![]() Phoenix Chapter Six: ChristmasA Chapter by SweetNutmeg![]() Christmas![]() Chapter Six: Christmas Friday night, Rita and Ryan greeted him at Marco's with raised glasses and congratulations. “I knew he'd get in,” Rita crowed. “Remember? I told you that night.” “And I knew you were right.” Ryan squeezed Rita close and they both turned to Rogan. “When's your first show?” asked Rita. “We haven't talked about that yet, but my first practice is Sunday.” Rogan looked at Rita and said, “Thank you for giving me that flier. I think this is going to work out.” Then he told them about the expenses of such an endeavor, the expensive amp and the huge investment of time it will take to learn all of Ancient Doom's original songs. “No time for the babes, eh?” Ryan leered at him. Rita gave Ryan a repressive look. She hadn't forgotten the Kirstin incident. “Well, it's not like I have much time for that anyway. Working man and all that.” *** There were over a dozen songs on the flash drive J.D. gave him. Rogan started the only way he knew how, one at a time. He got about three down pretty well, playing by ear. On Sunday, J.D. was impressed with how quickly Rogan learned so many songs playing by ear alone. Playing with others equally proficient was an intense experience, one that was hard to describe, communicating on another level, lighting up new parts of his brain, satisfying a deep need. After working on the three songs Rogan knows, J.D. informed the band that they were going to start a regular practice schedule, Thursdays at 7 pm and Sundays at 3. Practice broke up early, as Rogan only had three songs he was prepared to play. “Need a ride?” Buzz asked. When Rogan nodded, he tossed him the keys again. Everything seemed to be falling into place. He felt happier than he had since he bought his guitar this past summer. *** Every evening Rogan practiced the five songs J.D. assigned him. Days of work seemed to fly by now that Rogan had something to look forward to. Sunday rolled around and he set off to practice in the afternoon. Once again, J.D. was impressed with Rogan's facility in learning new material so quickly. They practiced the five songs Rogan now knew. When they ended the last song with a tremendous crashing of cymbals, J.D. punched air. “Let's get a beer at Molly's,” J.D. suggested. Buzz offered Rogan a ride again. Molly's Tavern was a typical neighborhood bar, a range of bottles in front of a mirror and a long expanse of bar, polished wood gleaming darkly. There were a dozen bar stools, but Buzz gestured towards a round table under a green shaded lamp. “Grab us a table, I'll buy us a round.” Rogan sat and saw there is a pool table through a large arched doorway and a jukebox beyond. As he was inspecting the surroundings, J.D. came in, saw Rogan and grabbed a chair. “He's getting us a round? He beat me to it.” They both looked at Buzz as he waited for the bartender's attention. “Buzz likes you. Buzz is a great judge of character.” “I like Buzz, too. He's a good guy.” “There's more to him than most people see. Most people see a big lunk behind a drum set, but he's actually a high powered computer programmer. Works for a little company, he got in on the ground floor, doing CGI innovations. Every now and then he has to go to California to work on things with Silicon Valley types. Smart guy, Buzz.” “What do you do?” Rogan asked. “Me? I'm a night auditor for Sleep Inn. Got the night off tonight. Here we are.” Roy and Buzz converged on the table. “I was just telling Rogan what an egghead you are,” J.D. told Buzz. Speaking to Roy, J.D. said, “Rogan here is a mechanic, too.” “Just a grease monkey at Midas,” was Rogan's explanation. “I work at AutoHaus. Been there five years now.” Rogan was impressed. AutoHaus was an import shop, working mainly on Volkswagons, Mercedes and BMWs, a high end place to work. “You guys do a lot of vintage work, yeah?” Rogan asked. “Most of it is just old, no vintage about it. But we do get a cherry every now and then.” Conversation moved on and after a while, Rogan noticed their group was drawing a bit of attention. He guessed it's not often an entire heavy metal band shows up in this neighborhood bar. It was nice hanging with a group of musicians again. *** Rogan volunteered to work Christmas Eve to let the other guys at Midas have the day off. Rogan had no plans, himself, so he might as well work. After work, Rogan considered his evening. He finally decided to get a pizza delivered and spend his time practicing. Leo was out of town again, so he cranked it up. After a good, long session on the guitar, Rogan put his feet up on the coffee table and surveyed his domain. It was pretty messy, with a dirty uniform cast off on the floor, next to the overflowing laundry basket, coffee table strewn with his possessions piled up haphazardly, guitar picks, his laptop, empty coke cans, a coffee mug, the band flier, a few guitar magazines. But it was his. He was out, escaped his father's house. He had his own place and a good job and he was in a band. Who cared if he didn’t have anything to do for Christmas? Ryan was distressed and seemed to think Rogan was just putting a good face on a sad holiday, but Rogan really didn't care. His father thought the whole point of Christmas was to tell his family how hard he worked and how little they deserved the meager presents their mother would buy. Then he'd get drunk and maybe smack Ma around a little. Christmas was never a good day. But tomorrow he planned to have a good day for once. Practice a little, maybe watch some TV, clean up a bit, do some laundry, listen to his music collection. Rogan woke to silent snow falling from a gray sky, only an occasional car hissing by to disturb the scene he observed through his picture window. Mid afternoon, it was still snowing, but just warm enough to keep the streets clear of accumulation. By three he was feeling a bit restless and the park across the street looked inviting, a broad expanse of virgin snow, surrounded by trees frosted with white. When he crossed the street and entered the park, the snow was three inches deep, deep enough to sink his boots into. The snow made tiny scrunching sounds as he walked. He scooped up a large double handful of wet snow and compacted it into a rounded shape. He nailed the handicapped parking sign and his snowball sprayed apart. He threw a couple more before returning to his room. He took off his motorcycle jacket and Motörhead knit cap, and unwound his black cashmere scarf. He hung up his outer clothes and looked around at his tidied up room. Life was good. © 2021 SweetNutmegAuthor's Note
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5 Reviews Added on July 24, 2019 Last Updated on February 15, 2021 Author![]() SweetNutmegAbout***I am on hiatus and not returning reviews.*** I'm here to improve my writing. I love critiques that give me critical feedback, as well as praise. (Although, I do like praise. Gotta be honest.) A.. more..Writing
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