Chapter Text
[ february 2nd, 1991
dear diary,
forgot to write yesterday, sorry about that. so, i’m writing now, but i gotta leave for work in 15 mins or something. nothing much going on. mom played yesterday in chicago!! cecil worked whatever magic on the radio so we could have a chicago broadcast in case they said anything, but they only talked about the guy. no problem though, i like lester, just miss hearing mom. she is never available when i’m at home, and i’m never available when she’s not sleeping or performing. plus, the whole timezone thing. she doesn’t pick up the phone. at least i have cecil for magic radio updates. i just hope she’s having fun, and also, thinking about me. it’s only been months, i know, but it feels like ages. i know going on tour is her dream. hell, it’s my dream as well, i would have gone too. but i miss her so much. i’m so tired of being here. i need a hug from her, or at least hearing she’s fine. plus, i haven’t told her the whole queer thing either ]
“Alice!” Will dropped his pen onto the kitchen island as soon as his grandfather’s voice came from the corridor. It wasn’t like he had been doing anything wrong —as far as he remembered, his grandparents had never gotten mad at him for journaling, and they loved to get mad at him for no reason— but after so many months of living with the man, he had started to flinch at the sound of his name coming from his mouth. Well, it wasn’t technically his name anymore, or at least not a name he liked, but it wasn’t like he could tell his grandpa. “You awake?”
“Yeah!” He shouted back.
“Go to town and get me a pack of cigs,” the man said, appearing in the kitchen in underwear and a button-up shirt he was struggling to actually button up. “Fix my shirt.”
He sighed, hoping he didn’t notice —it was far too early to send him into a rant on how lazy he was, and he didn’t exactly feel like hearing about how it made sense for his mom to have left him at Austin while she went on tour—, and went up to him, buttoning up the shirt for him.
“I’ve a shift now, I won’t be home till night,” he said. “I can’t bring you anything.”
“You get a lunch break, don’t you?”
It took everything not to roll his eyes at him.
“Not long enough to drive home and back, and you know that.”
“The heck you mean I know that?” He pushed him away before Will could finish the last button, and made no effort to finish it himself. He prepared himself mentally for whatever he was about to be told, biting the inside of his mouth and closing his hands into fists. “Is that how you talk to me now? Well, then, you drive my car, don’t you? So if I tell you to drive it here during your lunch break…”
“I cannot leave my job over your cigarettes!” He argued back, aware that he was getting himself in dangerous territory. The man lifted an open hand, and Will flinched as a shudder went down his back. He closed his eyes and waited for the hit, opening one when it didn’t come. In front of him, the elderly man was smiling proudly at himself. He took a glance at the clock on the kitchen’s wall, which announced he had about 5 minutes to leave before he would inevitably be late for work, and then looked back at his grandfather in front of him. It would make him late, but it was his best option, or at least better than showing up at the bar with a handprint on his face. “Put your pants on. I’ll drive you.”
His grandfather went back into his room as Will went to wait by the front door, counting down the seconds. He hated being late with a passion, and his boss hated him being late even more. Still, his boss couldn’t hit him, or at least had never tried, which was way more than his grandparents could say for themselves. Before leaving him with them, his mom had fairly warned him that they could be “a bit too much” sometimes. Will was sure she hadn’t known it would get that bad, or that’s what he liked to tell himself. It was easier to think his mother hadn’t known about the danger than to think she had willingly let him to suffer by himself.
He had no idea what he had done to deserve the hell he was in. His mother hadn’t baptised him, and he was queer, so he tended to blame it on that, but he didn’t believe in God enough to actually tell himself that was the reason. It wasn’t God’s fault that his grandparents were assholes, or that the only job he had found was as a waitress in a bar with a modest salary and an alcoholic owner, or that his mother had had to leave for about a year and a half. Maybe he had just been born unlucky, but that was the option that hurted the most. Still, his grandfather leaving his room now fully dressed and hobbling towards him at the front door was all he needed to be pulled out of his thoughts.
Will exited the house with the man following right behind. He was gonna be late, but it was useless fighting it now, he told himself as he sighed and opened the door of the grey Chevette, slotting himself in the driver’s seat before realizing he had put his guitar case on the passenger’s seat the night before to be ready in the morning.
“What’s that blasted thing doing here?” The other man asked upon opening the door and finding it. Will was quick to grab it and place it the best he could on the back, fearing what would happen if the elder took it first.
“Nothing…” He began saying, barely looking as his grandfather buckled up.
