Michelle’s dad was doing his stupid thing again. He had picked up her guitar that she had set aside when Arora came in. Lying on the couch, he strummed rudimentary chords that did not go with the old song he wailed.

            Wanted. Waaan-ted

            (cacophonous sounds from the guitar)

            He looked at the girls. Nothing. Crickets.

            (loud strum of strings)

            I’m a cow

            Dad, stop it. You’re hurting my ears.

            He stopped, shrugged.

            I think it’s great Mr. O.

            Thank you, Arora. I know I’m not as good as you girls. I’m so glad you stuck with the guitar. I told you I tried it out for like two months in high school.

            Every time you see my guitar [song lyric].

            Did it mostly for the look of it. I had the long hair, jean jacket, and a band name.

            Michelle rolled her eyes.

            And now it is yours. Bon Jovi. Van Halen. De La O.

            Sounds too much like De La Soul. We might go with Arora’s last name.

            Zarakas? Sounds too much like a big hair metal band from the 80s. No offense.

            None taken Mr. O.

            Um, Dad, we’re going. She stuck her hand out.

            Oh, he handed the guitar over. Got up from the couch to walk them to the door. Have fun at your show party whatever it is.

            Probably stay at Arora’s house tonight.

            I know you don’t want to hear this, but I also played rock star to pick up girls. And it worked. So I know all about these music guys you hang with.

            We are adults.

            Only technically.

            Mr. O, we can handle these boys.

            All I’m saying, is that I might have given up my guitar, but I didn’t give up my .22 [song lyric].        

            Dad, Jesus. Enough.

 ♤

Two guitars in the back seat, two amps in the hatchback, the young women drove off in an alien green Kia Soul, a mix of Waxahatchee and Courtney Barnett on Arora’s phone. Michelle and Arora were friends since junior high, but weren’t bandmates until after high school when Arora finally dropped a violin for a guitar, though she still picked up the violin now and again, thinking that it could be a good accompaniment for Michelle on guitar, or vice versa. This would be their first real performance. They had four original songs, two were Michelle’s, one Arora’s, the fourth was co-written. They also had five or six covers that they were comfortable playing.

            Arora was a reckless speeder. She zoomed through the streets, as if the other cars were mere suggestions. When unable to pass, she tailgated. All inadvertently. She just didn’t pay that close of attention to the details of driving, just enough to not crash into things, yet. A truck crept into her way on a one lane street near downtown. It had been way ahead of her, but over just a few blocks it was suddenly right in front and not planning to go faster. It didn’t consciously bother her. It barely registered until Michelle pointed out the NRA sticker on the window.

            You better back off his ass, Arora.

            What?

            You’re real close and this NRA gun nut will shoot us.

            He should feel lucky to have two hot chicks on his ass.

            He just looked back at us.

            He’s checking us out.

            He’s getting pissed.

            What’s he gonna do?

            All that’s missing is a gun rack.

            The road expanded to two lanes at a stop light. Arora quickly zipped into the right lane alongside the truck to wait out the light.

            Great, now we have to sit here next to him.

            Probably a harmless old man, clinging to his gun with his not quite cold dead hands [song lyric].

            Leering over at us. See. Don’t look.

            Arora looked. The man was not old, but not young. Not harmless, but not an imminent threat. He was glancing over at the girls, shaking his head at their reckless ways.

            You should flash him.

            He powered down his passenger side window.

            Should I?

            Don’t.

            I should. Arora lowered her window.

            Don’t you know better than ride someone’s ass like that.

            Arora shrugged. The light turned green. Arora peeled out. The truck right behind. Now in the same lane. Its headlights blaring through the back window.

            Bright aren’t they.

            You pissed him off.

            He’s just bored. You should flash him now.

            Arora drove too fast to time the lights. She never quite understood that. The truck pulled up along Michelle’s side at the next one. His window down, he yelled at the girls. Right back at you girls! [song lyric]

            Oh God, he’s gonna kill us.

            The light went green, Arora went ballistic. The truck still on her tail.

            This is not funny, Arora.

            It’s a little fun.

            The headlights were again on top of them. Blaring horn accompanying.

            This creep could kill us.

