Free Road Rash by Mark Huntley Parsons

quick. Talk about mixed signals … I wasn’t quite sure if I’d blown it big-time at the beginning or if I’d managed to pull it out of the fire. But knowing my luck lately, I figured the odds weren’t good.
    Q: WHAT DO YOU CALL SOMEONE WHO HANGS AROUND WITH MUSICIANS?
    A: A DRUMMER.
    My dad was waiting for me when I walked in the house. Did he even bother to ask,
Hey, how’d it go
 …?
    Nope. The very first words out of his mouth were “I went down and talked with Jerry Johnson about your job.”
    That did it. “It’s
not
my freakin’ job, and it’s never going to
be
my freakin’ job again, thank God!”
    Wrong move.
    Instead of yelling back, he spoke pretty quietly, but I could tell he was really pissed. Or worse, disappointed.
    “So like I was saying,” he continued, “I talked to Jerry. I explained everything you said about Chris. No one wants to hear those kinds of things about their son, but to his credit he heard me out. Then he said, ‘Well, that explains a lot,’ and he told me a few things you left out of your little narrative. Like the way you left.”
    Uh-oh. “He deserved it. He—”
    He cut me off with a chopping motion. “No excuses! When you’ve done something out of line, the worst thing you can do istry to justify it—that only digs you in deeper. The bottom line is, no matter how mad you get, the way you win is to act professional. If you’d gone to Jerry and explained the situation, I bet he could have straightened it out. And even if you’d quit, if you’d done it calmly and professionally, you’d probably have the job back now that Jerry understands the situation.” He softened his tone a little. “Why did you feel like you had to act the way you did? That’s not really like you.”
    I thought about it.… Getting kicked. Toby. Getting bailed on by Kyle. Seeing the Sock Monkeys at Josh’s. Punching Kevin Flanders’s lights out. The choked audition with Bad Habit. Hearing about my replacement’s dad
just happening
to have a pro studio and
just happening
to have connections in the business. And of course, having to deal with a flaming asshole like Chris.
    “Dad,” I finally said, “I’m full.” I held my hand up to the bottom of my raised chin. “Up to here.”
    He didn’t say anything. He just nodded and waited.
    “Okay,” I grumbled, “maybe I overreacted. I’ve just had so much bullshit flung at me that I couldn’t take any more—I had to get the hell out of there.”
    He considered this, then surprised me by saying, “Okay, I guess I can see that. And don’t tell your mom I said this, but I might’ve done the same thing at your age.” He took a deep breath. “But you need to understand that kind of stuff doesn’t fly in the real world. If I treated my business associates like that, we’d be living in an old shack somewhere, eating beans out of a can.”
    I nodded. “I get it.” It was a long shot, but I had to try.“So now that you understand where I’m coming from, does this mean you’re dropping the requirement about getting a job?”
    He smiled, and for a second I held out hope. But only for a second. “No
way
, dude!” Then he cracked up, like that was funny as hell.

11
“Get Out the Door”
    After a few days I still hadn’t heard from Brad or Glenn, and with each day my hopes sank lower. I’d assumed they were going to listen to a few more guys, sure, but they must have heard them by now—there weren’t
that
many drummers in the area. And along with everything else, I really missed playing! Just getting together with other musicians and blasting out some tunes—there’s nothing like it. Sure, I practiced solo in my garage to keep my skills up, but it’s not the same.…
    So by Thursday I figured they’d found someone else and just hadn’t bothered to call me. I mean, you call the winner, right? Why call someone to tell him he lost?
    And of course, none of this solved my job situation.
    The obvious place was our local music