If he had learned something after coming to live with him and his grandmother (and he had, in fact, learned multiple horrible things), it was that the couple had never been happy with his mother’s career choice. For starters, his grandma wasn’t a fan of the single mother business. She blamed it on her daughter’s “reckless life” and the fact that she straight up refused to settle down “as a proper lady.” When Will had gone to the hair saloon with her and asked for a shorter cut, the woman had gone on and on about how he was inheriting his mother’s tomboy-ish attitude and about how it was clear he hadn’t been raised properly. He hadn’t gotten the haircut he wanted, in the end, and 2 months later, he still wore his blonde curls long and below the shoulder in a way Cecil had reassured him was “very manly and rock star-ish,” as if Will couldn’t tell it was bullshit. Now that she was opening for Lester, whenever either of them were on the news Will had to sit through some of the most disgusting comments he had heard in his life, such as “I bet she’s opening more than the concerts” or “I didn’t raise her to be a groupie.” He had given up on explaining that an opener act and a groupie were the furthest thing from each other after the second try. The thing was…
He had learnt early into his stance at his new house that he didn’t want his grandparents knowing he shared his mother’s dream of being a musician, and he didn’t need them knowing Cecil had managed to book him a slot in the bar’s open mic night.
“I thought I told you to put away that thing ages ago.”
“I’m selling it,” he lied. “A guy at the bar is giving me 100 bucks for it.”
“God bless him.”
The rest of the ride went by in silence, probably for the best. Will parked in front of Mr. D’s bar 10 minutes after his shift was supposed to end, and took the guitar from the back while his grandfather sat in the driver’s seat. Cecil would have to take him back home after the open mic, he realized. Hopefully, he wouldn’t mind, and hopefully, Lou Ellen wouldn’t mind that he had been late. 10 minutes isn’t even that late, is it?, he tried to comfort himself as he rushed in the bar. He ignored Lou, who greeted him behind the counter, only tapping her in the shoulder before disappearing into the employee’s room to leave his guitar. Will was on her side and ready to work just a minute later, though.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, rushingly tying the half-apron that was part of the uniform.
“You had me worried you wouldn’t show up,” she replied, sounding and looking very tired. Will knew she’d been in town the night before for a concert she had been looking forward to for months, so the bag under her eyes and the raspy voice made sense.
“Are you hungover?” He asked as he started filling a jar with beer for a man sitting at the bar.
“You’re crazy if you think I’d choose to come to work hungover, Solace.” The girl grinned, turning around to grab a soda for another woman. Will smiled back and began focusing on the job, talking to Lou between client and client.
As much as his boss and the clients could be too much sometimes, at least Will had his co-workers. Cecil, currently attending the table, had been friends with him since they were 7, and the fact they had gotten employed at the same place still made him surprised at their luck. Neither of them had known Lou before she had been hired, but it hadn’t mattered, not with how quickly she had blended into their internal jokes and with how well she had fit into their friendship.
Will didn’t have much, but at least he had his two friends, and they understood him well enough. The first person he had told about his being a boy ordeal had been Lou, because he was afraid Cecil wouldn’t understand and he didn’t want to risk his friendship of years. Plus, the girl was goth, and all the pictures she had shown him of her favorite artists depicted very androgynous people, so Will had a reason to think she would understand. She had immediately hugged him while he started to cry through it, and Will remembered feeling bad she had thrown her unfinished cig outside the window just to comfort him, but looking back he realized how much he had needed the hug. The first time someone asked him how he’d like to be called, it had been Lou, and he had to confess he hadn’t thought that far. She had told him she would wait for an answer, and since then, had been calling him Solace instead of his first name.
He had told Cecil a month later, just some days after he had decided he liked the name Will. It had been hard, because Lou had been sick that week and he couldn’t have her by her side like he had wanted, but the boy was going on a vacation next week and if he waited until he came back, Will would lose his courage. So, he had asked Cecil to drive them both to the park they used to go to as kids after work, and he had told him. He trembled all through it, to the point the other had to offer his jacket. A part of him felt guilty, like he had been lying to Cecil for a decade, and he was fully expecting a rejection of some kind. He hadn’t known what he would do if his best friend and coworker told him he was a freak of some kind. There hadn’t been a hug when he started to cry, but it arrived once he was done speaking. He had sobbed into Cecil’s chest for what felt like hours. In a way, he felt like he had cried every single tear he had bottled up for the past eighteen years as the other whispered reassurance. On the nights he was too tired to compose and therefore didn’t have a distraction from sadness, Will played all the “nothing’s gonna change between us, you’ll always be my best friend” and “you’re not alone, Will, I’ve got you” back in his mind.
So, again, there were not many good things going on for him, but he had two people who would call him by his name, who knew he was a boy, and who wanted him to become a singer… And he had his spot in the open mic, which was more than enough. With the promise of that in mind, the day went by easier and quicker than usual, despite the fact it was busy (Saturdays were never easy). Cecil barely had time to stop at the counter to talk to him and Lou, and their breaks weren’t at the same time, lest the bar found itself waiterless, but they managed to talk for long enough that Will could ask him to take him home after their shifts and that he could ask Will how he wanted to be introduced for the open mic.