            Fine, I’ll slow down.

            What, no.

            Arora abruptly slowed. The truck loomed within inches, but swerved around next to the Soul. Fucking bitch snobs [album title], the man, red-faced angry, yelled.

            Arora sped up, the next light was soon to change red, he sped up, Arora slammed on the breaks, the light changed, he kept going through the light.

            Jesus, Arora.

            Woo! That was a sweet ass move.

            The truck stopped in the middle of the road on the other side of the intersection.

            Just turn right and get out of here.

            But Arora was intrigued. The truck door opened.

            Jesus.

            The man got out, maybe something in his hand.

            Jesus, that’s a gun.

            No.

            He stared back at the girls, you could see the exasperation, then yelled something they didn’t catch, while waving his hand in the air.

            Just go.

            Before Arora could decide, the man got back in his truck and sped off.

            You should have flashed him [song lyric].

 ♤

The party show performance thing was in their friend’s backyard. A large mostly dirt backyard to an old barely standing house on the outskirts of the cool neighborhood of artists and hipsters.

            Wylie Knadler was a cool dude. He didn’t actually play music. He wasn’t even an artist of any sorts, except for maybe creating a community. He just knew a lot of interesting people and had things going on at his house. And this night he had a gathering of musicians coming together to not jam, but to play some songs and get feedback, to workshop them. And then maybe end with a low-key  jam session.

            Who knew how it would go down. This was the first time, but Wylie hoped it would be an ongoing concern. Monthly or just sporadically. All to be determined as dealing with artists of any type being an unsure thing.

            Rif Huffstutter, real name Kevin Cobb, threw beers at Michelle and Arora after they had sat their equipment down in a corner on the back patio.

            We’re underage, still [song lyric] Arora told him, again. But they took the beers nonetheless.

            If you don’t tell me I have plausible deniability.

            The girls carefully maneuvered their way out of the corner in search of Wylie to get a sense of the plan. They found Gretchen instead who chased Rif away.

            Rif isn’t really that much of a creep. He just plays one. It’s as fake as his name [song lyric], she told them.

            They listened to Rickey T. do his haiku uke bit. It was a good bit.

            The earth goes around

            Carrying the animals

            People left behind

            Following that was Tamara (vocals) and Greg (guitar). Always good. No chance of being great. Then some guy playing a steel tongue drum. It was pleasant, soothing, needed something else to it. Michelle thought one of those mediation bowls used in a zen yoga class.

            Haboob Warning were up next, and proceeded to set up for twenty minutes, which wasn’t how it was supposed to work. It was supposed to be just quickly plug into an amp and play. Michelle took the opportunity to speak with Wylie.

            You’re in Wylie’s backyard, not Coachella, Rif yelled. Everyone laughed. He took the opportunity to talk to Michelle.

            When you guys going on?

            Don’t know. Is why I need to see Wylie.

            There he is. He pointed to the figure in shadows in the back. Observing his creation, hoping it becomes Coachella [song lyric].

            Funny.

            Need another drink.

            Oh, sure.

            Rif ran off, Wylie stepped out of the shadows and told Michelle that she and Arora were up next.

            Two beers later, Haboob Warning had finished setting up, done a solid four song set, and broke down their set. Michelle and Arora had two chairs placed behind two mics and plugged their two acoustic guitars into amps. They sat down to face the crowd of two dozen with at least one dozen paying close attention.

            Michelle and Arora had never played together in front of so many people. Arora was eager, Michelle was nervous, hence all the beers.

            So we don’t really have a name yet, Arora announced.

            Flibbertigibbet! was yelled from the back.

            Shut up Chuck!

            Chuck Walla had for years been begging for a band to take that name. No one would ever indulge him, though there was one short lived band named Gibbets ’N Gravy.

            Let’s worry about band names later, we have the names of the songs. This one is called, Gotcha, written by this lovely girl next to me. Our very own Michelle De La O. Whoops and cheers bounced back.

            It’s better with electric guitars.

            You’re supposed to say that afterwards.

            Michelle started in with a melody. Arora joined in with a hum.

