Rye

Launi Kline, the girl I crushed on my entire childhood stares up at me from her chair in the corner. She's disappointed in me already. Not just because I almost missed call time, but because I've found a way to let her down every chance I got as a kid. I heard she's doing well and studying at a big university, although I never asked the name or any other details. Best to let that one go. Even admitting I thought she was pretty would have been disrespectful to her father, he didn't need to know that wasn't the only thing I thought of his baby girl. It's for the best now anyway, she's strayed from her rock and roll roots and two stepped her way right in to the outdated world of country music. She probably thinks she's too good for us now.

Justin is taking a shot at the small bar, and I have to wonder if he even saw her. I don't know what father would let his daughter sit in a room full of men with a t-shirt so wet and tight she could enter a contest.

Shit, she caught me looking.

"Showtime!" a man in black says from behind me.

"I'm going to get some footage so walk past and engage with the camera somehow," Launi instructs very business-like. It dawns on me that she is the new social media manager I was told about.

I can't take the t-shirt, it's killing me. There's no way I can let her go out in that audience the way she is. I move slightly so she can get past and position herself in the hallway. Her skirt fringe dances along her tanned, toned legs and for a moment I think maybe country music isn't so horrible.

"Ready!" she yells. We let her dad go first, and he does his signature devil horns and spike tongue as he passes the camera. Her smile lights up her face and I wonder how that can still amuse her after all these years. Then Tony makes his pass, ripping his shirt and letting the camera almost crash into his bare chest. These dudes at least know how to perform. Jack follows it up with a quick spin of his guitar and then a middle finger. Launi chuckles and shakes her head in disapproval but it's too late, she'll just have to blur it to put it on the mainstream sites. Eric walks past and offers a few aggressive head bangs which I find ironic from a keyboardist.

I'm not a big showman, but I know I have a lot riding on how I'm perceived. I'll kill two birds with one stone on this trip down the hallway. I step into the frame of her phone camera, saunter towards her in a "I don't give a fuck" way and when I get close, I wink and pull my black hoodie over my head in one motion. Sex appeal. It was a requirement of the position and apparently their manager thinks I have it.

Shirtless, I walk the hoodie up to the camera to make the whole frame go black and when she looks up, I say, "Launi Kline you can't be out here looking like that. Wear my hoodie and make me a happy man again." I toss it on her head and finish with, "Twerp." I guess old habits die hard.

"Fuck you Rye," she says, spinning around to watch me walk away.

The walk down the rest of the hallway feels daunting. I look for the roadie with my sticks and say a small prayer even though I'm not a believer. I need this show to go well. I wasn't out fucking around and barely making call, I was in the bathroom on the phone with my mom. It kills me to be away from her while she spirals down over the potential of losing the home I grew up in. My father wasn't just a cheater, he was a gambler, and his debts have come due.

The crowd screams as we take our places in the dark. The only light is from the side of the stage. Launi is focused on her phone, catching footage of us setting up and the crowd in front of us as the spotlight begins to circle and light up a trail in the darkness. Seeing her in my hoodie puts me at ease somehow. The tension in my shoulders loosens and I can take a deep breath again. I tell myself it's because it's one less thing I have to worry about, but I think it's a little deeper than that. We might not keep in touch, but she's a relic from my childhood, a talisman in a way that anchors me to a happier time in my life.

As kids we had no responsibility. We'd run around the cabin and hide-aways without a thought to mortgages and record label contracts. We were just young, naïve and full of life. I would give anything for that feeling again. I'd love to push away the drama that comes with relationships and caring for a parent. I don't want to know the dirty side of this industry; I want to play my drums with my dad and go to bed under a roof I stupidly thought both my parents slept under.

Launi and I are in a secret club with few members. We are the children of rockstars. We know all the shit parts of this lifestyle while also having enjoyed the highs. This is a club that many would want to be a part of, but those that had no choice but to join usually claw and pry their way out of, seeking their own path. I thought I had gotten away. Launi had fled shortly after I did, yet here we both are sucked back into this drain. We can't leave. It's in our blood.

The lights begin to flicker and the video screen behind us switches from the Free Pony Logo to our band picture. The crowd goes wild. I secure my in-ears and wait for my signal. I can't make out the faces of anyone in particular in the audience, which works best for me anyway. I'm here to play, just like my father taught me. I glance one last time at Launi as she watches me over the screen of her phone. I give her a small nod and then stare down at my father's skins and hope I have half the musical talent he did.

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