“Just Solace, then?” He asked, crossing out the “Will” he had written on his list. He nodded. It was his safest option, perfect to not use his new name and regulars finding out he was queer while also not using a name he didn’t like. Everyone knew him as Solace, too, seeing as that was what he got called on the clock by his friends. “Perfect. You’re playing at 22:15… I’m sorry I only got you time for a single song.”
“‘S fine, I know you tried,” he replied. “Not your fault he refuses to hire more people.”
“Gonna be a problem once you become famous…” Cecil shrugged and sighed, though Will could tell he was joking.
Still, despite the tone, the boy and Lou were the only people other than his mom who supported his dream. Well, he rectified mentally, Lester had been supportive when he came to visit his mom, and had signed Will’s guitar. Now, it had both his and his mom’s signature, and it was his most prized possession. It was a shame that he would have to be extra careful about it now that he had told his grandfather he was selling it, but he guessed he could always lie again and say his buyer didn’t show up, or something.
The rest of the day went by fast, though the place grew busier as more people came in towards the open mic’s starting time. From the counter, Will could spot Cecil smiling proudly at himself as he talked to the first performers. It had been his idea, after all, to host the event.
The open mic began a little bit before 8 PM. Will felt bad for the first performers, because he was too busy paying attention to clients to properly listen to their songs, but he thought they were pretty decent. The girl after them sang acapella, and he really liked her, or at least more than he liked the two guys that came after her. After that, there’s a poetry act, a 10-minute long stand-up comedy that Cecil performed to cover up from one artist who didn’t show up, and some elderly women choir singing. The last act before him was a man on the guitar and her wife singing some christian songs Will didn’t know.
“Give it up for Susan and Bob, y’all, that sure was a heavenly performance!” Cecil said into his mic as he walked on the area he had prepared for singers. “Now, we’ve a very special person with us, whom I’m sure most of you know already! I’m happy to present one of my best friends and also one of our most loyal workers, performing today as Solace!”
There was some noise from the crowd as he stepped in beside Cecil, guitar on hand. He swallowed, trying to get the saliva past the knot in his throat. He knew he didn’t have stage fright, and that once he started to sing he would forget about the nerves forming in his stomach, but the eyes on him freaked him out for a second. Will had never performed in front of an actual crowd. It was his dream —he imagined himself filling stadiums whenever he was singing in the shower, for God’s sake—, but he had always felt far from it. He doubted there were more than 100 people in the place, probably no more than 50, but it was the biggest audience he had ever had… But not the biggest I’ll ever have, he told himself, taking a deep breath and grabbing onto the mic stand. Will knew he had been born for the stage, had known it since his mother had gifted him her old guitar, and he knew he could prove it to the people in front of him. He could do that and so much more.
“Hello, everyone. I can only perform a song tonight…” He started, placing his fingers in the right place. “And I hope you’ll enjoy it. This is ‘Ode to My Family,’ and I’m very glad to share it today.” He cleared his throat while a brief collective cheer came and died. “ Understand the things I say, don’t turn away from me. 'Cause I've spent half my life out there, you wouldn't disagree… ”
He had been thinking about what to perform the whole week, and had changed his mind at the last minute. Inspiration had come to him while he was at the shower, two days ago, and it had placed his feelings on his childhood, his mother whom he so missed, and the father he barely met into words for him to sing. It probably wasn’t his best song, but it was his favorite at the moment, or at least the one he needed to sing.
Will made it to the second chorus faster than he had thought he would, and the outro felt cathartic. The last sentence fell off his lips and was immediately followed by applause. He had clapped for the acts he hadn’t liked, like he was sure everyone else had, and a part of him was a bit upset he couldn’t tell if they were clapping out of pity or out of genuine enjoyment, but he didn’t really have time for it, because Lou was struggling tending the bar by herself and he needed to go back to his actual job.
He trudged towards the counter with cheers still in his mind and with his heart full with the confirmation that performing felt awesome. He had had it for 4 short minutes, and it had felt both shorter and longer than that, but now that he had had a taste he wanted more. He would host a hundred more open mic nights if it meant he got to sing more. The world didn’t stop for him and his dreams, though, and the clients’ requests certainly didn’t either, so he made sure to be quick when taking his guitar back to the employee’s room before slotting himself by Lou Ellen’s side once more.
“Did you like it?” He whispered, getting a pint ready for a blonde woman sat in front of him.
“Are you kidding? You were great!” Lou replied as she added something onto someone’s tab. “Was it a new one?”
“Yeah, from this week. Your drink, ma’am.” He handed it with one hand and picked the money with the other one, lifting his eyes to stare at the customer but inevitably paying attention to the mic stand and the new person standing behind it.
