25
Cash
It was strange being back in my old stomping grounds.
The other members of my band all had ahometown. Violet was from Portland, while Riot and Milo were from Austin. Whenever we played there, they were giddy and full of energy. They put all of themselves into the performance because they knew people out in the crowd.
But for me, coming back to Detroit was bittersweet. Most of my friends had moved out of town for college; there was only one who still lived there and could meet up for lunch. The city had undergone several transformations in the past few years, a revitalization that had replaced most of my favorite spots with newer, more gentrified businesses. As I walked through downtown, I hardly recognized the place I used to call home.
And then there was the situation with my parents.
Being here was like picking at a wound that had just scabbed over. The blood came to the surface at the slightest scratch, hot and red and bright with pain.
I pushed all those emotions down until they were a dull throbbing deep within my soul. I didn’t want to think about myparents. I’d thought about them enough over the last two years, and I didn’t have any room for that right now.
We had a show to play tonight.
It was my turn to have the big bed on the bus, and I spent my afternoon stretched out with my bass guitar across my lap. Riot had finished the rough draft of three new songs and had passed along the sheet music so I could write the bassline. That required all of my focus, and took my mind off my family.
When Roxie returned from wherever she had gone, her face was bright red. “You all right, babe?” Violet asked when she climbed onto the bus. “You look like you just got into a fight.”
“It might as well have been,” she said. “I…”
She locked eyes with me from across the bus, and hesitated.
“I was walking back to the bus when a guy jumped out of an alley and tried to rob me!”
Riot leaped to his feet like he was ready to march to war. “Where? Is he still there? Take me back to where it happened so I can kick his ass.”
“Make that two of us,” Milo said, balling his hands into fists.
“He’s gone,” Roxie quickly said. “Two guys chased him off. I think he was homeless. Not worth your time.”
“Two guys chased him off?” Milo asked. “Were they more or less handsome than us?” He threw an arm over Riot’s shoulder.
Riot shrugged him off and said, “Are you okay?”
“I’m totally fine,” she insisted, glancing at me again. “Just flustered. I want to forget about the whole thing.”
There was something strange about the way she said it. But then she brushed it off and walked past me into the bus bathroom. I heard the shower begin running a few seconds later.
Like everything else bothering me, I pushed it down and went back to focusing on what actually mattered: my music.
Later that evening, we exited the bus and went into the concert venue. The dressing room was small and cramped, but the food spread was better than anything we’d had to date. “I specifically requested this local restaurant,” I told the others when they also commented on the quality.
“Hell-fucking-yeah,” Milo said, high-fiving me. “You’re the best band-mom a hyper drummer boy could ever have. Do I say that enough? Because I mean it.”
“Love you too, in spite of your hyper drummer energy,” I teased.
When the opening band was done, one of the stage hands came to get us for the main show. We went through our normal routine, sharing a group hug and positive words of encouragement.
“Have a great show,” Roxie said, giving me an extra-long hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. She did the same to Milo and Riot, so it didn’t mean anything, but it still put a little extra energy in my step.
We’d become close. But I didn’t know we werekiss on the cheekclose.
The Detroit crowd did not disappoint—they were loud and energetic from the moment we walked on stage and didn’t let up at all.
“This is an extra special show for us,” Riot said between songs. “Detroit is where our bass player and band mom Cash Delaney is from.”
