The Front Man (Hurt in a Bottle, Part 1 of 3)

He sweated under the spotlights. The guitar shifted into the extro and he closed his eyes and screamed out all his rage into what he thought was an empty pub. His knees shook from the energy and he cupped the microphone and folded up onto the stage as the final power chord hit. As good as a practice, he figured, even if no-one else was here. From the floor there was a drunken roar and applause. He squinted into the audience and stretched out his hand.

“Wow. Would you look at that. People’ve showed up. Welcome to The Beer Garden. It’s cold outside but it’s warm in here so just relax and have a good time. I’m Max Taylor. This is Simon Brunt on guitar. We are Flesh Reckoning.”

“Play Johnny Cash.”

“What? Hey, how are you doing? Enjoying the show?”

“Play Johnny Cash!”

“Sure thing.” Travis turned back to Simon “Hurt in D?”

“Need to tune.”

“OK” and Travis started hunting the ammunitions belt strapped to his chest which held his harmonicas and Simon tuned up and he shouted back at the audience. “This is one of the last songs Johnny Cash ever did, a tune by Trent Reznor from Nine Inch Nails. It’s about burning yourself out and drugs and dying of cancer and all that good stuff…”

And after the set he called a fifteen minute break and shot out to the staff toilette behind the bar.

A hand grabbed him as he rounded the counter. “You guys are great,” the Johnny Cash fan told him.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks,” Max answered picking the hand off himself and pushing it away.

Max entered the tiny washroom and locked the door behind him. He looked in the mirror and screamed and cried and he couldn’t make out his tears through the sweat.

***

After the gig his back was killing him. He grabbed a bottle of bourbon and collapsed on a ratty leather couch at the far end of the pub. But people kept coming up to him.

“You don’t usually hear gritty honest stuff like this. You guys are unique.”

“Thanks,” he grimaced through the pain. “You can buy our CD at the front as you go.” Where was Simon? He was supposed to intercept these people. Max shot back the bourbon, closed his eyes, and the fire that rose up from his chest into his head overwhelmed everything.

“You ok, Max?” Simon asked him finally once the stage was clear. “You should take it easy with that stuff.”

“Jesus, man, you know I can’t drink and perform at the same time. I really wish I could. Give me a break.”

Simon sat across from him and set his rum and coke on the table.

“We’re all that’s left,” Max said finally. “We used to be this incredible six piece with acoustic, rhythm and lead guitar. Great sound. Now it’s just you and me.” He tried to rise, angry. “What the fuck did I do? Scare them all away?”

“Things happen, Max.”

“I never wanted to be the singer, you know. Dancin’ up and down the stage. I just wanted to find some people to play with. A harmonica player in a freaking blues band. Just a freaking harmonica player!”

“What are we doing for practice on Sunday?”

“Oh…the new stuff… the new stuff…”

To be continued…