we were on stage, we had enough back end support that it wasn’t much of a problem for us.

“Yeah, that’s how these three-sixty deals end up,” Warren said. “Honestly, it’s … never mind. You guys did really great. If you keep having shows like that, I’m not going to have any problems booking you more shows. Speaking of which, I got you the show you wanted in Raleigh.”

While I was very curious about what he’d almost said, the news that he’d gotten us the Raleigh show was big. Of course, I still had to talk Kat into taking a weekend off and joining us but, unlike Charlotte, this time I’d actually have an argument for her. Even though she was already accepted, she still wanted to do a walk-through of the campus, since she hadn’t done that except for when we’d gone with Hanna. Kat was more interested in the math department, which Hanna had no time for.

“That’s great news. When?”

“Unfortunately, that’s the catch. The show’s next weekend. I know it’s short notice, but a spot at a really good club opened up. It’s smaller than Charlotte, but a lot bigger than most of the places you’ve played before. It’s in this converted warehouse, so the actual main stage area is huge, fitting about fifteen hundred max. They also have a well-organized sales area in the front section, a dedicated booth for your merchandise sales, which should help with the chaos. I’ve had other bands play there in the past, and they had great shows, but this venue usually only books more established acts. The band you’re replacing has a similar style of music, so you’re not going to have problems with people who already have tickets getting mad at a bait and switch, or at least not as mad. It’s a real opportunity.”

A week was very short notice, especially if I was going to get Kat to go, but it also sounded like another good opportunity for the band, and we still needed as many of those as we could get. Warren had come through last time, so I trusted him when he said this was a big chance for us.

“Okay, I’ll let everyone know. But I have a strange request and, honestly, it’s okay for you to say no.”

“I’m all ears.”

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the ask, “This is wildly beyond your job description and I feel kinda lousy for even considering asking you. But … I’m going to have trouble persuading Kat to join us on such short notice, and she was the reason I pushed for this gig in the first place …”

Warren said when I paused to gather my thoughts, “I’m not quite following …”

“Well,” I continued, “I was thinking, what if we set up a swim practice with the UNC swim team? She’s already been recruited by them and will be on the team next year. My problem is that I have no idea how to go about doing that. Her private coach would, but he’s relentless, pushing her to train every week and giving her no time off. I doubt he’d be much help.”

“Are you asking me to contact the UNC swim department to arrange a practice for your friend?” he asked, his tone unreadable.

Warren was a good guy, but for a moment I wondered if I’d crossed a line.

“I am, but you can say no. Like I said, you’re a music promoter, not a sports agent. I was just thinking that since you’re experienced in making these kinds of calls, maybe …”

The silence on the line stretched out before he finally spoke, “Yeah, I’ll see what I can do. Just, don’t make a habit of this. The label wants us focused on having you out there making money, and I’m not your personal assistant.”

“I get it, honestly. I felt awkward just asking. Forget it, I’ll handle it. I’m sorry. I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“No, I wasn’t trying to shut you down. You’d be surprised at the stuff other clients have asked me to do in the past, and you’ve always been reasonable. I just didn’t want you to start thinking you could make a habit of it.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Good. And see about getting Marco a new keyboard before this gig. You managed to get away with it last weekend, but there’s no guarantee that will work every time.”

“Yep, we’re on it. They’re heading down to Asheville this week to grab him a new one.”

We’d talked about that already on the way home this morning and agreed the band would fund his new keyboard out of our payments, before any of us got paid off, essentially spreading the cost to all of us. This way, the weight was equally distributed among us, a shared responsibility of sorts.

Once we were back at their house, I’d pulled Lyla aside and asked her to go with him this week to Asheville when they went to get it. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Marco to choose not to buy the most expensive thing they had. No, in fact, it was precisely because I didn’t trust him that I wanted her to go, considering he’d only be footing a quarter of the bill, and Seth didn’t exactly possess the ability to stand up to him. If anyone was going to be able to ride herd on him, it was Lyla.

I just hoped they didn’t come to blows or anything while they were out shopping.

***

I did manage to doze off, at least for a little while.

It took a while for me to realize the sound that kept annoying me was the alarm on my phone going off, telling me it was time to head to the Blue Ridge. It felt like I’d just closed my eyes, and if anything I was more tired now than before I’d fallen asleep. Everything seemed fuzzy and out of focus.

In the dim light of my room, everything seemed to morph and blend, the familiar shapes of my existence melting into the encroaching shadows. I found myself lying there, entranced by the pattern of fading light on my ceiling. It was a silent battle of wills, me against the pull of gravity, the comfort of my bed, and my crushing exhaustion.

The way I was feeling, I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to get up until I heard the door downstairs open, and Kat’s muted voice drift up the stairs. Glancing at my phone, I noted with a grimace that I had just about an hour before I needed to be at the Blue Ridge. I had to talk to her before I left. If she was going to get out of practice next weekend, I needed to give her as much time as possible.

I was still wearing the shorts and t-shirt I’d put on at the motel that morning. For a moment I considered getting dressed into my show clothes, but I decided I could do that after I talked to her, partly because I wanted to get our conversation out of the way and partly because I just didn’t have the energy.

