All The Small Things (part 1)
This is fiction. The characters and events in this story are imaginary. Nothing is implied or should be inferred about people, places, or events in the real world.
Contains strong language from the outset.
All the Small Things
One friend in a lifetime is much, two are many,
three are hardly possible.
- Henry Brooks Adams
Thursday, late morning
“For fuck's sake!”
Tom slashed his pick across the strings, took aim and fired it across the room. The bass player shrank in his chair and tried to hide behind his arm. The pick fluttered to the carpet, not even halfway to its target.
Harry tossed his sticks high over his head, reached up and caught them. Danny slid his fingers down the fretboard and pulled them away with a squawk. He looked back at the drummer and rolled his eyes.
“We've been through this bloody thing a hundred times, and you've screwed it up again. You sit there, like a… a… Just how fucking useless are you?” Tom slammed his guitar onto its stand and started across the room.
Doug cringed again. Danny lifted an arm and stepped forward half a pace, but Tom had already stopped, huffed, and turned away. He stamped over to the window, punched the sill and bent forward, breath pulsing white on the glass.
Danny glanced at Harry. The drummer nodded and stood up.
“I'm taking a bog break. Tom, talk to you a minute?” He stepped around his kit, walked to the exit, looked back and waited.
“Tom.”
Tom lifted his eyes, glared at a passing cloud, then turned. “What?”
Harry pulled the handle and tilted his head. Tom sighed and trudged towards him. The drummer watched him go by, then followed him out.
Danny waited for the door to swing shut, then crossed to where Doug slumped over his new bass. The lad talked about nothing else before the order went in, and when the white Stingray finally arrived he was over the moon, couldn't put it down. Now he was clinging to it like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.
“He doesn't mean it, you know.” Danny squatted beside the grey folding chair. “None of it. He gets stressed over summat, any little thing sets him off. Thunder and lightning, lots of wind, and a minute later he's sweet old Tom again. It isn't you.”
He began to topple, and steadied himself with a hand on the backrest. “First time he blew up at me, I ran away.”
Doug looked up. His cheeks were glistening.
Danny swallowed. “It's true. I locked us out of our hotel room. He went mental, I really thought he were going to start swinging. So I legged it.”
He glanced at the pages on Doug's stand, pointed at the right side, then the left. “These are different songs. Where's the rest of this one?” He flicked through the sheaf, grunted and looked around.
“A-ha! Thought you could escape, did you? Ha!” He leapt on a stray piece of paper behind the chair and set it on the stand. “That's better.”
Doug sat up, squinted at the pages and worked his left hand silently over the frets, looked up and nodded. Danny led in, and they played through the passage together.
“Yeah! Brilliant!” Danny held up his hand. Doug studied it for a moment, then raised his eyes, his face blank.
“High five, mate.”
His ears and cheeks turned pink, and he lifted his hand.
Danny laughed and slapped palms, then set down his guitar, went to the cool box and fished out two cans.
“I know what you need. Here, take a break while we have the chance.” Danny sat cross-legged in front of the chair and tilted back his head to drink.
Doug set his bass on the stand, examined the pickups and rubbed away a smudge, then picked up his can and tugged at the ring pull.
“Oh, right. Tom blew up, I legged it. Yeah… I walked around, ended up in a park. I thought bloody hell, that's it, it's over, half a week in London and I'm fired.”
Doug's head jerked up.
Danny's finger picked at the carpet by his shins. He smiled.
“Then Walter turned up. Little guy only had one leg, kept hopping up to me. He looked well hungry. I only had enough for a hot dog. He ate the roll, wouldn't touch the sausage, so I had it.”
Danny chuckled and looked up through his hair. “I reckon he thought I were crazy. It weren't that bad. Anyway, talked to him for ages, then it got dark and he flew away. Walked some more, and there I was, back at hotel. Went in lobby, sat down. Didn't know what else to do, really. My keys, my phone, all my stuff were in room.
“Then Tom came down to the front desk. He saw me, came tearing over. He were in a right state, panicking, phoned half the hospitals in London. Been crying… You know, for all his effing and blinding, the big lump couldn't hurt a mushroom.”
Doug took a long drink. His mouth lingered near the can, while his eyes drifted towards the window. Danny watched, his own eyes and mouth as uncertain where to look or what to say as guests caught up in a family argument.
The door swung open, Danny swivelled around. Harry strode in, then held the door with his foot as Tom shuffled, head down, a couple of steps behind.
“We sorted it,” Danny said. He stood, and patted Doug on the shoulder. “The music were a bit muddled, that's all.”
Tom looked up and opened his mouth.
Harry glared and cut him off. “OK, let's do it, then break for lunch. We've only got an hour before we need to leave.”
