Chapter Two – Asher
The lights were blinding as I stepped out onto the stage. After twenty years of performing, I should have been used to the overpowering cries of the crowd and the nerves that followed, but it never eased. I was a perfectionist by nature, so just the slightest hint of leaving our fans disappointed gave me anxiety and stress. My bandmates didn’t suffer from the same fear. They could play after a weeklong bender as if it was nothing. But that was back when we were younger. We’d all been clean and sober since we hit our mid-twenties when our friend Harlan set us straight. He didn’t want any of that around his family, and since we had joined his band’s tour, we weren’t about to screw any of it up. Exoneration was one of the biggest rock bands in the world.
My band, Edge of Black, was a close second. And we’d been sharing the stage with our friends for almost the last two decades.
Only this time, as I stepped out from behind the curtain, I had what felt like the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’d met with the tour’s physician this morning after having a year of cramps through my hands and arms. It was affecting how I played my guitar and wrote. I was old school when it came to writing the band’s songs – pen and paper all the way.
The doctor had a grim diagnosis for me, one that I still needed time to wrap my head around. Focal Dystonia with the possibility of Young Onset Parkinson’s disease. I barely had the list of symptoms before I was rushed to sound check, where my bandmates waited patiently. They had no idea what was going on other than my hand had been bothering me, to the point our manager had considered bringing in a backup guitarist while I rested my digits.
It was a good idea and one my bandmates were hoping I’d follow through with. Little did they know that it might be a permanent change – something I wasn’t prepared to deal with yet.
Somehow I played the first three songs of our set without missing a beat, even though my mind was elsewhere. As we slipped into one of our chart-topping ballads, my fingers clenched as I fought against the cramps. They’d be coming on stronger and more frequently than before as the tour progressed. We’d played for six weeks straight and it was time for a break, something the tour manager was going to try and set up for all of us.
Stepping off stage to switch out my guitar and grab a sip of water, I shook out my hands and arms. It helped alleviate some of the crampings as I stretched the muscles. Quickly I was ushered back to the front of the stage, where I sang like I had not a single worry in the world. The band played in sync just as we had for the last twenty years. And all I could think of was that adding someone to fill in for my shortcomings would just throw a wrench in our dynamic. I didn’t want to be the reason our band and music suffered.
But it seemed inevitable.
The show ended and after an encore, the band and I left the stage. As I drank a bottle of water one of the tour assistants handed me, I watched as the equipment team swapped out our gear for Exoneration’s.
“Hey, man. Good show.” I turned to find Harlan and Ryker standing behind me. The brothers-in-law were just as friendly now as they were when the trio had first met. He actually felt closer to them than he did with his own step-siblings and bandmates.
“Thanks,” I replied, ignoring the tingling in my fingers.
“You alright? Harlan asked. My friend must have noticed the gloom dulling my expression. After playing our set, I was usually hyped. Not much ever got past him.
Harlan had always acted more like the father figure in our group. Not only was he the oldest, but he was already married with kids when my band started touring with them. He’d essentially taken me under his wing and was the one that set Edge of Black straight when drugs and alcohol seeped into our daily routine.
Hell, I even joined a few of his family vacations.
“Yeah, yeah. Just ready for a break. Hoping Dan can come through and reschedule those press tours so we can rest.”
“Definitely hoping the same, man. I want to take Cassidy away for a while. Somewhere tropical.”
“Sounds nice. Hopefully, it will all work out,” I replied as I imagined chilling in the vacation home I purchased last year. Just thinking about it cooled down the cramps in my fingers.
Noticing our tour manager waiting in the wings for me, I skirted away after telling my friends that the crowd was wild and to have a great show. I would be seeing them later at the meet and greet, so it wasn’t the end of the night for us.
Following my guide back to the green rooms, I really wished that I had time to take a shower, but he preferred that we entertain the guests with backstage passes for the show.
I always admired the people that bought those passes. I grew up in a broken home that could barely afford to eat two meals a day, let alone go see any form of entertainment. When I bought my first guitar with my earnings as a bag boy at the local supermarket at fourteen, my stepdad had been livid and chucked it over a bridge on the drive home. He said I needed to give them my paychecks to help feed my family. And when I reminded him that they weren’t my actual family, I returned to work the next day with a black eye and a bruised ego. The only luck I seemed to have was that the store manager knew how to play guitar and allowed me to learn on his old acoustic until I could save up enough to buy a new one again.
Three years later, I joined a band from an ad I saw in the local paper; the rest was history. I never thought back to everything I was leaving behind.
As I walked into the room, I headed for the overstuffed couch. There was a gathering of groupies on one end, making a young roadie’s night. Luckily there were no underage kids or band wives present, which happened more often than not. Otherwise, that kid would lose his job. We all indulged time and again, but we knew when we needed to find another space.
I was certain those women were only trying to secure a spot in the next town backstage.
“Hey, Asher,” a red-haired femme fatale said as she slithered close. She was wearing a black leather get-up that looked like it had been poured over her curves. “You up for some fun tonight?”
My eyes trailed over her body, wishing that I had the energy to devote the time and effort to please her, but it just wasn’t there.
“Sorry. Not tonight, Kira.”
She nodded her head and then took the seat beside me on the couch. “That’s okay. You look like someone that could use a break.”
“Hoping to get one soon.”
“That should be nice. Maybe I’ll take a mini vacation before I start back to school in the fall.”