As expected, I found Kat in the kitchen, her school books spread out like a battle plan. Swimming practices, AP classes, college acceptance, probably valedictorian; next to her I might have just been taking six periods of wood shop.

“Wow, you look like shit,” she greeted me.

“Gee, thanks,” I retorted, maneuvering around the table to sit across from her.

“That’s not what I meant. You just look really tired.”

“I am. Ever tried sleeping in a room with four people? Besides Marco, who had the driver’s seat, the rest of us were crammed in amongst the equipment for the ride back. Next time, I’m driving separately.”

She arched an eyebrow, “Chef let you skip practice?”

“Needed a nap before tonight,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck.

“You still have an hour. You could sleep for another thirty minutes.”

“I could, but I wanted to talk to you about something. Warren called me just after I got home.”

“Yeah?” she echoed, finally looking up from her schoolwork.

“Yeah. We’d talked about you wanting to explore UNC’s math department, remember?” I said, trying to gauge her response. “I persuaded Warren to get us a show in Raleigh so we’d have an excuse for a trip out there. Plus, Hanna mentioned she missed you. She understands that you have to practice, but she really wants to see you, and she was sad you didn’t make it to Charlotte.”

“I know. She called me this morning. When’s the show?”

“That’s the bad part. Next weekend.”

“Charlie, that’s ridiculous! I’ve got back-to-back practices lined up. You know the struggle we’ve had to get me pool time, especially since we’re limited to indoor practice for now. I can’t just leave on a week’s notice.”

“I know, and that’s why I asked Warren to call the UNC coaches and see if you could squeeze in some practice with the UNC swim team while we’re there. You’ve been recruited already, and most of that was done through your current coach, so you never really got to explore the facilities or meet the staff in person except for when they came here to see you. They might even be able to treat it as a recruiting visit.”

“Maybe,” she said, hesitantly.

“All I’m saying is it would let you keep your coach happy, give you a chance to plan for next year, see our show in what I hear is a great venue, and let you spend time with Hanna. Plus, honestly, you could use a break. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

“You’re one to talk. Okay, fine, I’ll see what I can do,” she said, relenting.

“Good. That’s all I wanted. Now, I gotta go get changed for the show.”

I had barely started to get up from the table when my phone rang again. I was half-expecting it to be Warren again, maybe calling to tell me it was a no-go on the training with the swim team, and breathed a sigh of relief when it was Mom’s number instead.

“Hey, Mom. I’ve gotta go get …” I said, trying to rush her off the call when her panicked voice got my attention.

“Charlie. He’s here. He’s banging on the door. He’s trying to get in.”

“Who’s ther… Dad? Dad’s there?” I asked, my brain making the obvious leap.

“Yes. He’s out of jail. I didn’t bail him out, but he’s here and he’s furious. He’s screaming about the divorce and me leaving him in jail.”

“I’m on my way,” I promised, ignoring Kat’s confused look and bolting out the door.

The snow had thawed, but the ground was still mostly frozen solid, making the leap over the creek easy as I made the mad dash toward Mom’s trailer. I tore around the corner of the trailer to see Dad wailing on the door. He was drunk, wobbling a little each time he banged against the aluminum.

“Hey,” I yelled, stopping at the bottom of the steps.

“Oh, look who’s here,” he slurred, spinning around and nearly toppling off the small porch as he lost his balance. “It’s the little shit. You come to try your old man again, you little shit.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Really? What gave it away? You got me thrown in jail, and I know you were the one who talked your mother into filing for a divorce, little shit. Tell me why I shouldn’t just come down there and kick your ass.”

Four months ago, I would have egged him on, baited him into making the first move so I could drop him and not feel bad about it. I guess this was the kind of test God gives you when you swear you’re going to turn over a new leaf and try to control yourself. Chef had been clear: if truly threatened, the best response was quick and violent action, without pausing.

However, I wasn’t truly threatened. Dad was too drunk to land a punch, even if I stood still. Chef had been equally clear on this. He emphasized the importance of avoiding conflict where possible. Perhaps it wasn’t just God testing my new resolve, but an opportunity to prove to Chef that I truly grasped the principles behind martial arts.

Unfortunately, I also couldn’t just let him keep banging on Mom’s door.

“We don’t need to do this, Dad,” I suggested, trying to de-escalate the situation. “Why don’t you go sleep it off?”

“Sleep where?” he bellowed. “This was my home too! Now I can’t even step foot inside, thanks to King Little Shit. You think you’re the man of the house now, don’t you? Well, you’re not. You’re a little shit, and I’m going to give you the ass-kicking you’ve needed ever since I got back.”

I didn’t even have to touch him. He caught the edge of his shoe on the step as he lunged toward me. His arms were outstretched as he face-planted into the gravel, making no attempt to soften his fall. He lay there, arms splayed out in front of him. For a second, I half-hoped he’d knocked himself out. It would certainly make things easier for everyone.

