I'm Not There Yet (Closed)

Portland, Maine
November 29th, 2009
9:02 PM

The hollow sounds from the other room throbbed loudly inside my head. Huddled into the corner of the bathroom, alone, holding my hands open against my head. Eyes flooded with tears randomly spilling over and running down my face. Trying in vain to choke down the torrent raging in my chest, broken down beside a toilet while surrounded by the remembrance of the shallow world outside as the music and screams grew louder with each minute. Forcing myself to my feet I leaned over the sink, hands plastered on either side of the wall. I found no ounce of comfort in the pale reflection staring back at me; eyes rimmed with deep shadows and gazing accusingly.

* * * * *

San Francisco, California
March 10th, 2009
10:46 AM

“Maurizio.” I lifted my head and looked down the hallway. Mark was leaning out of the hotel door. “You got everything?” Looking to my right I lifted up the worn back in display. He shook his head at me. “All right, we’ll meet you downstairs then.” I gave a nod, though he had already slipped back into the room. Pushing myself up to my feet I took up the bag and began heading for the stairs. I don’t remember thinking much at that moment, just staring at a few old photographs of the family, including Natalie. She might as well have been family, at least.

Before I knew it I was outside and down in the parking garage. I took a final look at the picture. I can’t remember what we were celebrating, but we were all together in the yard. There was snow on the ground. There was always snow on the ground back in Maine. Back home. I breathed a heavy sigh and folded the picture back up, slipping it into my pocket. We had another show later that night, but once it was done we were leaving the city. A few months of constant playing, night after night, and now we finally had enough money to get out of here. Go somewhere different. Perhaps somewhere better. That is what the guys said. I don’t know, I kind of liked the city. In the end I was glad we were leaving though. Being in one place for to long… it can make a person claustrophobic.

* * * * *

San Francisco, California
March 10th, 2009
8:47 PM

The crowd was dead. The venue was dead. Half full, maybe less. We were standing up there like a carnival without the rides, just the freaks. Standing there, playing their instruments, trying to be normal. We looked at each other constantly between songs. We wanted to get the show over with as quickly as possible. Yet we couldn’t bring ourselves to just jump from one song to the next. No, we stood there for at least a minute each time; everyone holding a drink, usually finishing it in under that minute. I don’t know how many we drank that night. By the end we could barely stand, barely play. I remember slurring the lyrics terribly while we were performing the final song; Killing Me Killing You, Sentenced.

Mark had taken enough of the abuse by the end of the set. He slung his guitar off his shoulders and flung it out over the floor. Despite the alcohol, I remember that moment vividly. Everything began to slow to a crawl as I watched the guitar spinning through the air. My mind went blank. It was so surreal. Then it hit someone, square in the face. Everything came rushing back at once; all my sense. My heart felt like it was about to explode from my chest as I looked around, frantically. I locked eyes with Mark. The terror… I’ll never forget that.

The other guys were trying to leave. I didn’t know what to do. James was suddenly there trying to tear the bass off of me. It was his, after all. Everything I owned was in back in the van. “What the hell are you doing, let’s go!” he shouted at me. I looked back at Mark, collapsed onto his knees. My eyes went again to the floor. A woman was laying there, blood everywhere. She wasn’t moving. I went numb. James pulled at my arm again. “Damn it I said let’s go.” I looked at him, at the others. They were getting everything they needed and getting it outside. No one was going to Mark. Not a single one of them. I think he read the look in my eyes. “Look man, we don’t have any record company behind us. They’ll put us all in for this, every fucking one of us. We need to go. Just leave him… he fucked up, not you.”

I don’t remember much after that. The next morning I woke up with a hangover from hell. I was inside the van. Had they carried me out? Andrew was sitting there, looking at me with a solemn expression. He attempted to say something, but no words came out. I shook my head at him and looked away, rolling over to face the wall. I still can’t believe we just left him there. I had to talk about it. But I couldn’t. Not to anyone I was with. Not to them. Everyone back home got two letters that month. I didn’t mention anything to mom or dad. I didn’t know how to say it to them. I just, I remember mentioning the same basic thing I had in the letter that was already sent. Thomas, I know I told him. I don’t remember what I said in the letter to Natalie. But I had to send one… to each of them. I couldn’t just send one to Thomas and leave the others standing there with nothing. They would have instantly known that something had happened. They probably already did. I still hope that Thomas never said anything to mom or dad.