A boy with black curls styled into a half-up and dressed in an oversized dark shirt and cargo pants was holding a black electric guitar. Unlike the other acts, which Will could recognize from the grocery store or the park, he didn’t look familiar, and, if anything his style clashed with most of what he saw every day. Will would appreciate a name, but he must have missed Cecil’s introduction. Hopefully, the boy would say something about himself.
“So, hi, everyone,” he greeted the crowd. “I’m Nico, and I’m performing today without the rest of my band, but I’m sure we’ll still have a great time. This first song is called ‘Pictures of You.’”
It was a shame there were so many clients, because he sounded amazing. Will would have loved to just stop and listen. The intro to his song was a bit long, enough to make him wonder how long the entire thing was gonna be, but one could tell he was a great guitarist. He wanted to hear him sing, though, wanted to hear how his voice morphed from speaking to singing and what his lyrics had to say. He had to wait almost 2 minutes for it to happen.
“ I've been looking so long at these pictures of you that I almost believe that they're real. ” Much like the guitar, his voice sounded beautifully and sad at the same time. “I've been living so long with my pictures of you that I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel.”
The noisy ambience at the counter made it hard to catch the words, but Will was almost thankful. The sentences that he caught hit his chest like bullets close to his heart, too close home and making his eyes tear up. It sounded like he had written the lyrics off experience. The lamenting tone of his song matched the grief on Will’s heart. It made him think about the picture of his mom and him that he kept hidden under his bed, where his grandparents couldn’t take hold of it, and that he pulled out when life got too much.
He had begun getting lost in his thoughts about the song and his mom when he heard Lou’s voice by his side.
“Hold up, I know this guy,” she exclaimed.
“From where?” Will turned around, surprised and confused.
“He was at the concert yesterday! His band was the opening act,” Lou explained, smiling excited. “Temple of Styx, that’s the name. I had never heard of them, but, man, they were so good… I forgot they weren’t the main act for a second. They put on a great show.”
He nodded slowly as he took in the words.
“He’s really good,” he agreed. There weren’t many orders coming through at the moment, so he could take a moment to talk with Lou as he enjoyed the song and rested.
“This one wasn’t on the set-list,” Lou pointed out. “I’m gonna have to look into them. You’d like them, I think.”
He probably would, seeing how much he wanted that song recorded to play whenever he wanted. The rest of his set was great as well, even if it was brief. The only other two songs, according to Lou, had been performed last night at the concert, and were more rock. After the multiple Dolly Parton covers they had had, it felt like a freeze of fresh air. Don’t get him wrong… He loved country, and Dolly —though his mom would always be his favorite country act—, but it wasn’t the music he liked to make, and except for some specific songs in some specific settings, it wasn’t his go-to music to listen to either.
Will wrote the name of the band in his hand to make sure he wouldn’t forget about looking into them, and went back to paying attention to clients now that they were starting to ask for drinks again. Whoever was performing now that the boy had left got muffled as his mind focused on giving each cocktail to the right person and putting the correct liquor into each glass.
“There you go, sir, want me to put it on your tab? Lovely.” He dispatched the man and turned to the next person sat at the bar stools, barely taking her full order before a squeak from Lou caught his attention. He turned around to find Nico sat at the bar and talking to her.
“Lord, help me. Hi, I’m Lou, I was there yesterday at your show in Austin…”
“Were you? That’s great. How’d you like it?” He asked. From up close, the accent Will had caught a glimpse of was clearer.
“You were awesome, fuck, I can’t believe I’m talking with you. I loved it so much, Lost & Found were great, but I had never heard of you before and I was basically blown away. I need an album, I’m gonna go get it next week, I swear. See, I was just telling my friend…” She paused then, turning around and looking for Will until she spotted him, and gestured for him to get nearer. “Here! Performed right before you, don’t know if you heard, but you would have loved it, I’m sure. It was great. You’re both great musicians, I feel like. I’m gonna take your part of the bar over there while you two talk.”
She left just like that, leaving Will in front of the singer, who was grinning at him crookedly. The boy was short, at least shorter than Will, and he was crouching down in his chair in a way that was concerning to his vertebrae. He wasn’t aware of how big Temple of Styx were, but one thing was for sure: regardless of how many fans that guy had, he was certainly a rockstar. He had already felt it with the way he interacted with the crowd and moved himself as he played, but Nico carried the grungelike aura and the energy outside the stage too.
“So, Solace, right?” He asked, tilting his head.