I am, unfortunately, not that lucky. He started to push himself up, glaring at me as blood trickled down his nose, which was twisted at an angle and probably broken. Tiny cuts laced his skin from where the jagged gravel dug into him, but he barely seemed to notice.

“Dad, if you come at me, I’m going to put you back in the gravel. Just leave. Please.”

His only response was a guttural growl, his face twisted in anger as he pushed himself the rest of the way up, like he was a runner coming off the starting blocks, keeping his shoulders low, going for a tackle. I stepped to the side, forcing him to try and twist with me, which in his state he couldn’t do. His feet started to lose traction on the loose gravel. I reached out to catch his wrist, yanking it hard to make him lose his balance again. As he passed me, I pulled his arm behind his back, wrenching it upward. With his body controlled, I rode him down to the gravel, adding my weight to the impact.

The air leaving his lungs was almost audible. Keeping my grip on his arm secure, I slightly lifted my weight to allow him shallow, sucking breaths.

“Mom,” I shouted over my shoulder, “It’s okay.”

Though I couldn’t see her from my position, I heard the trailer door open, and I guessed she was peering out to see what happened.

“Call the sheriff! Let them know what’s happening and that I’ve subdued and am holding him to keep him from hurting himself or anyone else until they get here. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said meekly from behind me.

My heart ached. Just as she was starting to make progress back to being the woman I knew, he showed up again, pushing her back into being scared and unsure of herself. I resisted the urge to pull his arm harder, which would have satisfied my anger but not helped the situation.

Dad wasn’t out yet, mumbling a blend of obscenities, insults, and threats. I tuned out his words. He demanded I get off of him, which I wasn’t going to do. If I did let him go, he’d just end up right back in the dirt, maybe breaking something else in addition to his nose.

This close to him, it was all I could do to keep from retching. He smelled of body odor, cheap liquor, and fluids I didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about. He’d called Mom from jail not that long ago, so he must have just gotten out. How he could have gotten himself like this in so little time, I’d never know.

The sheriff must have been in the area because his patrol car skidded to a stop in front of the trailer less than ten minutes later.

“Charlie, step away from him,” the sheriff said as he rounded the car’s hood.

“Glad to,” I agreed, “but he’s hammered and angry. As soon as I do, he’s likely to attack one of us.”

“Leave that to me. Just move back.”

I complied, releasing my grip and quickly retreating, easily avoiding his weak swipe at me.

“Mr. Nelson, stay down,” the sheriff instructed, but Dad wasn’t listening.

With his eyes locked on me, Dad staggered to his feet. I continued to retreat, readying myself to dodge if he charged again. He might be drunk to the point of not being able to walk, but that didn’t mean he was harmless. If he got his hands on me or got me on the ground, he still had enough motor control to wail on me.

Sure enough, he attempted another clumsy charge, blatantly ignoring the sheriff’s presence. This time, I chose to evade rather than confront him. I didn’t think the sheriff would try to screw me over and put charges against me for defending myself, but I was starting to grow a little wary of trusting anyone too much. They’d all let me down too many times before.

It didn’t matter. I didn’t see him draw it, but I heard the crack-pop sound of the Taser firing, followed almost instantly by Dad dropping like someone hit the off switch. His face met the gravel yet again, but at this point, it didn’t seem possible it could cause any further damage.

The sheriff kept the volts going as he closed in on my dad and pulled out his handcuffs, only laying off when he was right above my father’s body, dropping a knee into the small of his back as he released the trigger. Was it necessary? I’m not sure. Dad looked stunned and almost completely limp, although it was anyone’s guess if it was because of the booze or the Taser. Either way, the sheriff had to seriously struggle to get him up to his feet and lead him, stumbling, towards the patrol car.

In those cop reality shows, they’d typically call for an ambulance to remove the Taser prongs, but the sheriff skipped that protocol, yanking them out himself and rolling up the wires. From the look he gave my dad, I think the expedited retrieval was more because he didn’t care if my dad bled a little, rather than some kind of policy.

That’s what you get for being an asshole.

Once the door was shut and I had a barrier between Dad and me, I went to talk to the sheriff.

“You’re going to book him, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, on drunk and disorderly. It should allow us to hold him for a few days, but that almost always just ends up with a ticket and a release.”

“He’s on bail, though. Isn’t getting arrested supposed to cancel his bail or something?”

“Typically, yes. But overcrowding is a major issue in the jail. They’ve been letting out almost everyone without a violent felony record.”

“He has felony violence. He killed a guy.”

“That case got dismissed and was never retried. An arrest doesn’t count, only a conviction does.”

“You realize you’re just going to have to come back out here the day after he’s released and arrest him again.”

“I know, but your family isn’t the only one dealing with this situation. This is a county-wide problem. On Monday, take your mom to the courthouse and file for a protective order. If he violates it, that could be enough to keep him locked up until the trial. No promises, but it’s your best shot.”

“This sucks,” I said.

“I know. It’s just the way things are sometimes. I keep trying to tell you, life doesn’t care if things are fair or not. You’ve just got to deal with it as it is.”

“Yeah, I know. I can still be bitter about it though,” I said.

“That’s all you can do, really. Anyway, good luck.”