* * * * *

Portland, Maine
November 29th, 2009
9:15 PM

“What the hell is going on man? I think I deserve to know, after all the shit we’ve been through this past year?” Andrew had been repeated that same thing for the past few minutes. We outside, on a rooftop, a strong wind threatening to freeze us; I didn’t know what to say. “Maurizio,” he nearly shouted, shaking me. “Talk me…” this time his voice was softer.

“The longest year…” I replied, looking at him. “The longest… fucking year.”

Andrew shook his head, sighing. “Yeah, it has been. Is that all that is bothering? I thought you put all that shit behind man? Is it just being so close to home? What?”

“Home…” I repeated. Yes, I definitely wanted to go home; just for a little bit. I had to see them. Thomas. Natalie. It had been too long. But no, that wasn’t what was bothering me. I shook my head again.

* * * * *

Las Vegas, Nevada
March 14th, 2009
11:15 AM

We hadn’t done much after the incident in California. There were no shows, just driving and hotels mostly. Trying to figure out where we were going to go. Eventually we ended up in Vegas. I guess James thought it would be a good distraction for the rest of us. I don’t know, I was still trying to get over the fact they had just left them there. That we had. Why hadn’t I done anything? It was all I could think about up until the door of our slum hotel opened. James walked in with someone, a guy. Andrew and I shared a glance, neither of us knew who he was but he was carrying a guitar and a duffle back. He disappeared through the door a moment later, going to get something else.

“Who is that?” I asked, more angrily that I meant to.

“Him?” James asked, trying to seem innocent. At our nods he gave us a shrug. “That’s Daniel. Met him just a little bit ago, but I heard him play and he is willing to drop everything to go with us.”

“He’s replacing Mark?” Andrew asked, his eyes wide.

“Yeah. Someone had to.”

“Already?” I asked, barely able to keep from standing up and punching him.

“Seriously, James. We could have fucking went with just you on guitar for a while. It’s been four fucking days man.”

“We’re in Vegas, we need to be at our best performance here. That means two guitarists. How the hell else do you expect to pay for the shit we need? Mark fucked up; we couldn’t risk staying there with him. Forget that piece of shit.”

The next thing I remember was watching James fall to the floor, holding his face. I rubbed my hand as I suddenly realized the pain. “Fuck you.” I remember saying before walking out the door.

* * * * *

Las Vegas, Nevada
March 15th, 2009
3:56 AM

I walked a lot that day. I wasn’t going anywhere, just walking. Long after night had fallen I eventually found myself in a bar. It was a quaint little place, not too much noise. Perfect. Beyond the bar, serving a few of the locals by the looks of them, was a rather beautiful sight. As much as I can remember, I wasn’t paying much attention to her that night; dark hair, porcelain skin. It was all I really noticed. She left me alone for a while, giving me whatever drink I asked for when I asked. As things grew even more quite though she started talking; I don’t know why. Maybe she was one of those strongly empathetic people, wanting to help others. That or she was just bored. Or trying to get me to spend more money I didn’t have.

Whatever her reasons it was nice to have someone to talk to it. I really shouldn’t have, but that morning I ended up spilling everything. Recounting what had happened in San Francisco, the past few days of dealing with the silence… trying to make sense of everything, James bringing in a replacement for Mark already.

We stayed in Vegas for a little over a month. During the time I went back to the bar on occasion. Somewhere around five times in total, I think. Always early in the morning when I wasn’t able to sleep anyway. It was good having her there. Someone I could actually talk to that wasn’t involved with the chaos of the band. We never talked about that night in San Francisco again. We just… talked; about anything, nothing. I never even knew her name…

* * * * *

Dallas, Texas
April 21st, 2009
5:16 PM

Andrew and I were sitting in the rehearsal studio James had rented out. We knew he’d been taking more money for himself, didn’t know why. Now we did. We were as pissed as we had been at first, it was reasonable after all. We were about to get back to that point though. He walked in, with Daniel in tow, and put something in so that it was playing back. Nothing but guitars, terrible crunchy major cord driven nonsense, the distortion up far to high, out of time, they weren’t even in a proper tuning. “What the hell is this?” Andrew asked.