“Eh, actually…” Will stopped to consider it for a bit. Alice was out of the question. That wasn’t him, and he would avoid it at all costs. Solace was playing it safe, but it was weird, especially when the guy thought it to be a stage name and not just his last name. He wanted to say Will. He hadn’t chosen it for no one to call him that. He had a split second to decide whether the fact that his hair was long or that there was only so much he could do to hide his chest were enough to dissuade him into changing his mind. “My name is Will. Solace’s my surname.”
Fuck it, he told himself, I’ll never see him again after this, and he’ll forget he even saw me.
If Nico thought it was weird for him to have a boy’s name while looking so different from the boy he was, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he held out his hand.
“Nico di Angelo,” he said as they shook hands. “I thought you were really good. Did you write the song yourself?”
Will knew he probably should not get his hopes up. The boy could always be trying to just be nice, but he still let the praise get to his head a bit. The actual singer of a proper rock band thought he was good… The night was getting better by the second.
“Yeah! Yeah, I write all my songs,” Will said. “I loved your set too. The first one was really special. Did you write that? I mean, what am I saying? You probably did, sorry…”
“I did write it,” Nico replied. “I wrote that and the last one, but the one in the middle was by my sister. She’s right there.”
He turned around on his stool and pointed at a table with two girls in it. One of them, the tallest one, had tanned skin and black eyes and hair like Nico’s —though her seemed less curly— held in a braid. The other was a shorter, black girl with amber eyes and an afro, dressed in a comfy purple sweater that contrasted the other’s grey top.
“That’s the rest of the band, right there.” The boy smiled proudly. “They liked your song too, by the way. Hazel told me to tell you that, if I could.”
“You don’t have to be that nice.”
“You were the best tonight,” he replied. Will would argue Nico had been the best, but didn’t say anything. “How long have you been playing for?”
“Since I was 7. Mom’s a musician… She’s on tour as an opener too, actually.”
“That’s so cool, no way! For who?” Nico’s eyes were shining, Will noticed. He seemed really passionate.
“Folk guy, Lester Apollo. He’s very big in his genre,” he explained. “My ma does country. Her name’s Naomi. So, your sister’s in your band? How long have you been a group for?”
“Both of them are my sisters,” Nico pointed out. “Bianca and I have been playing for ages. We started with piano, and now she plays drums and I learnt guitar. Hazel’s our step-sis, and when we told her we both wanted to be a band one day she started learning bass to be with us,” he spoke, proudly and nostalgic. Will wondered how long ago that had happened. “And now we’re on a national tour, which… Sure, we’re just the openers, but I just… I know it’s just the beginning.”
That was what Will had just felt like 30 minutes ago when giving a performance to 50 people, half of which were probably neighbors or regulars at his job. He could only imagine how much the feeling would increase if he was opening for a famous band.
“Lost & Found are pretty big. I’m sure their fans will get into your music.”
“Thanks, means a lot.” Nico smiled at him. “What about you? Do you want to live off music, or…?”
“That’s the dream,” he said, almost automatically.
“I hope it’ll work out for you,” Nico replied. He was looking at him with the fondness and empathy of someone uttering the words they were never told when they needed them. “I believe in you, Will.”
Will froze on time for a second, unsure of what to reply. He didn’t even get a chance to, seeing as a huge group of already drunk young women entered the place and headed towards the counter. He couldn’t keep Lou alone for much longer, and Nico seemed to understand.
“Been a pleasure.” He stretched his hand once more. “Till we see again, Will.”
The rest of the night was an overwhelming blur of Will trying to deal with a bachelorette’s pre-gaming and his hyped up dreams at the same time. By the time Cecil got him home, he was positively exhausted, and he could tell his friend was too. He felt bad for needing the ride, and apologized and thanked the other multiple times before he had a chance to talk.
"You know that you don’t have to stay, right?" He asked Will.
"I know you wouldn't mind me staying in your home, but I just cannot take adva…"
"It's not about my home, Will. I mean this place in general," he interrupted. "You are good at what you do, and I know everyone thinks your mom's the only famous thing to ever leave our tiny corner of the world here, but I think you'll too. I am sure you're gonna be important one day, and the moment you get the chance I want you to take it."
He felt himself tear up at the words. Will could have made a thousand comments about how going to an open mic one time didn’t mean he was about to be the biggest artist of the decade, but he bit his tongue. Deep down, he felt like Cecil had done the whole open mic thing with him in mind, as an excuse to showcase the people his talent, and he had been silently grateful.
"Cecil…"
Will owed him the open mic, the ride home, and the best friendship he had ever shared with anyone, but he could only open his arms and offer a hug, as a thank you for everything. At least, Cecil returned it lovingly.
"Call me when you get home," Will said before the other had to leave, waving goodbye as the motorcycle revved its loud goodbye.
