Ron Garcia looked skeptically at the xylophone rig Caleb was wearing.
“It will be fine,” Caleb whined, his voice cracking at the end.
“You brought a xylophone to a rock concert, dude?” Roy asked, even more skeptically than his twin brother.
“They’re marching bells, not a xylophone.”
“I’m not sure that sounds any cooler, dude,” Ron sighed, giving his bongos a rolling beat.
“Fuck it. You two just try not to embarrass us in front of the girls, especially the cute green ones,” Roy said, ending the huddle.
Jumping onto the speaking rock, Roy called out to the park full of kids. “May I have your attention, please! Will the real Slim Shady please stand up?”
He knew that would get their attention.
“Okay, how about just the livestreamers standing? I’m Roy, and welcome to the first annual V’ren Relief Concert at the first annual North Park Apartments Freedom Festival! On the bongos, my brother Ron, and on what he calls marching bells, our brother from another mother, Caleb Harris. Also, as a special guest, the ghost of Derek Smalls on bass. While they get themselves sorted out and find their way, here is one of my favorites.”
Roy had their attention. The girls were migrating toward the sound of the guitar, including the cute green ones, even as the human girls tried to hold them back.
He had found his rhythm.
“Is it getting cheddar?
Or do you feel the same?
Will it make it easier on you now?
You got someone to blame.”
He played on, ignoring the bells and bongos.
“Have you come here for forgiveness?
Have you come to raise the dog?
Have you come here to play Jesus?
To the leopards in your bed.”
No one really knew the song or the band. That flaw was okay.
“One life, but we’re not the insane.
We get to curry each other, curry each other.
One.
One.”
Roy stood and let the applause surround him. Carmen, the younger and cuter of the Alvarez sisters, was looking at him with the awe he had always wanted.
He kissed his hand and waved the kiss in her direction.
Carmen looked at the usually quieter brother and couldn’t resist.
“The lyric is not ‘is it getting cheddar,’ you twit!”
Think, Roy, think. Recover, man. Come on, my brothers. Don’t let me die up here.
He relaxed when one of the songs they had practiced started with the bongos. Caleb chimed in on the bells, letting the guitar pick up on the next pass.
This was a much better choice than “Redemption Song.” They could try that later, but for now…
“Don’t worry about a thing…”
With “Wonderwall,” “Sugar, Sugar,” “Spoonman,” and “Redemption Song,” they exhausted their playlist, and Roy thought he had at least played credibly. Everyone sang along, and he heard more bad lyrics from the crowd than he had managed himself.
“One more, but not ‘One’!” Elena Alvarez shouted from the front row, where five V’ren girls had joined her.
Roy turned to the band. “I have two songs left in me. You guys only know one of them.”
“Do it!” Ron laughed.
“Oh God, please don’t fuck this up, Roy,” Caleb said. “We’ll never get girlfriends if you do. Like, ever.”
“I’ve got ya!” Roy said, reclaiming the rock.
He looked out at the crowd, which seemed much larger than it had before the huddle.
I’ve got this, he told himself.
He wondered whether he could chicken out and still do “Ladies Night.”
Fuck it.
“When I was a little bitty boy,
My grandmother bought me a cute little toy.”
