Here, In This Place: An Origin Tale

 Dan Rawlinson was not a fighter. He was not confrontational, and he had never expected to find himself in the dean’s office of Saint Ignatius High School. Sitting across from him with a bruised cheek was the silliest boy in this school, Myron Keller, and what a stupid name was that?

Dan still doesn’t know how the fight happened. Jack had gotten involved and then Kris Strauss had gotten involved, though reluctantly, and Dan had to get involved once Will did. You had to be loyal, and it wasn’t really that big of a deal, but Myron did get hit in the face with a tray and Dan had punched Mike Linder, though by accident, and it hardly mattered because in the end the ones that Dean Shep had seen were him and Myron and so here they sat.

Myron crossed his arms over his chest. He was an annoying kid, tall and skinny. He wore a turtleneck all the time and a blue blazer, and had a bulging Adam’s apple along with a big nose bordered by eyes like headlamps in a big round head that sported a shitty page boy haircut.

“You should have stayed out of it,” Myron told Dan, his big eyes now forming blue slits.

“You shouldn’t have started it.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“But here we are.”

“Here we are,” Myron echoed.

Then Myron screwed his face up and said, “Why did you paint your fingernails black last year?”

“Why did you parents name you Myron?”

“It’s a family name, and no one calls me that.”

“Yeah they do.”

“My friends call me Myre.”

“The friends who you ended up in this office because of?”

“Same way you ended up here.”

“Maybe,” Dan said.

Then he said, “You all walk around like you’re so stuck up. Swim team, polo and all that.”

“I’m not stuck up,” Myron said. “It doesn’t make you stuck up to know your own worth.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means—”

“It means you’re rich,” Dan said.

“I am not rich.”

“That’s not true. Your family owns Schiller Beer, and a bunch of other stuff.”

“They own it. I don’t. Myron said.

“But you do have money,” Dan said.

“So what?” Myron turned red and looked visibly upset.

“I think Mike and Jeff and all those assholes you hang out with use you cause you’re rich and you buy them shit. That’s what I think.”

“You sure do have a lot of opinions for someone who doesn’t really know me.”

“I don’t have that many opinions,” Dan said, “but I’ve got that one.”

“Well,” Myron said. “You know I’m not stupid, right?”

“I guess.”

“I know why some people hang out with me. I’m not dumb.”

Dan shrugged.

“It’s just not right,” Dan finally said.

“Why do you care?”

“Because your friends should stick by you and be your friends because of you, not… use you.”

“Well, maybe I’m not lucky as you with friends.”

“Maybe you should make better friends and tell everyone else to fuck off.”

Myron looked at Dan, and then he burst out laughing.

Dan tried to stop himself, but as Myron continued laughing, Dan laughed too.

“That’s not like me,” Dan said. “That’s not the kind of thing I say.”

“Is it true you’re starting a band?”

“I’ve been trying to start a band all year,” Dan said.

“Me too,” Myron said.

“Oh?”

“Well, not starting so much as thinking. I’ve been trying to get my cousins in on it.”

“That’s lame,” Dan said.

“I know, that’s what they think too.”

“A band,” Dan said.

“Yep,” Myron said. “A band.”

WE HAVE HAD OUR very first gig. Sort of. Myron comes in and tells us he has commissioned us for his older cousin Marabeth’s twenty-first birthday.

Actually it turns out that what really happens is a lot more like this: her parents were telling her she needed to have a party because twenty-one is an important birthday and it’s not like she’d having a graduation or anything like that anytime soon. She doesn’t seem very interested at all. I go over to their house. It’s pretty fucking huge. It’s a townhouse, but it’s almost like a mansion, and there’s this girls whose all in black with black hair and black eye shadow, and she’s chewing her gum and she looks kind of bitchy, but she’s nice enough. This is Kris Strauss’s sister. We know Kris cause he goes to Saint Ignatius with us and plays the oboe in the band, He’s really smart and shit, but he got some type of depression the same time Myron did, and now they both take medication for it.

Anyway, Myron goes into this long speech to Marabeth about graduation parties and band and music and she’s kind of nodding her head and smoking a cigarette, which I think is amazing because she is smoking in her parents’ house and does not give a solitary fuck. Like, all her mom said was, “That’s so foul,” to Marabeth, but she didn’t care.

So anyway, Myron just keeps on talking and talking and finally Marabeth says, “What were you saying?” and then Myron sighs and says, “Can we be one of the bands that plays at your graduation party?’