            Rif crept up to the left side of the makeshift stage, a few thin boards atop several dozen milk crates, and plopped down. Staring at Michelle throughout the four song set. By the time they ended with their newest song, The Ballad of Yolo and Fomo, Michelle didn’t mind. The alcohol buzz and good performance adrenaline overcame fear and annoyance.

            And Michelle and Arora were happy with their set. So was the crowd, their fellow local musicians, who congratulated them only somewhat patronizingly. Rif, never missing an opportunity, picked up an amp and trailed not far behind Arora with the other amp to her car. Michelle trailing not far behind him.

            Alien green, I like it.

            You actually know what they call this color?

            Sure, was thinking of getting one myself.

            Just put it back here dork, Arora pointed to the open hatchback.

            Rif took his time getting the amp in. Arora returned to the backyard. Michelle trundled along with the guitars. Rif helped her get them into the back seat.

            Great show.

            Thanks.

            You girls got real nice vibe to ya.

            We’ve really worked on it.

            I’m gonna head into the house for a beer. Want one.

            Oh, no.

            Join me anyways.

            He nudged her ever so slightly towards the front door. She didn’t resist, what would be the point, she told herself. Only one guy searching for the bathroom was in the house. Rif left Michelle looking through Wylie’s record collection to get a beer, which turned into two. He plopped on the couch next to where Michelle was kneeling as she flipped through Wylie’s records.

            Put something on.

            Kinda rude to be playing records inside while our friends are outside playing music.

            I guess so. Got a beer for ya, if you want one.

            Michelle took the beer, but didn’t open it as she sat on the other end of the couch. Rif stayed on his end.

            Any ideas on a name yet?

            Not really. Michelle opened the beer.

            Over the course of the course of a few other vaguely probing questions, Rif used her distracted answering to creep closer to her, until he could lean in for a kiss.

            Obviously, she told herself as his lips pressed against hers, trying to pry them open. Obviously he was going to do that [song lyric], but it still took her by surprise and froze her. So surprised and so frozen that he had time to place one hand high on her waist and the other cupping her neck, the fingers diving into her hair.

            Nope.

            What?

            Nope, she said again unfreezing, getting up, not even bothering to push him away. Just stood up and went out the front door.

            Arora was in the backyard listening to and learning a few things from a guy noodling, occasionally shredding, on his guitar,  an ineffectual beat looping on a drum machine, when a desperate attempt to bend a note caused her to lose interest long enough to wonder where Michelle was.

            That Rif creep. She walked to the front of the house where she last saw her and last saw Rif. No one was there. She went inside the house. Yo, O. Nothing. She walked through the house to the kitchen and out the backdoor. She saw Rif talking to Haboob Warning’s bassist and stalked over to him.

            What did you do with Michelle?

            What? Nothing.

            Where is she?

            Why would I know?

            Because you feed her beers for a purpose [song lyric].

            What the hell you talking about?

            You pathetic old man.

            She stormed off, circled the backyard, checked inside again, and out to the front. She got into her car.

 ♤

Michelle had wandered off through the dingy neighborhood that people like Wylie were hoping not to gentrify but were probably laying the groundwork for. It was not exactly safe, not exactly dangerous. Meaning, that usually it was safe, but danger wasn’t unheard of. Though usually it was property crime. But then Michelle was a woman walking alone at night. And then there was this guy walking the opposite way on the opposite side of the street who glanced over and saw Michelle, a cute young woman, walking absentmindedly along the sidewalk, and found that interesting, and sure he wouldn’t have considered himself dangerous, or even up to no good, but still Michelle was scared when he started following her.

            Michelle was scared but she was determined to remain seemingly indifferent. And he was just keeping his distance for now. Though she knew that that wouldn’t keep, unless this guy was just an ineffectual creep [song lyric], but she had noticed him noticing her from the other side and she could tell he was just sizing her up for now, checking out the situation before committing. She just hoped something would happen, whatever that may be, to change the situation to her favor before he committed.

            But it didn’t, he had suddenly jogged casually across the street to her. He was not a bad looking guy. Tall and lean, wearing jeans and wife beater that covered up part of his dancing lizard tattoo [album cover art], had something approaching a fauxhawk that was working for him.

            Hey, what’s up?

            Nothing.

            Hold up a sec.