Too tired from the night to do anything else, Will placed his guitar and bag on the front door and went to bed right away. Next morning, he woke up earlier than he had the day before, wanting to have enough time to shower and to write in his diary about last night. He was half-way through describing the open mic when he started to hear his grandfather waking up, and, not wanting to repeat the incident from yesterday and risk being late twice in a row, he took it as his sign to leave.
Will got to the bar before it opened, even if he could hear Lou was there already. From outside, he could hear her voice arguing with someone else he didn’t recognize.
“I’m telling you, we’re closed, ma’am, you’re gonna have to leave,” Lou was saying.
“Do you know where I can find him? It’s really important,” replied the other voice. It sounded like a girl, and there was an accent that Will found similar.
“I cannot give that information to customers, and we’re closed, so please, ma’am, get out.”
He swung the door open, revealing the place, entirely empty except for Lou Ellen and a girl with long, black braided hair and a white tank top. He dropped his diary on the counter as he took the sight of her in: Nico’s sister, he recognized immediately. Bianca, he guessed, as he remembered Hazel was a step sister for both of them and the girl in front of him had the same features as the boy. Why she had showed up at their bar before it even opened, without the rest of the band, and to argue with Lou, he had no idea.
“Thank the Lord,” Lou said as he walked inside with a confused expression. “Will, she’s been asking for you for 20 minutes.”
“For me?” He asked. The girl had already walked the distance between them and was now in front of him.
“You’re Will Solace, right?” He nodded in response, and she let out a sigh of relief. “I’m Bianca di Angelo of Temple of Styx. My brother…” She pinched the bridge of her nose, frowning. “His arm is broken. We need a guitarist.”
Something short-circuited in his mind. Multiple questions about how Nico had managed to break his arm morphed into the fact that, oh, Lord, they needed a guitarist. And he was a guitarist, and Bianca was telling that to him…
“Do you mean…?” He still asked, not wanting to jump to conclusions too fast. Maybe they just needed him to put them in contact with someone else, or something.
“I know,” the girl replied. “I know it’s incredibly sudden, and probably a bit creepy, but we really need someone to come to us for the rest of the tour or we might as well drop out of it. He told me to ask you. Will you come with us?”
The first thing he registered, before the offer and its meaning, was Lou Ellen squeaking at Bianca’s words and running from behind the counter to hug onto him. Will could more or less hear her talk into his ear, about how she knew he had something big coming for him, how she saw it in the stars, and how she can’t wait to tell Cecil. She was jumping and shaking, all while he barely processed everything.
Touring. Venues, concerts, road trips, concerts every other day, and stages to stand on. Actual stages, with actual lights shining on him, and with a real, big crowd shouting for a band he was part of. His dream was being handed to him on a silver plate, and yet he felt hesitant. It was so sudden… He would have to quit his job, and he didn’t know if his grandparents had enough money for themselves. He didn’t even know he cared about that that much, but the last thing he wanted was for his mom’s tour to be interrupted if she got a call saying her father had starved to death, or something. But he wanted it, he wanted the stages and the lights and the screams. Will wanted the tour.
“You’re gonna see so many places, oh my God, take pictures everywhere,” Lou kept rambling, still holding onto him while Bianca stared and waited for his response. “You’re going to Cali, Will! You’re gonna see San Francisco, and Hollywood… Going to Vegas, too, and Chicago… It’s gonna be so fun, you gotta call and tell me everything. Oh, oh, and New York, take lots of pictures of…”
“You are playing in New York?” He asked, looking at Bianca.
“Second week of April, yeah.”
His hand tensed around one of Lou’s, and he could tell by the way she stopped talking and started gasping that they were making the same connection. Lester’s tour was in New York, in the second week of April. His mother and him would be in the same city at the same time. Cecil’s voice echoed in his head: “the second you get a chance, I want you to take it.” Will was blurting out yes before he could realize it.
“Yes, yeah, absolutely, I’ll go with you. Where do I have to sign?”
“We’ve got the papers on the van,” Bianca replied, smiling brightly and looking less worried than she had before. She had gotten what she needed. “We are leaving in 2 hours. Here, I wrote down the address.” She handed him a paper with neat hand-writing in it. “I’ll be waiting outside the bus, alright? I’ll try to make sure we don’t leave without you, but don’t be too late.”
“I won’t, I won’t!” He rushed to say, almost exiting the place as the same time Bianca headed towards the door.
“Will, where are you going?” Lou asked.
“I gotta get my guitar!”
“You gotta get your settlement.”
She was right. He turned around his heels, heading then towards the door at the back of the place that led to the next floor, where the owner had his house, and went up the stairs in a flash. Mr. D, the owner, was a strange man. A part of him was worried he wouldn’t enjoy his quitting, but in comparison to going on tour, his alcoholic boss’ disappointment didn’t truly mean much. He knocked on the door, praying to God that he could catch the man sober, or at least awake.
