It was 3:45 in the afternoon and I had just got off work. I told my boss I wouldn't be in tomorrow or the next day. He took it with a grain of salt, but he took it nonetheless. My hand grasped the phone as I flipped through my book of phone numbers. I was fully dressed and had $200 in my pocket and more in my bank account. I was going to get to Stan and get our band back together if it means me giving up everything I have made for myself. I didn't want it so it would be easy to do so. I never wanted it. I wanted to be in a band with my best friend, playing the music that I loved. This life I built is just my self-pity in material form. I hated it.
I didn't know where to start, so I just tried Stan's cell number. I dialed it and waited as it rang in my ear. A click emerged with a female voice. "Hello?"
"Hey, it Stan Kiowa there?"
"No, there is no one by that name here."
"Okay, thank you." He must have changed his cell number or something. Nothing big. I thought about where to go next. My mind thought of his parents. They must know where he is. I quickly dialed his old home phone. It rang for several time and then a click sounded. "Hello?" And older women answered.
"Hi, Mrs. Kiowa?"
"Yes, this is she."
"Hi, this is Brian Sanderson. I'm friends with Stan."
"Oh, I remember you. How are you? Where have you been?"
"I'm fine. I need to know where Stan is?"
"Well, after you all left him in Fresno, he came home for a while, then left for Los Angeles about two years ago."
"Do you have his address? or a phone number?"
"I'm afraid not. He doesn't call much. He's been really busy with something. I don't know what, though."
"Okay, do you know where I could find him?"
"Maybe at this address."
"Okay, tell me." She gave me the address of some kind of music shop in Los Angeles. She thinks he might work there, or someone might know him there. I jotted it down and stuffed the address into my pocket. I grabbed an old backpack I used for school and put some clothes and a few diapers in there for later use. The strap rested on my shoulder and I was out the door, leaving my home behind for a short while. I walked down to my car, started up the engine and drove to the nearest gas station. She was almost empty, but I spent $30 to fill her up. When the pump stopped fueling and the gauge read the amount spent, which was the full $30, I giggled the few remaining drops and was on my way to Los Angeles.
The ride was a long one. L.A. traffic is always bad from what I hear in the media. Of course, I don't really believe much is what the media tells me anymore. After 7 hours in the into the night life of Los Angeles, I believed. I was on my guard. The stuff I do hear about LA, while I don't believe it much, is the only thing I have to base my experience off of. I drove around, looking at the streets. I finally found the right one and turned on it. I wasn't looking for address, but the name of the music store, which was called "Breaking Music Shop". I looked all around and finally found the right place. It was a large store filled with random musical instruments, mostly drums and guitars. I parked my car and got out in front of the lit store. There were few people inside, talking and playing music. My hand grasped the door handle, looking inside for anyone that would resemble Stan. The few people who were in there failed to notice my entrance and continued with there conversations. I walked up to the cash register, which was being manned by a long haired, neo hippie of some sort. He was off into his magazine, only taking notice of me when I approached the counter. "You buying anything, dude?"
"No, I'm looking a friend of mine."
"Who might that be?"
"Stan Kiowa?"
"Oh, He's not in right now. I think he's at a show. Wait one second." He backed into his chair slowly and yelled into a room that was separated from this room by beads, "Hey, Jimmy!".
"What?", Jimmy's response sounded aggravated
"Where's Stan?"
"I think his at the Whisky."
"Yeah, try the Whisky a Go Go. I think he has a gig there with his band."
"Jesus, he in a band already."
"Yeah, but they suck. They are called Anti-Static. They are like Screamo, Metal crap. Much credit goes out to Stan for putting up with the other guys, but he is the only good thing about that band."
"Yeah, sounds like Stan."
"His stuff with his old band, Abomination, was pretty tight. I told him to get his old singer back, but he said he split to live a new life in Fresno."
"Yeah, I know about that."
"It was cool, too, because he had this sick voice that was like Scott Weiland, and they had this one song with this awesome guitar lick and a crazy solo that sounded like Black Flag meets Rage Against the Machine. Crazy shit, man" He raved in a very mellow attitude, showing his control over his enthusiasm. He put his magazine down and licked his lips. "So, how do you know Stan?"
"You know that singer you're talking about?"
"Yeah?"
"That’s me."
"Oh, shit, really!?" His expression went from mellow to frantic. His body jumped out of the chair and poked it's head through beads, "Jimmy!"
"What?" Jimmy shouted back.
"Get out here!"
"Why?" The guy returned his attention to me. "Jimmy loves your guys stuff.", He tells me. A man, bald by his on terms, comes out. He looks to be about 25, 26 almost. His thick glasses and pale skin that reminded me of some techno guy that has his music in all the media. His attention is fixated on his friend, who has a large grin on his face. "Dude, Stan's old singer from Abomination."
"Oh, shit, really?" He said with a slightly less enthusiastic expression, but enthusiastic enough. "Dude, are you for real?" He asked me.
"Yeah, Brian Sanderson." I stated while I extended my hand. He gladly took it and shook it as if he was meeting a star. His eyes were wild with excitement. "Dude, your shit that you recorded rocks, man. That was epic punk rock." He said.