“One of them?” Marabeth raises an eyebrow. “What kind of heiress do I look like? You can play as much as you want.”

We are so excited about this that Marabeth reminds us, “You’re gonna wanna get paid, though. I mean, what’s the point in being in a band that doesn’t get paid? Talk to Mom and Dad about it. Tell ‘em I said I chose you and I’m really excited.”

Marabeth did not appear very excited. She appeared busy with whatever she was drawing, but there was our gig.

The party is full of Kellers, and it’s also a lot of older kids from the junior college where Marabeth goes. I was surprised she had that many friends. I mean, she doesn’t seem like someone who would care too much about friends. Kris is there with his friends and when he says the same thing, Marabeth says, “I don’t know who half of these people are.”

She doesn’t seem sad about it. It’s just a matter of fact thing.

Between sets, Marabeth comes up to us with a tall, kind of cool looking guy. I mean, I don’t know that he’s cool but he looks like cool people are supposed to look, you know, shades and gelled hair and self confidence and stuff, and he says, “There’s open mic night as Nicola’s on Wednesday, and you know  Rubio’s on the east side is auditioning for a house band.”

“Can we stay up that late?” Nick says.

“Did you seriously just say that?” Marabeth says to him.

When Nick opens his mouth, Marabeth says, “They’re being ironic. They’ll be there.”

“Follow your fucking dreams,” she says.

“What’s your dream?” Myron ask her.

She smirks and looks at a tall mixed guy who’s waving at her and says, “To make out with Jamal Perkins before the night is over.”

She winks, lowers her shades, and then strides away.

“Your cousin is so fucking cool,” Jack declares to Myron.

Kris just makes a face.

But I agree.

At Nicola’s the guy asks us, “Does any of you even know how to drive a car?”

We say yes, and don’t sink down to his asshole level, and then start to play This is a kind of pub place,  and we do a few Irish songs and some covers. Nicola’s is where middle aged people come to escape their lives is what Myron say, and I’m not sure why we’re even here, but Myron says, “Because we need the practice and it’s good to stand up in front of people.”

 The microphone sucks, and it keeps on making that reverb sound when Myron’s speaking into it. We’ve been pretty safe for three songs, decent, as good as anyone else, and then suddenly Myron announces that we’re going to do “I Know You’re Married, But I Love You Still.” And it’s not that many people who know it, and we’ve only done it a couple of times, but just then Myron begins to twang his banjo and his voice rises to a country octave, and out comes that voice of his that he’s been saving, and Rick is amazing at harmonizing with him, and their voices are desperate and oh Rick’s guitar is clear and country and you can just tell everyone is coming out of their seats as Myron wails

 

“You know I love you and I always will
I know you're married but I love you still
The day I met you my heart spoke to me
It said to love you through eternity

 

Now knowing that you were another's bride
I vowed I'll always be close by your side
You know I love you and I always will
I know you're married but I love you still!”

 

Later that night, when that asshole who asked us if we were old enough to be here asks us if we’re coming back next week, Myron just shrugs and says, “We’ll see if we can.”

Myron looks real serious, and a pen is hanging out of his mouth like a cigar. He says, “Well, boys, it’s summer, and we better get serious. Are we going to spend all out time working in a grocery store as bag boys and cutting lawns, and forget about the music, or are we going to try to make some  money as a band?”

Nick points out that realistically they would probably do both, and Jack says that he doubts Myron has ever been a bag boy, but Myron just sort of glares at them, and then we say we’ll knock it out of the park when we get to Rubio’s.

At Rubio’s they don’t seem to care how old we are. We have stopped cutting our hair for the most part, even Myron, and his mom is talking about that.  They say we were good, but not quite what they’re looking for.

“Have you tried The Grey Note?”

“The Grey Note?” Myron says

“Up in Rawlston.

Rawlson’s not that far. It’s the next town to the north.

Myron says, “Here’s our schedule. We’re gonna go up tonight and see what kind of music they like.”

“And then we’re going to do the opposite?” I say because Myron’s really cagey like that.

“No,” Myron looks at me like I’m stupid. “Then we’re going to do it. But better.”

It’s some shitty cover band. We’re better. They’re older. Myron says I’m a way better guitarist. We decide to do two covers and two originals when we go up on Wednesday. Dad says I can have the old car he’s getting rid of if I get a job to pay for the gas. I tell him I’m going to get a job playing at the Grey Note.

He does not look impressed.