“Mr. D!” He shouted, knocking on his door. “I need to talk to you.”
“I’m busy, Blackstone,” he slurred the words out. Well, at least he was awake.
“I’m Solace!” Will replied. “And I’m quitting!”
He almost fell with how suddenly the door, which he was leaning onto, opened. Behind it, stood his boss, dressed in his usual Hawaiian shirt attire and looking a bit lost. His nose was red, and he held a can of beer in one hand while the other was still in the knob.
“Quitting? What’re you quitting for?”
“I’m leaving town,” Will replied, walking inside the house when the man gestured for him to do so. “It’s very sudden, but I really can’t stay, so I’m quitting. Sorry for such short notice.”
Will walked alongside the man towards his office, which he had hoped wouldn’t reek of alcohol as much as the rest of the house. It didn’t, if he was being honest, but there were still empty cans all over the room. He sat down in front of Mr. D, who was sat on his office chair and looking for the right paper.
“There you go.” By the time he finished the simple sentence, Will had already signed. “Why are you leaving, kid?”
“I joined a band. We’re going on tour.”
He said the words very proudly, though he expected the man to poke fun at him or to take the settlement out of his hands and tell him he just wasn’t allowed to leave for such a fickle reason. Will felt prepared to face every response, but the one he got surprised him.
“You’re Naomi’s kid, right?” The man asked, as if fully ignoring his reason.
“Yes, sir.”
“You live with her old man?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. D clicked his tongue, as if in pity, and shook his head no as he took the words in. He stood up, going through the different drawers in a shelf he had as he mumbled different things, too slurred for Will to make out more than a “hellspawn, he is” and a “goddamn kids are gonna make me broke.” He found what he wanted, in the end. It looked like a cash box, and he opened it to reveal two 100$ bills that he handed to Will. He didn’t take them, just looking at him in surprise and confusion.
“I can’t, sir,” he said, rejecting the money.
“‘Course you can,” the other argued. “If you can put me through the trouble of finding another waitress, you sure can do me the favor of taking a bit of cash.” Will, who didn’t understand his logic, hesitated again, causing him to click his tongue and frown. “100 bucks for each of your grandparents, alright? Part of what I would have given your ma back in the day if I could had. And if you see her, tell Naomi that I’m glad things worked out for her.” Will gave in, grabbing the money and thanking him as he turned around, ready now to go grab his guitar from home. “Kid, one more thing.”
“Yeah?” He asked, turning around.
“Good luck out there, son.”
It would take a few days and lots of remembering the day for him to realize the nickname, but the euphoric feeling still washed over him subconsciously as he rushed down the stairs and hugged Lou goodbye before getting into his car and racing towards his house. Will wanted to scream of happiness, overjoyed with the situation. He was a few hours away from leaving his life behind him to live his dream. All he needed was to pack his clothes and his guitar, call Cecil to give him the good news, and make it to the bus in time. For the first time in what felt like centuries, he felt the sun was shining for him.
Will got out of the car and basically hopped towards his house. He felt in heaven. He could already imagine himself in 30 minutes, exiting the house for the last time and turning around to get a last view of everything before he finally fled. His heart was jumping in and out of his chest, and he was smiling like a little kid who had just gotten candy.
His smile died, turning into a gasp as soon as he walked through the front door. A shaky hand went to cover his mouth, and he fought the urge to scream as he took in the massacre in front of him the best he could through teary eyes. His guitar was broken to pieces, reduced to a pile of sticks and broken strings on the living room’s floor. His knees were shaking —it was a miracle he hadn’t fallen—, but he still managed to walk towards it. Both of his grandparents were sitting on the couch in front of the corpse of his guitar, looking unbothered for someone who had clearly been responsible for the crime.
“What did you do?” He shrieked.
Will could barely understand what was going on. The basics were clear: the couple had ruined his guitar, but his mind seemed unable to comprehend it. The sudden drop from the euphoric state he had been in was devastating him. Anger, sadness, disbelief and desperation mixed in his body, making him want to puke as a tiny part of him tried to find the previous hope and joy and cling to them.
“So much for selling it,” his grandfather clicked his tongue.
“I am not raising another groupie slut,” the woman said.
He was positive Lou would have compared the scream he let out to one from her horror films, if she had been there. He ended up falling. Air wasn’t getting to his lungs, and he couldn’t think clearly enough. Will could only hold onto his head as he tried to regain a normal breathing pace, but the sight of his ruined guitar was making it impossible.
“Get up off the floor,” one of the adults said. He couldn’t figure out who, too stressed to pay attention, same way he didn’t pay attention to his grandfather standing up from the couch and walking to him until he was pulling him up by his shirt. “I said, get up off the fucking floor, and stop whining.”
