More to Us (36 page)

After finding out the band might be ending this year, I decided to audition for some other bands in and around Chicago. I wasn't planning to ditch Vandyl. I just wanted to see what's out there.

I went to four auditions and all of them were bad. One of the bands fought constantly, even during the audition. Another one was completely disorganized, to the point that they didn't even remember they were holding auditions that day. Then there was one made up of freshmen in high school, which I didn't know until I got there. I left before I even auditioned. And then there was the pot band, which is what I named them because they smoked weed the whole time I was there. They weren't bad musicians, and I could look past their pot habit, but then I saw them doing other drugs and that was it. I told them I wasn't interested.

So at this point, I'm not sure what I'm going to do. I've always had this dream of being a musician but always knew it wasn't very realistic. That's why I keep working construction instead of pursuing music full-time. But I feel like it's time to make a decision. It's now or never. If I want this to happen, I need to make it happen, which is why I asked Paul to give me an honest critique. I sent him a video of me playing solo, and one of me playing with the band.

The phone rings just as I was getting a water from the fridge. I close the fridge and answer the phone.

"Hey, Paul. Thanks for calling." I walk over to the living room.

"Sorry I'm a little late. I was on another call."

"No problem. So did you get a chance to watch the videos?"

"I did."

He's quiet, and my heart thumps as I get the sinking feeling that he's about to give me bad news. He didn't like my music. I'm just about to ask him but then he starts talking.

"I was just cueing up the video again," he says. "You definitely have the looks to be a star. And sometimes that's all you need these days."

"I really want to be known for my music, not for how I look."

"Yes, we talked about that last time. So, as for your music, you have a good sound and you have some real talent."

I wait for the 'but' because I can hear it in his voice.

"But there are a lot of guys just as good, and there are a lot who are better than you. And by a lot, I'm talking thousands."

And there's that sinking feeling.

"I'm not saying you're not good," he says. "But you can't just be good in this business. If you really want to play music and get a record contract, you have to be in the top one percent. And I'm sorry, kid, but you're just not there. But to be fair, you're competing with guys who've had training their whole lives and practice ten or twelve hours a day, seven days a week."

"What if I wasn't interested in a contract? What if I just wanted to play music as a career? Any advice?"

"Yeah." He chuckles. "Don't do it."

"What do you mean?"

"Music is a tough business. I've seen it destroy many lives. Hell, it nearly destroyed mine. You want a family someday? A wife? Kids?"

"Yeah," I say, even though I've never really thought about it. But I said it, so does that mean I want that someday? A wife? Kids? Shit, I'm only 21. I'm too young to think about that.

"If you want a family, then make music your hobby, not your career. The music business can tear apart families. You're on the road all the time. You're surrounded by women. Drugs. And the money is hit or miss. It's not a steady job. You don't get a paycheck every week. No health insurance or other benefits. It's not a job for a man with a family. I know you're too young to worry about that but it's something to consider."

An image of Kira keeps popping in my head. It showed up the moment he said 'wife' which is a problem because I'm not dating her and I'm trying to get over her. And yet she's the first girl I thought of when he said it. Probably because I still love her and she's the only girl I've ever imagined having a future with.

"I'm sorry if I sound overly negative," he says, "but I'm just trying to be honest. If you really want to pursue music as a career, then do it. Just be aware of what you'll have to give up." He pauses. "Do you like your life? Your job? Where you live? Your family?"

"Yeah. I like all of that."

"Would you say that you're happy?"

"Yes." It's true, except when it comes to Kira. I'm not happy she's no longer part of my life, and until I get over her, I won't be completely happy.

"Then keep doing what you're doing," he says. "Keep your job and do music on the side. I know a lot of guys who do that, and I gotta tell you, they're a hell of a lot happier than the guys who do this for a living. In the end, it's up to you, but before you make a decision, think about what you really want out of life. Dreams can change. They're not set in stone. Some people get too hung up on them and can't let them go. But sometimes they
need
to go and be replaced by something better."

His words remind me of Kira and her dream to compete again. I wonder how she's doing. I wonder if she's okay. I think about her all the time. I worry about her. I wish she could see how chasing this dream of hers is hurting her, and hurting the people around her. As Paul said, dreams can change. That doesn't mean they have to go away. Kira just needs to replace her dream with something else.

And maybe I need to do the same. My dream of being a musician is one I've held onto for a long time, but maybe it's time to let it go. Because when I think about what I really want, it's not being on the road every night playing at bars. I've already done that. Every summer, Vandyl goes on tour and we play on the weekends in towns around Illinois. It was fun the first year, and even the second, but by the third, it started getting old. Staying at shitty motels. Playing dive bars. Getting paid next to nothing. I don't want that to be my life.

"Thanks for the advice," I tell Paul. "You gave me a lot to think about."

"It's just my opinion. If you want, I could give you some names of people in the industry. They could give you another opinion."

"Thanks, but I don't think I need that."

"Oh, I need to thank you again for helping my parents out with that tree. My father's stubborn when it comes to things like that. Always thinks he can take care of it himself when he really needs to hire someone."

"It was no problem. So are you coming out here soon?"

"Probably not. It's hard to get away."

"Your dad said you're between jobs right now."

"I am, but you know how it is. You get busy. Don't have time."

"Your parents would really like to see you. And they're not exactly young."

He chuckles. "You giving
me
advice now?"

