Rehersal.docx

2:30pm. Half an hour after the band had agreed to meet for practice. Another week, another helping of the same old shit.

Xavier wasn’t surprised. That’s why he’d decided on the idiosyncratic meet time of two in the afternoon. He wasn’t usually later than fifteen minutes. But now he was, and he wasn’t the only one, either.

The distinctive clapping of thongs on pavement echoed out from the distance up to the open door of Xavier’s garage, where it was joined by a ragged gasping for breath.

“Sorry I’m late!”

Xavier sighed, unhooking his bass from around his body and resting it against the chair to his right, and stood to greet their newest arrival.

“It’s alright, Case. You’re not the only one we’re waiting on, after all.”

Casey cocked his head in confusion. “Wow. I really thought he would’ve beaten me this time.”

“I swear he’s got a camera in here somewhere,” Heron cut in as he also stood, his own instrument still looped around his narrow frame. “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he’s doing it on purpose just to shit us.”

“Sure, why not,” Xavier said, sick to death of this same old routine, but still somehow unable to stifle the chuckle that bubbled up at the idea Heron had proposed, “but we might as well get started. He can catch up when he gets here.”

“No need to wait, fellas!” Came the proclamation from the street.

And with that, Ryn came bouncing in, free and easy without the need to lug anything more than his own mic around (the PA he used belonged to Xavier, and there was no way he was letting it out of his sight).

“Nice of you to finally join us.”

“Whaddaya mean, ‘finally’? I’m on time, aren’t I? Pretty impressive, right?”

Heron rested an exasperated expression in his hands. Xavier exhaled heavily, and looked upwards at the ceiling. Maybe he was appealing to any benevolent deities that might still be able to help him.

“We decided on two this week. You’re half an hour late.”

That stopped Ryn in his exuberant tracks. His face legitimately fell.

“But we always meet at 2:30.”

“Do you never check your messages, like, at all? We decided two. Everyone else got here on time.”

“Well, I mean, I only just–”

“Not helpful, Casey.”

“Well fuck you guys then,” Ryn offered, and walked through the midst of everyone to start setting up his mic. “At least I tried to be on time.”

Xavier sighed, shook his head, and decided against arguing any further. He shouldered his bass once more and headed around to his usual position. Heron took the time to check his tuning, flicking the occasional glare at the bandleader and at Ryn.

For a while, silence reigned between them, masked only by the sound of Casey wrangling his drum kit into place with the near-inhuman speed of a seasoned performer wracked with the deadly mortification of being behind schedule.

“So, what are we playing to warm up?” he eventually piped up.

“Ooh, can we do ‘Call Me’?” Ryn immediately interjected, apparently already having recovered from his telling-off minutes earlier.

This recovery was seemingly too smooth for some of his bandmates, because Heron replied, “I reckon we should do something new. I’ve written an original song for us to work on.”

Xavier’s head whipped around, and he pinned their lead guitarist with a look which was half quizzical, half suspicious. “You didn’t mention anything about this to me.”

“Yeah well, I was just feeling really inspired recently. It’s called, ‘Get Your Fucking Life Together’, parenthesis, ‘Do You Even Care About The Band?’.”

A beat of silence followed, in which Heron’s words rang harshly around the uninsulated cream brick walls.

“Was that…directed at me?”

Casey’s nervous question went unanswered, but Ryn’s reaction was enough to show he knew the comment was meant for him. His hand dropped from the microphone in front of him, and then he bolted for the door.

“Wow, real smooth.”

“What? I didn’t know he was going to take it that personally.”

“Heron, come on, man.” Xavier didn't look too angry, but sometimes it was hard to tell. He was definitely irritated, but, as usual, he defaulted to taking his friend’s side. “I suppose someone had to say something.”

“I know you agree. So why don't we just get rid of him?”

They’d had this conversation before, and both knew where the other stood. And, no matter how many times it did happen, they always reached the consensus to just keep doing what they’d been doing. But they had to do it. It was like a ritual to satisfy bubbling tensions. It was ultimately Xavier’s call anyway.

He didn’t even offer a reply.

Heron sighed. “Fuck it, we’ll start without him. Case, are you ready or what?”

Casey nodded, frantically setting the last of his cymbals in place while he clambered onto his seat.

“Let’s just run through our set,” Xavier decided, “If our diva decides to grace us with his presence, that’s up to him.”

“Fuckin’ singers,” Heron muttered, shaking his head.

Casey hesitated for a long moment, before counting them into their first song.