Bitch!”
Whoa. Caleb is pissed, so I slowly open the door and peek my head in. He’s sitting down next to our producer, Gage, at the boards, swearing at his guitar. He starts back up again and I close the door behind me. This room is darker but the wood used on the walls has more of a red hue to it. No windows in this room either, but it has low track lighting. A booth is positioned off to the right, and there are brown leather couches laid on each wall opposite the only door. Gage’s station is smack dab in the center, with room mics located throughout entire room. Not the traditional studio feel, which by the way, is so cool.
Taking a seat on one of the couches, I watch Caleb’s hand work up and down the neck of the guitar. I used to watch Cory play for hours, wondering how in the hell his fingers weren’t bleeding, and how it looked so natural for him. I tried to learn before and I just couldn’t do it.
I smile at the memory. Cory would be sitting beside me at his and Roger’s old apartment with a beer in one hand and the other trying to point out where to place my fingers. I would get so frustrated and Roger would be in the background laughing at me the whole time. Fucker. Cory never did, though. He said it takes time, and that he used to sound like shit when he was younger but loved doing it so much, he just didn’t care. Eventually, he had gotten good.
Caleb goes off again, pulling me away from reminiscing about my Cory.
“This little cocksucking bitch!” He stands and pretends to beat the guitar over the controls, laughing in the kind of way as if someone was about to go mad. Caleb’s huge and straight up all tattoos and piercings everywhere, so when you hear him laughing like that, it’s kind of freaky but damn hilarious, too. I can’t help but laugh at him. He stops what he’s doing and looks up at me, smiling even wider now.
“What?” he asks, but I shake my head.
“Nothing.”
My laughter is slowly going down now to a chuckle. Shaking his head, he looks back to the guitar in his hands.
“Fuck, Gage. Let’s try it again.”
He sits back down and starts focusing on the strings, but not with his eyes; his ears, gently stroking a few chords at first before going heavy into it again. I admire that about him. I would’ve smashed the damn thing and walked away, but Caleb is all in it.
Watching him for a while, I notice sometimes he’ll stop and do the same notes on different parts of the neck, going either higher or lower until he finds one spot that actually sounds better. I love how he knows to take his time and do it over and over again. Sure, he swears like a son-of-a-bitch, but he’s getting it done.
Some time goes by before Gunner and Dave walk in. I’m starting to feel a little anxious as to when Tristan will be coming. Gunner lazily strides over to his drums, which are partially set up. They’re off in the far left corner of the room, opposite the booth with some mics surrounding the set. He pulls out a little tool from his back pocket and bends over, starting to set it up. Dave pulls out his guitar now and pulls up a wheelie chair to Caleb and watches. Ryan must be with Tristan because I haven’t seen him around since we arrived.
I’m feeling a little anxious sitting here doing nothing. I should’ve hit that joint a few times. Well, since they clearly don’t need me yet and before I really start going over the material again, I should let Benny know that I landed safely.
Standing up really carefully so my ass cheeks aren’t completely out . . . okay, I may be exaggerating a little, but still, these shorts are fucking tiny, I head for the door to find a quiet place to check in. The other guys didn’t even notice me leaving; they’re all into their own thing right now. When it’s time to get ready to jam, they’re more than one hundred percent focused.
Right before I reach the door, it swings opens, almost hitting me right in the face. I take a reflexive step back.
Whoa. Caleb is pissed, so I slowly open the door and peek my head in. He’s sitting down next to our producer, Gage, at the boards, swearing at his guitar. He starts back up again and I close the door behind me. This room is darker but the wood used on the walls has more of a red hue to it. No windows in this room either, but it has low track lighting. A booth is positioned off to the right, and there are brown leather couches laid on each wall opposite the only door. Gage’s station is smack dab in the center, with room mics located throughout entire room. Not the traditional studio feel, which by the way, is so cool.
Taking a seat on one of the couches, I watch Caleb’s hand work up and down the neck of the guitar. I used to watch Cory play for hours, wondering how in the hell his fingers weren’t bleeding, and how it looked so natural for him. I tried to learn before and I just couldn’t do it.
I smile at the memory. Cory would be sitting beside me at his and Roger’s old apartment with a beer in one hand and the other trying to point out where to place my fingers. I would get so frustrated and Roger would be in the background laughing at me the whole time. Fucker. Cory never did, though. He said it takes time, and that he used to sound like shit when he was younger but loved doing it so much, he just didn’t care. Eventually, he had gotten good.
Caleb goes off again, pulling me away from reminiscing about my Cory.
“This little cocksucking bitch!” He stands and pretends to beat the guitar over the controls, laughing in the kind of way as if someone was about to go mad. Caleb’s huge and straight up all tattoos and piercings everywhere, so when you hear him laughing like that, it’s kind of freaky but damn hilarious, too. I can’t help but laugh at him. He stops what he’s doing and looks up at me, smiling even wider now.
“What?” he asks, but I shake my head.
“Nothing.”
My laughter is slowly going down now to a chuckle. Shaking his head, he looks back to the guitar in his hands.
“Fuck, Gage. Let’s try it again.”
He sits back down and starts focusing on the strings, but not with his eyes; his ears, gently stroking a few chords at first before going heavy into it again. I admire that about him. I would’ve smashed the damn thing and walked away, but Caleb is all in it.
Watching him for a while, I notice sometimes he’ll stop and do the same notes on different parts of the neck, going either higher or lower until he finds one spot that actually sounds better. I love how he knows to take his time and do it over and over again. Sure, he swears like a son-of-a-bitch, but he’s getting it done.
Some time goes by before Gunner and Dave walk in. I’m starting to feel a little anxious as to when Tristan will be coming. Gunner lazily strides over to his drums, which are partially set up. They’re off in the far left corner of the room, opposite the booth with some mics surrounding the set. He pulls out a little tool from his back pocket and bends over, starting to set it up. Dave pulls out his guitar now and pulls up a wheelie chair to Caleb and watches. Ryan must be with Tristan because I haven’t seen him around since we arrived.
I’m feeling a little anxious sitting here doing nothing. I should’ve hit that joint a few times. Well, since they clearly don’t need me yet and before I really start going over the material again, I should let Benny know that I landed safely.
Standing up really carefully so my ass cheeks aren’t completely out . . . okay, I may be exaggerating a little, but still, these shorts are fucking tiny, I head for the door to find a quiet place to check in. The other guys didn’t even notice me leaving; they’re all into their own thing right now. When it’s time to get ready to jam, they’re more than one hundred percent focused.
Right before I reach the door, it swings opens, almost hitting me right in the face. I take a reflexive step back.
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