He sat down on his stool, waited for the others to get set, and counted in.
Part 2 ⇒
Contains strong language from the outset.
All the Small Things
One friend in a lifetime is much, two are many,
three are hardly possible.
- Henry Brooks Adams
Thursday, late morning
“For fuck's sake!”
Tom slashed his pick across the strings, took aim and fired it across the room. The bass player shrank in his chair and tried to hide behind his arm. The pick fluttered to the carpet, not even halfway to its target.
Harry tossed his sticks high over his head, reached up and caught them. Danny slid his fingers down the fretboard and pulled them away with a squawk. He looked back at the drummer and rolled his eyes.
“We've been through this bloody thing a hundred times, and you've screwed it up again. You sit there, like a… a… Just how fucking useless are you?” Tom slammed his guitar onto its stand and started across the room.
Doug cringed again. Danny lifted an arm and stepped forward half a pace, but Tom had already stopped, huffed, and turned away. He stamped over to the window, punched the sill and bent forward, breath pulsing white on the glass.
Danny glanced at Harry. The drummer nodded and stood up.
“I'm taking a bog break. Tom, talk to you a minute?” He stepped around his kit, walked to the exit, looked back and waited.
“Tom.”
Tom lifted his eyes, glared at a passing cloud, then turned. “What?”
Harry pulled the handle and tilted his head. Tom sighed and trudged towards him. The drummer watched him go by, then followed him out.
Danny waited for the door to swing shut, then crossed to where Doug slumped over his new bass. The lad talked about nothing else before the order went in, and when the white Stingray finally arrived he was over the moon, couldn't put it down. Now he was clinging to it like it was the only thing keeping him afloat.
“He doesn't mean it, you know.” Danny squatted beside the grey folding chair. “None of it. He gets stressed over summat, any little thing sets him off. Thunder and lightning, lots of wind, and a minute later he's sweet old Tom again. It isn't you.”
He began to topple, and steadied himself with a hand on the backrest. “First time he blew up at me, I ran away.”
Doug looked up. His cheeks were glistening.
Danny swallowed. “It's true. I locked us out of our hotel room. He went mental, I really thought he were going to start swinging. So I legged it.”
He glanced at the pages on Doug's stand, pointed at the right side, then the left. “These are different songs. Where's the rest of this one?” He flicked through the sheaf, grunted and looked around.
“A-ha! Thought you could escape, did you? Ha!” He leapt on a stray piece of paper behind the chair and set it on the stand. “That's better.”
Doug sat up, squinted at the pages and worked his left hand silently over the frets, looked up and nodded. Danny led in, and they played through the passage together.
“Yeah! Brilliant!” Danny held up his hand. Doug studied it for a moment, then raised his eyes, his face blank.
“High five, mate.”
His ears and cheeks turned pink, and he lifted his hand.
Danny laughed and slapped palms, then set down his guitar, went to the cool box and fished out two cans.
“I know what you need. Here, take a break while we have the chance.” Danny sat cross-legged in front of the chair and tilted back his head to drink.
Doug set his bass on the stand, examined the pickups and rubbed away a smudge, then picked up his can and tugged at the ring pull.
“Oh, right. Tom blew up, I legged it. Yeah… I walked around, ended up in a park. I thought bloody hell, that's it, it's over, half a week in London and I'm fired.”
Doug's head jerked up.
Danny's finger picked at the carpet by his shins. He smiled.
“Then Walter turned up. Little guy only had one leg, kept hopping up to me. He looked well hungry. I only had enough for a hot dog. He ate the roll, wouldn't touch the sausage, so I had it.”
Danny chuckled and looked up through his hair. “I reckon he thought I were crazy. It weren't that bad. Anyway, talked to him for ages, then it got dark and he flew away. Walked some more, and there I was, back at hotel. Went in lobby, sat down. Didn't know what else to do, really. My keys, my phone, all my stuff were in room.
“Then Tom came down to the front desk. He saw me, came tearing over. He were in a right state, panicking, phoned half the hospitals in London. Been crying… You know, for all his effing and blinding, the big lump couldn't hurt a mushroom.”
Doug took a long drink. His mouth lingered near the can, while his eyes drifted towards the window. Danny watched, his own eyes and mouth as uncertain where to look or what to say as guests caught up in a family argument.
The door swung open, Danny swivelled around. Harry strode in, then held the door with his foot as Tom shuffled, head down, a couple of steps behind.
“We sorted it,” Danny said. He stood, and patted Doug on the shoulder. “The music were a bit muddled, that's all.”
Tom looked up and opened his mouth.
Harry glared and cut him off. “OK, let's do it, then break for lunch. We've only got an hour before we need to leave.”
He sat down on his stool, waited for the others to get set, and counted in.
Part 2 ⇒