Ciggy and a coke

The burning sensation moves its way down my throat and proceeds to settle in my stomach, I gingerly place the glass back down onto the coaster. “AJ I really don’t think we should be here, this is going to end horribly, someone is gonna record it and we won’t be able show our faces here ever again”. AJ takes a break from trying to chat up the clearly uninterested pixie cut bartender about his art and lets out a shallow breath. “I thought we talked about this Khalil, you told me you were going to be fine.” I can see his unibrow furrowing in disappointment as he speaks. Me and AJ were booked to open for some very well-known group from Manchester or Yorkshire. I didn’t know about them but with how packed this bar is you’d assume John Lennon returned from whatever island he was wasting away on. Maybe a cig would help

AJ put his hand on my shoulder, trying his best to ease my nerves. “Listen, this is the biggest venue we have been booked for in like forever. I know you got your hang ups, but you’re going to love it I promise. If its too much just go wash your face or have another drink, manager said it’s on the house.” I say nothing hoping he would continue and end on a hopeful note inspiring to be better, but no that was the entire spiel. I guess the AJ optimism that got us making music together well dries up when he’s five drinks deep and drowning with a girl.

“I just feel like we are way out of our depths here. We aren’t ready to be playing live show, or at least I’m not.” I turn to look at AJ expecting a reply only to see he had finished his drink and was gesturing before he gestured to poor lady behind the counter for two more. Staring straight ahead he says, “remember when we first met at the Students Union, you told me how much you loved being on stage.”

“No actually I said I love playing, I hate being on stage. Or I guess to be more accurate, I hate knowing people are silently judging me while we play. What if I mess up, o-or what if I throw up in panic, how about if my trousers fall down and I’m not wearing any underwear-“ he stops me from finishing by pointing at  at one of many posters adorning the venue. It read in comically large Microsoft word art, Live show!! Kidney Stones!! And underneath in equally comical small fine print, Opening Acts: TBA.

“You see that TBA, that’s us! Aren’t you even the littlest bit excited,” AJ says with an elated smile on his face “we are the wildcard in this show, nobody knows what to expect from us, we are gonna play, they are going to love us and this bartender will want to give me her number by the end just watch.”

“You had me at nobody here knows us,” I reply drily, taking another sip.

I hold up my rum and coke in its small glass, dangling it between my thumb and middle finger. With the bar lights shining on the other side it was like looking into small brown of a galaxy with little stars shining. I stare into it as if it had any answers for me. As if any of those small reflections of light could speak to me. One of them did, it relived flashbacks of mothers disappointment I had chosen this route. “your uncle said the exact same thing before he ran off to the US with that tramp of his, look how happy his life is.” I guess if this fails it’s not too late to enrol into med school. An unamused feminine voice breaks my concentration “excuse me sir, can you not do, if you break that glass you’re paying for it.” I embarrassingly lower the glass back onto the counter while muttering apologies.

“I don’t even like rum, it burns”

“Then why did you get it?” AJ asks inquisitively.

“The less I feel like myself, the better.”

“Hay I’ll drink to that! Excuse me love can we get another round.” He signals to the poor lady again. I’ve always been jealous of how much more sociable AJ gets

“Who are they anyway, I haven’t heard of them before” I say seeing the bartender looking even more annoyed at my existence than she was before. “Wait you haven’t seen the memes yet?” he stammers in slight disbelief. He scrolled through his Instagram feed showing me the height of comedy, 10 seconds clips of #relatable content. This includes plotlines such as oh no bae is going through my phone and other hits such as, that moment when she want to smash but you tired. All of this is scored a cacophony of noise, of which I can only assume was the work of Kidney Stones.

“Thanks, I hate it,” I say as if I’m not looking down at my feet dangling off the high bar stool in their Doc Martens. “What if they boo us, what if they hate us, I’m not made out to be this exposed” AJ looked concerned as he saw the muscles in my face tensed up and my breathing becoming much heavier.

“I promise you everything is going to go great,” AJ said unconvincingly “its exactly like practice in everyway, just close your eyes and don’t move it’s all gonna be Gucci”

“AJ I think you’ve mistaken a live audience for a T-rex.” In what I imagine is an attempt to be charming to the cute bartender making her way back to us. “I need to see a man about a dog.”

I climb down the stool fearing a tear in my tight leather pants AJ forced me to wear. He told me they make my arse look better, feeding into our sexy Rockstar look. If I had a choice I would be down here in my jeans and a nice well ironed Oxford, not this ripped skull tank top.  AJ on the other hand looked the part as always with his long black hair and a jawline you could slice fruit off. We looked like our mother asked him to take his little brother with him.

I grip both sides of the sink as water splashed into the sink. I rest my weight onto the sink to try to compose myself. I stare into the mirror and realise just how out of my depth I was. I should be at home with a coffee not downing drinks before a show. I chuckle in the mirror, me playing a show, in this clown get up I’m wearing. “Ladies and gentlemen! Please put your hands together for The Furi everybody!” I say in a hushed yet excited tone into my reflection. I’m pretty wasted now so I’m just waiting for the pendulum to switch the other way and turn this nervousness into unearned confidence. Maybe I need more to drink.

As if it were timed by the God of mischief himself, I felt my knees buckle when I released my grip on the sink and the poor soul feeding coins into the durex vending machine helps me up me and as I regain my footing “You okay bro” he says worryingly as prop my arm onto the stalls. I struggle to talk due to the dryness of my throat and the fear of throwing up. “thank you, sorry” I say keeping my eyes down, refusing to give eye contact. Maybe he won’t remember my face if I don’t directly look at him. Maybe another cig will help.