The slap was harsh, cold and deafening. The pain lingered in his skin, which he was sure would bear the mark for some days. It hurt like hell, and Will’s body stopped crying after it, as if protecting itself from another one. He turned his head, looking at the man in the eyes with a dead stare to find out the look of pure disgust on his face. For years to come, he would regret not having spat at him. All Will did was struggle out of his hold until the elder let go of him, and disappeared into his room with the knowledge and the determination that no one would ever lay a finger on him again. It had been harsh, cold, and deafening, and it would be the last time he was hit. He’d make sure of it, he told himself as he started packing his clothes and thinking of what he was gonna tell Bianca when he showed up without a guitar.
He’d closed the door of his room as he shoved in as many clothes and money as he could fit into his duffle bag, but there were still shouts and screams coming from the living room. Will didn’t listen, didn’t want to. He was leaving, and the fact he had hesitated over these people just an hour ago made him sick to his stomach.
“Alice, come here right now!” His grandmother called.
He shouted something back, but not even his own words registered in his mind. Duffle bag ready, he rushed to the kitchen as fast as he could, grabbing the kitchen scissors in a sprint before either of his grandparents could grab him and shoving himself in the bathroom with them. Will cried as he caught his hair, chopping off big chunks of it in a way that was messy and left him looking pretty bad, but he didn’t care. His hair was uneven, his cheek had a red hand-print on it, and he was sobbing and red-eyed, but once he got into the band’s bus it wouldn’t matter. He heard another call of his name, and thought about how Nico had called him Will and how Bianca had treated him as a boy… Once he got to them, he would never be Alice again.
Will exited the house running, with the duffle bag in one hand and the car keys on the other one, and floored it as soon as he was in the car. How he would return it to his grandfather, he had no idea. He didn’t know how he was gonna say bye to Cecil, either, or how he was gonna explain he didn’t have a guitar to the band. The uncertainty was big, but not enough to be the reason he cried. The car ride was quick, probably against the law, and he spent it laughing at life for not managing to bring him down and crying of relief and joy.
Bianca was waiting for him in front of a double-decked, black sleeper bus, with her arms crossed around her chest and a stern look in her face that relaxed when she saw him.
“You made it!” She said, before lifting an eyebrow. “What happened to your hair? And where’s your guitar?”
“It’s a long story,” he choked out, thanking she didn’t comment on the fact he was obviously crying. “I’ll explain in the bus.”
As long as he got inside and they drove him far enough that they felt bad dropping him, he would be fine. He only had to get inside, and then he would be alright, right? He still had time to think of a convincing enough lie. He could say the guitar had been rented, or that he was gonna buy a new one either way, or… He didn’t get to keep thinking of possible explanations, because the sound of an angry and familiar motorcycle engine made him turn around.
“Will!”
On the road, close to where Bianca and he were, were Cecil and Lou on his bike. She didn’t have a helmet on, and was the first to get off and go hug Will while Cecil dispatched his quickly and followed. The group hug was overwhelming at first, but once the surprise wore off, it was warmth and homey, and just the comfort he needed.
“Did they hit you again?” Cecil asked, noticing the red on his face immediately.
“It’s okay, it’s fine,” Will reassured, giving him the car keys. “It won’t happen again, ever again. I need you to return the car, and… Wait, don’t you guys have work?” He asked, holding onto both of their arms.
“I’m not missing your send-off over work!” Cecil replied as Lou Ellen shoved something onto his chest. Will let go of her to grab into what seemed like a red notebook with multiple stickers on the cover: his journal.
“You left it at the bar!” She explained. “I wrote both our phone numbers, so you call us every night. Don’t you dare forget about us once you’re big.”
“I would never do that!” He said. Cecil had what looked like a ripped empty page of his notebook on his hand and was waving it at him.
“I want the first autograph!” Will could only giggle as he signed it quickly. “And, when you are out there, and thousands of people are singing your songs and cheering your name, I want you to remember who organized the open mic!”
“I’m gonna miss you so much, you two,” he sobbed, trying to fight back tears.
“We’ll pick up the phone every time,” Lou said. “You’re not getting away from us that easily.”
“You’ll always gonna have us here, no matter what,” Cecil promised, looking at him sternly. “When you make it far and turn around, we’ll be back here cheering from the start line. We’ve always been.”
Their last hug was longer, and probably the most painful hug Will had ever had. He wouldn’t change it for anything, though. The pain of leaving was overshadowed by the promise of making it somewhere else. He pulled away and walked a step backwards, fearing he wouldn’t leave if the three of them lingered together for longer.
“Will, we gotta go,” Bianca called for him, though there was kindness in her voice that betrayed she wouldn’t be stopping their farewell if she could.
“Go, man. We’ve got a job to get back to,” Cecil said as he fist-bumped it one last time. “And you’ve got a bus to catch."