“What you two are going to be adding your instruments to. We spent the last two days writing and record. Daniel is doing the vocals, Maurizio, just make sure your bass is heavy.” I was about ask what the change was a about, then I had the answer. The first vocal hit; screeching pathetic attempts at screams, something you only heard in the worst local seen from the worst metalcore act trying to be somebody. I eyed James. He looked at me and smirked. Of course I was pissed. He knew damn well I could do better harsh vocals than this… whatever it was Daniel had done. “I’m tired of doing that pussy shit, is there a problem with that?”

“Yeah, there is. You were the one that put this band together; it was your idea to play that kind of music.”

“No,” James retorted back quickly. “That was Marks idea, why the hell do you think he fell all over you when you auditioned? I’m hope that fag got what he had coming to him back in San Fran.” There was almost another fight at that point, though only thing that held me back was Andrew. Daniel was off in the corner laughing, James was grinning right in front of me. Then they both left, saying something about that we only had the rest of the night to record and that we’d better hurry.

“Come on; let’s just get this over with.” After a moment I gave a nod and went with Andrew into the recording booth.

* * * * *

Dallas, Texas
April 25th, 2009
1:02 AM

Sitting inside a cell, both of us battered and bruised. Blood was still running from the gash above my left eye, they had barely been considerate enough to offer a towel. Andrew had the worst of it, his ribs bruised badly. Most likely a few of them were broken. First show after recording the new material and it hadn’t gone well. Needless to say we still weren’t happy with the situation. If either us had the money, or a place to go… or rather an ounce of common sense at the time we would have known it was time to leave. It had been time to leave when James just left Mark back in California. We lost Mark that night. We lost ourselves. We lost James… we all changed from it, but he changed the most. And for the worst; things just continued getting worse.

Now we were city there in a local jail cell. Too much alcohol and a vehicle was never a good idea; especially when you’re going over eighty in near a school, and you roll the thing around a corner and into the main office building of said school. We would be damn lucky if they let us out on bail the next morning, and we knew it. They wasted no time in taking my license and cutting it up. I didn’t bother with a retort. They judge would’ve done that anyway. They were just saving time.

As fate would have it we actually had a court meeting in the next few days. No more time in jail, just a nice fine and probation. How the hell we got off that easy… I’ll never know.

* * * * *

Detroit, Michigan
July 28th, 2009
6:08 AM

Things had been rough after the crash. Giving up drinking was really taking its toll on me. For the most part it was only because I had to find other ways to numb myself from the fucked up reality surrounding my every waking hour. It wasn’t easy. I ended up wandering around wherever we were most the time. Spending less and less time with the guys, not that there are any complaints there; I hated both James and Daniel by this time. Daniel more by proxy than anything; I never even knew that guy. Not really.

I remember sitting at a train station that morning. It was yet another sleepless night. I had shifted through a few pictures, staring at each in turn, before finding one of the band a few months before we had arrived in California. Everything was great then. I remember the first night Mark got the nerve to trust me enough and inform me of his sexuality. I felt it rather ironic that he did, apparently I was the first person he had ever come to trust enough to talk about it. He hadn’t any clue that I wasn’t one-hundred percent straight myself. No one did. I think he almost feinted when I told him.

We were different after that night, and yet we were the same. Neither of us was looking for love, we were just… closer friends? I don’t know. I wish I had done something that night back in California. Fuck I wish I had done something. I’ve never stopped feeling guilt for that night. I’m closer to recovering now than I was that morning at the train station, I know that much. I can write about it without breaking down into a mess of rage and tears like back then. I remember the stares people were giving me as they passed by. Always the freak…

* * * * *

Portland, Maine
November 29, 2009
8:50 PM

Everything was hitting me at that moment, as the door I had just nearly kicked open slammed against the wall. People looked at me, their faces contorted in stares that beseeched the question ”What the fuck is wrong with you?” I didn’t care how they looked at me. I just walked past them, heading for the stairs. I didn’t really know where I was going. I just knew that I had to get somewhere. Why I had even come back this place, this hellhole we were staying in, I don’t know. Even with the music as loud as it was I could hear the sirens. My heart started to throb even more. Why bother… I thought. You can’t do anything; all you’re doing is drawing in attention. Turn the damn thing off.

It was over soon enough though. I had locked myself into a bathroom and couldn’t hear the sirens anymore. The noise from the party that celebrated the band finally having a record deal were nothing but a white noise letting me know I was still alive. Or was I? What constitutes being alive? The ability to feel… unfortunately I could still feel. I was feeling too much. I just wished I was numb again… like those few minutes before. Lying there… watching… helpless.