“julie stands beside the window, head full of additive

sophie wants an explanation, julie says shes not too good…”

echoed , reverberated… and then it was rock and roll and they were gods.

very cheap beer, snuck in to the bedroom only amplified things further. two angry pimple ridden teen age boys in a self made solice rebelling against everything and nothing. there were two guitars in the bedroom, one brought and played until worn by Robert, the other glinting in the track lighting, barely touched by James.. almost a symbol of what could be if James put down the math book, stopped listening to his father and mother, and just went with it. James, brilliant, had already headed off to the east coast for college, leaving Robert a year behind to fend for his proverbial self.

Robert had older friends, moreso than his age. so he was a bit alone, this, his last year of high school and he fucking hated it. he hated the suburbs, he hated his school, he hated boredom so fucking much it made him puke, or, beer and anger made him puke…. or beer, in large quantities, squared, made him puke. the limits were limitless but Robert didnt care because he hated math, his class, his classmates, he probably hated you too

Robert loved himself though…

James tossed back a swig of cheap beer and, at the foot of his bed, sat, and leaned his head back onto the mattress, the punk rock anthemizing a moment of mild-alcoholic supremacy.

“Do you think your mom and dad saw us bring that up here?”

“Shit no, they dont care.”

and they didnt..

Though James was in university now, he came home for winter and summer breaks, he did as he pleased, and was still legally a minor. his mother stay at home, very sweet and worrisome, his father an anomaly, math and engineering genius who worked on/for/with automobiles and always seemed to be suing someone or something. James’ dad only sounded normal when discussing math, at any other time he was rather absurd.. maybe it was an act to throw a dog off the scent…there was an office James or friends were never to go inside, which of course was rummaged through daily, in search of alcohol and/or pornography, and/or both, instead (disappointingly) unearthing detailed blueprints of which only were partially understood.

James’ younger sister, Jennifer, was gorgeous and of course Robert was all in. Jennifer was popular in high school and a couple years younger, and they got on quite well but she wasnt interested beyond being friends with a friend who was friends with her older brother, whom she idolized.

Oh how the heart breaks and mends in but a breath in sonic youth.

Robert always made sure to glance in Jennifer’s room every time he was over, to either say hello, seem up and coming, or catch a glimpse of anything moderately revealing. He never saw anything that he would admit to…

James lunged towards the Gibson SG guitar, now ready to be played as it had been unsheathed from its travel case. James traveled with it, but by the look the guitar had not been played much, more a statue to be admired in a college dorm room, street cred. Robert knew James liked how he looked walking through airports, or on public transit carrying a genuine Gibson Guitar case (clearly labeled, Robert helped James pick it out at Guitar Emporium). James could not play for shite but it sure looked good.

“Dont even, fuckin, think, that I will ever sell this to you, no fuckin way.” James slurred…

Robert had a cheap epiphone he had bought at the guitar super store in the city not too long ago and was happy with it, actually he didnt want the SG, the fret board was too big for his short, stubby fingers. he might have inquired about it in passing to make James uneasy. Robert was an asshole..

James began to play, or, attempted to begin to play and it was right fucking awful, his fingers tying themselves together, simple chords collapsing on themselves in brittle whimpers, then  single notes twanging uneasily out of a small subdued amplifier…James laughed and it was good enough

Robert played via the same amp and was quite proficient, making some chords together and playing a short song he had written with his band about a week earlier. The band, with kids from high school that he only hated slightly, had started performing in the city recently and were awful. But other popular kids watched and beat themselves up to the cacophony so it meant something to someone..

“Play an E chord James, its easy stop fucking around…” said Robert.

He had pride in very few things, but playing guitar was one of them.

They both strummed a chord or two together for a moment, and Jennifer poked her head in the door. Robert played louder over James, forcing her attention, and James gave up, turning to talk to Jennifer. She was interested, concerned, then took a beer from the closet, said a quick hello to Robert and retired away.

Robert melted

James knew it too, but it was unsaid. Robert and Jennifer would never be together, that was just how it was going to be.

The night progressed, and after a few alarming knocks at the bedroom door by James’ father, (and a sweet but worried “good night by James’ mother) all the beer was “disposed of” … two completely drunk teenagers were contemplating finer points of life, from first person, in the middle of nowhere with everything to look towards and nothing to ponder but looking towards and looking out, destroying because it sucks and building because if we were king we would do it better and fuck you if you didnt think so…

“anyone can play guitar James” said Robert… “you just have to do it, like math”

and Robert played further to demonstrate and James was jealous…

“James, i can teach you if you want…”

“Fuck off”

and years passed…

“ask a simple question the answers might just follow on”

the two became young men in totally different processes, James to university, Robert on the street, scratching to and fro. He got that record deal and became moderately famous… sort of.. James a graduate student still came home for summer breaks, though he stayed on the east coast during winters to visit his girlfriends family.

“You thought the grass was greener
But your imagination lied
It was just a dream
And your dreams don’t count
When the real world comes around”

Summer was horrendous and hellish, even at night.

Robert and James sat in the bedroom, drinking beer and listening to punk rock bands they had seen at the festival the night before. Robert was friends with some of them, enemies with others and vice versa and James was jealous. James kept his guitar as an antique but rarely played, he was fucking awful, beyond help, Robert had no patience for it, and often used it as fodder. The two now had less in common, even less that Jennifer was away permanently at university.

This time James was far superior, and the big city amphetamine buzz to prove it:

“I got a job offer from a government lab, im a fuckin cowboy, im gonna go make missiles” said James … and regaled Robert with tales of getting a blow job in a mid-city bar from a girl he hadnt seen since. Robert was jealous…

“julie talks of aspirations

hiding from reality…”

Robert saw James briefly years later at the wedding of a mutual friend… he had in fact taken that government job, constructing weapons of mass destruction and was very very happy with himself..

Many years passed again, and Robert thought of James every so, when playing LPs of certain songs the two had played terribly together in that suburban bedroom, guitars perched to be played, land to be conquered, women to be met, a king is born…. galaxy 5 0 0… beer hijacked.. souls pilfered.. blue prints misunderstood for world domination, zombies, sugar toothed , teething, tad pool, salted ……pondered…

to James… from Richard:

“You fucking turd, what if you learned to play guitar…. Would it have ruined your life, as it sort of ruined mine….(Im broke, you still owe me five bucks pay me I’m hungry) Would it have turned you to the ever-loving dark side, made you that seedy punk rock alcoholic, overeducated, socialist twit who thought  you were entitled to whatever you pleased because you said so, and could prove it…. would we have played all those dingy shitholes together, that hole in the ground in Tucson (literally a club in a bomb shelter), that room in New York City thats now closed, that dank, dingy, but inhabited by the nicest southern women you could ever hope to find, room in Georgia (Peaches), the now closed hanger in California where I met (and divorced) that bitch (first wife). That festival tour where I met my second wife (during Duran Duran’s set), and conceived our first child, Simon (knack for the drum kit).. that smokey London club with Red Stripe for one P (met a beautiful middle eastern girl there whom I may name a daughter after if I dont divorce the second wife first).. but you had to make missiles, with your tanks, and your bombs, and your guns…”

Robert felt something, not sure what… and thought as a drag from his silly cigarette cascaded down towards his lungs, past a broken tooth:

“James you fucking turd, what if you learned to play guitar…”