            She did not. It did not deter him, but he kept his distance.

            I ain’t gonna hurt you.

            I don’t know that.

            Fair enough.  But really, what do I look like?

            She looked.

            Let’s just walk and talk for a bit.

            Fine.

            Cool.

            They walked with him inching closer to every step.

            I will scream. If needed.

            Not needed.

            What’s your name?

            What’s yours?

            Scott.

            Mi . . . chelle. She wanted to say Daphne [song title].

            Mi . . . chelle. Where you headed?

            Nowhere.

            Nowhere?

            Yes, nowhere, the opposite of somewhere.

            Okay. They walked nowhere for a while.

            Wanna go somewhere?

            Michelle was tempted, but also wary. She looked over at Scott. He looked back at her, trying to seem harmless and innocent but not really succeeding in hiding his desire. She didn’t have the patience to deal with another dude’s insurgent libido [song lyric], however cute, all over her. I don’t think so. In fact I should get back to my friend. She abruptly turned around, bumping Scott, which encouraged him.

            What’s the hurry? But she was already walking quickly away.

            He trailed her. Wait up. She didn’t. But then she didn’t mind if he followed. He did for another block, keeping his distance, trying to chat casually. You live around here? What do you do? Go to school?

            She didn’t answer.

            Have a boyfriend?

            Maybe.

            Ah. That’s a no.

            Michelle had goofed up again. But then, at the end of the block she saw Arora pointing out either her or him to the cop right next to her.

            Hey, that’s my friend right there.

            Oh shit, Scott said when he saw what was going down.

            Not the cop.

            That didn’t appease him. Maybe another time, he said and calmly walked the other direction. Michelle stopped to watch him go. Keep wandering nowhere and we’ll meet back up [song lyric]. He took off running.

            Okay, she feebly called out.

            She met Arora and the officer, who stood tall and erect next to his car, his hand just resting on his gun, looking up the street, Scott already long gone around a corner.

            Not worth running after, Officer Roberts said.

            Are you all right? You disappeared.

            I’m fine.

            I saw that guy following you and then I saw this cop and I thought that creep was going to attack you.

            I don’t think he was.

            I didn’t like the look of him, Officer Glassburn said. I assume you didn’t actually know him.

            Well, no.

            Predator.

            I’m not sure.

            Trust me, I know up to no good. Catch his name?

            No.

            Officer Roberts handed Arora’s ID to her. And let me get your ID, he said to Michelle. Just to keep track of things. In case of future trouble with Johnny toxic [song lyric].

            I don’t think anything . . . but she acquiesced and handed over her ID. He wrote her name down next to Arora’s.

            What brings you girls out tonight, anyway?

            Neither knew who was expected to answer. Finally Arora chimed in. Not much, just playing at a show.

            Playing what?

            Some music.

            Musicians, nice, he relaxed, leaned against his car. I got myself a drum set. Just bang away the stress. [song lyric]

            That’s cool.

            I don’t need to call someone for you? Like a dad.

            And on he droned, about himself, asking questions that they answered, frozen in his authority, wondering when they would be free to leave. Arora slowly realizing that this was not needed and of no help.

♤

In the Taco Bell drive through, they begin writing a song about a girl who uses a fake name with guys she meets, but ends up having to use that name for good to a guy she ends up liking.

            It was basically written by the time they arrived at Arora’s. Her dad was there to meet them, looking all stern and fatherly.

            A nice young police officer showed up terrible concerned about your safety.

            God, Officer Glassburn.

            He was particularly worried about you Michelle. Some guy chasing you. And he thought you were a very good friend, Arora.

            We’re fine. Always were, always will be.

            He was very adamant that it was a close call. Truly concerned.

            Please, he came here looking to hit on us.

            He’s a bit old for you.

            Exactly.

            He was just checking in. Doing his job.

            No.

            You can’t be too safe.

            Yeah, you can.

            Well, time for bed. I’m glad you are both all right. Hope you learned a lesson. He turned down the hall. Don’t stay up too late. Don’t wake your mother.

            Don’t encourage creepy cops.

            Silence as he walked down the hall and turned into his room.

            Crickets. [band name]

♤

December 7, 2024