"Thanks, man."
"Dude, if you guys stayed together, you could of done something with that stuff."
"Yeah, well our bass player left us and without him, we couldn't pay the rent. So, I left to pursue college, but I'm done for now."
"Why you looking for Stan?"
"Well, I'm trying to get the band back together, but it sounds like he is already doing something else."
"Naw, do it. That shit he is doing is fucking making him miserable. You and you alone can save him."
"Dude, you sound like I'm sort of epic messiah."
"Well, Stan wishes you never left. He knew that all your creative juices was what fueled your band."
"Like Plutonium to the Time Machine, man." The other guy points out.
"Come on, I'll drive you." He guides me outside to his car. Jimmy, the other guy, whose name is Steve, and I pile into this little car. The ignition turns and starts up the car. It moves fast down the street. The speed we are driving at was definitely not the designated speed limit, from what I can tell. I poked my head from the back seat and saw the two were not really pay much attention to the road as they were their music, which, I have to admit, was pretty awesome. "Hey, guys.", I spoke, "I don't know if Los Angeles is special from other places in California, but I'm sure there is a set speed limit."
"Oh, don't worry, man. My brother's a cop."
"That's not what worries me." I was more worried about getting hit and dying. They took many twist and turns to get to the Whisky, but we made it there in one piece. I got out of the car and was glad I was wearing a diaper at the time. The other two guys got out and joined me on the curb in front of the Whisky. The commotion on the inside was bleeding into the street, but was not audible. I felt Steve's hand touch my shoulder. I turned to him as his index finger pointed straight ahead of us. "There he is." I could see four guys packing away there equipment. While three of the guys wore unfamiliar, yet strangely enough similar faces and clothes, one of them stuck out like a sore thumb. His hair was longer, but his distant expression was extremely recognizable. I started to walk towards them and called out his name. "Stan!" His face looked up and turned in directions the voice was not coming from. "Stan!" I said again as his head adjusted in the right direction. His eye squinted and his blank, tired face grew a smile. He started walking over to me and we met half-way. Our hands slapped together and we did a semi-bro hung. "Dude, I can't believe you’re here." He said in his unmistakable voice.
"How is going, man?"
"Great, dude."
"Listen, I want to say I'm sorry for leaving you behind all those years again."
"Hey, I'm sorry for pressuring you." We stared at each other as a moment of silence came between us. "I really came down here to ask you," For some reason, this was hard to say, "if you wanted to get the band back together."
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious."
"Yes!" He jumped up in joy. "Hell fucking yeah!"
We drove to the nearby diner to get something to eat. Jimmy and Steve, in all the excitement, left there store unattended to and went back to make sure none of their stuff was stolen. Stan told his band he was going to talk to them tomorrow about leaving, but tonight he wanted to catch up with me. We sat down in the far corner of the restaurant and ordered our food as Stan told the story of his life after the band. "After you and Adam left, I thought about trying to convince you guys to return. I thought if I had Adam on board, I would be able to convince you to come back, so I bugged him for a while. He eventually told me straight forward that he was going back home and working for his dad. I knew he was out permanently, because you know Adam: once he makes up his mind, it's set. So, I went back home and stayed at my parents for about a year, working at Jack in the Box."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, remember Dan?"
"Yeah." Dan was the guy who told us about going to the SoCal the night after the talent show.
"Well, his band went to L.A. for a while, but broke up because Kevin wanted to become doctor, Jack wanted to do my stuff like Paramore, and Bobby just wanted to go home. So, he came home six months before me and got a job at Jack in the Box. He got promoted to manager and got me a job when I went back home. I saved up all my cash and got a loft here. As for a job, Dan had a brother who was friends with a roadie for Bad Religion, and the lead singer had a buddy who has a cousin here who owned Breaking Music. So, I got a job here. After a month of settling down, I joined Anti-Static. I needed to do something, and they were signed and I got paid for drumming."
"Wow."
"Yeah, but I would love to leave."
"I've heard."
"So what happened to you?"
"I, by the grace of god, got a small apartment near Cal State Fresno. My part time job wasn't going to cut it in the long run, so I sold my guitars for $600, my amp for $250, and my laptop for $150. What sucks was I got a raise after about three months."
"Ouch."
"Yeah, so I just sat around my apartment doing nothing and went to school. I got my Associates and Bachelors degree in Liberal Arts"
"Wow, that fast?"
"Yeah, well instead of taking the traditional four classes a semester, I took five, and I also did Summer and Winter Sessions because I had nothing better to do."
"Jesus, you were always good at school, for two degrees in four years. Damn."
"Yeah, I know. Anyway, I was thinking of going back for my Masters, but I decided to get the band back together."
"Why?"
"I thought for a long time about what I really wanted to do with my life, and I decided music was the only thing I could do."
"So, what do you want to do from here?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you want to move into my loft? There is enough room."
"You serious?"
"Yeah, I could get you a job or something. We could find a bass player and just play until we get a gig. I got a name in this town, so it will be easier."
"That sounds like a good idea."
"Alright!"
"I got to go back, tell my boss that I quit, grab some stuff and say goodbye to a few people."
"Okay. It's settle. Abomination is back!"
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