"No, but I um...I lost my mom a few years ago so I'm a little sensitive when it comes to things like that. You never know when you're going to lose someone, you know?"

"I'm sorry, Austin. I didn't know about your mother."

"It's okay. I was just making a comment. I think your parents are really nice people...and well, you're lucky to have them."

I'm not trying to lecture him, but it kind of pisses me off that he never visits them. He's 55 and still has two living parents and he should be grateful for that.

"Well, I'll let you go," I say, "but thanks again."

"Anytime. If you have more questions, just give me a call."

We hang up, and as I set the phone down, a feeling of calmness comes over me. In just that brief conversation, I feel like everything is clearer. Like I'm finally figuring stuff out. I thought my dream of being a musician was a good thing, but it turns out it was holding me back. Making me think I was missing out on something when I really wasn't.

I'm happy with my life. I really am. I like my job. I like living in Chicago. And I like being in a local band, playing just a few times a week. I used to tell myself I wanted more than that, but that's only because it fit my dream of being a musician. But I made that dream when I was a kid, before I knew the realities of it. Now that I'm allowing myself to give it up, I like my life even more. I no longer have the pressure of trying to make something happen that I never really even wanted. Instead I can just enjoy what I have and appreciate it and stop wishing it were something else.
 

And when I think about it, I didn't give up my dream of being a musician. I've already achieved it. I AM a musician. I play in a band. A really popular band in one of the largest cities in the country. And that's pretty fucking awesome. And if Vandyl breaks up, I'll start my own band. Why the hell not?

An hour later, I head to the bar where we're playing tonight, a big ass grin on my face because I'm doing what I love to do. Playing guitar for people who like my music. And tomorrow, I'm going to work at an event that I had the idea for, organized completely on my own, and that carries my family name. And shit, that makes me feel good. I got nothing to complain about it. I can stop worrying about my future, thinking I should be doing something else, because I'm already doing exactly what I want to do.

I'm on top of the world right now, and the only thing that would make it better would be to have Kira back in my life. Maybe it's time I think about that. Maybe I need to at least talk to her again and see how she's doing.

"What are you smiling about?" Van asks when I get to the bar. "Did you get back with Kira?"

"No. I'm just happy to be playing, that's all."

Dylan is there, and both he and Van look at me like I'm crazy. I don't explain. I just get to work, helping set up the equipment. And later that night, I play better than I've ever played. Because there's no pressure. I'm not trying to make this a career. I'm just doing it for fun, and because I like it, which is all I ever wanted. Making it a job would've taken the fun out of it.

The next morning, I call Bryce at the house he's been assigned to. The house is owned by a widow who's 95. There's no way she could do any outside work, so she hasn't for years and it shows. There's so much to do I've got twelve volunteers over there, including Kira.

"How's she doing?" I ask Bryce.

"Good. You should see how much she's done already. Shit, the girl never stops."

"She needs to be taking breaks. She shouldn't be on her leg for hours at a time. If she doesn't listen, then send her home. This is my event and I'm not—"

"Yeah, I got it, bro. You told me like a million times. I've been making her take breaks, but she's not happy about it. She's worried we won't get everything done before we have to leave. She said if we couldn't finish it, she'd come back later and do it herself." He chuckles. "Sound familiar?"

"Yeah." It sounds like something I would do. My brothers too. We don't leave a job unfinished. We get it done, no matter what.

"Keep an eye on her. I don't want her getting hurt."

"I've been watching her, but I think she's fine. She's just been raking and putting leaves in bags. I haven't let her do anything else."

"How's everyone else doing?"

"Great. We got a good crew over here. Wish some of these people actually worked for us."

"Most of them are college students so I doubt that'll happen. Talk to you later."

"Yeah, bye."

Van and Dylan are volunteering today and they recruited a lot people from their college. Van is on my crew and Dylan is on Nash's. Amber didn't volunteer, and I wondered if it was because she knew Dylan would be here. Or maybe she just had something else she had to do today. I wouldn't know because I haven't talked to Kira. But I'm going to today. At the end of the day, I'm going to go to the house she's been assigned to and offer her a ride home and see if we can talk.

At noon, everyone breaks for lunch. We'd planned to order pizzas but didn't have a place for people to sit and eat so we just gave everyone money so they could go eat wherever they want.

I don't have time to get lunch. I've been driving around, making sure everything's set up for the houses we're working on this afternoon. The one I'm at now is just a few blocks from the park where Kira and I went rollerblading when we first met.

Someone knocks on the side of my truck. I'm sitting on the tailgate, a clipboard in my hand with my checklist. I set it down, and when I look up, I see Kira standing in front of me, a paper sack in her hand.

"Hi." She chews on her lip, which she does when she's nervous.

"Hey. What are you doing here?"

"Nash dropped me off. I know I'm not assigned to this house, but I wanted to bring you lunch. Nash said you probably wouldn't have time to go get something. But if you already did, then I could just—"

"No. I didn't have time. I haven't eaten."

"Okay, well..." She holds up the sack. "I got us some salads. Is it okay if I eat with you?"

"Sure." I pat the spot beside me. "Sorry, this is all I can offer for seating unless you want to eat in the truck."

"No, this is good." She sets the sack down.

I notice the boot that's still on her leg. "Need some help getting up?"

"I can do it." She hops up beside me.

Just having her near me again makes me feel something. I'm not even sure how to describe it. It's almost like a calmness comes over me. Like things are right again. Like they should be.