The Anomalies (8 page)

I’m always along for the ride. I can’t drive. I don’t have a choice. But someday I’ll be sixteen. Look out when that happens. And then I turn eighteen, and then I turn twenty-one. By that age everything becomes okay. I can do everything.

Aurora drives us to Ken’s Fried Chicken. She drives a LeBaron. She’s mad about what her ex-boyfriend did. Luster says he did it because he couldn’t accept her not being a whore. So he made her one behind her back to make it fit better. Luster says he will take care of it. That’s why we’re here.

I follow Aurora back to the kitchen of the Ken’s Fried Chicken. We see a prettyboy reading a Maxim magazine with a slut on the cover.

“Aurora! I know why you’re here,” says Prettyboy. “You’re probably pissed about me putting your picture in the calendar, aren’t you? But, hey—you had clothes on in it, so I figured you wouldn’t care. So are we cool?”

“Yeah, David. We’re cool. That’s not why I’m here.”

Aurora’s ex-boyfriend is a cool guy. A trashy cool guy. Aurora should have known about him. After he looks all over her body, he finally notices me.

“This is my friend Ember,” says Aurora.

“Hey, Ember,” he says. He offers me a high five. Adults always do that to me. I do not give him one. He doesn’t care. He’s already looking at Aurora’s body again.

“Damn, Aurora. You are lookin tight. You should stand more often. Do you want your wheelchair back?”

“No. Keep it.”

“What was that all about anyway?”

“Just another phase I was going through. Anyhow, I came to ask you something.”

“Cool.”

“I was just wondering, are you more like a floppy disk or a hard drive?”

Aurora keeps David occupied with her questions. Luster makes his move. I’m supposed to keep watch. He’s out there talking to the cashier girl. She comes back to the kitchen.

“Duuude. David, that black guy out there wants to buy, like, every calendar we have, man,” says the dumbslut.

“Cool.” His face bunches up. “Hey—wait a minute. Aurora, do you happen to know anything about this?”

“No!” says Aurora. She looks out front. Luster is playing with his big hair. “Like I’d have anything to do with that guy.”

“True,” says the dumb-ass. “That’s cool. Christy, go ahead and sell all of ’em. Might as well. Better yet, let me sell ’em.”

The dick stands up. Then Aurora says, “But, David, I’m not through with you yet.”

He sits back down and sends the slut off. He only looks at Aurora.

“Are you more like pancakes or waffles?”

A couple minutes later I see Luster leaving. I give my signal.

“Aurora, I want to go home and listen to the Debby Boone record.”

“Wait just a minute, Ember. She loves ‘You Light Up My Life,’” says Aurora.

“Shit, no! I want to listen to the Debby Boone record, now! Now or die! Take me!” I throw pans on the floor and
scream. It’s not as fun since I’m supposed to.

“Okay, okay, okay. Settle down,” says Aurora. “Sorry, David. We gotta go.”

“Wait, uh, maybe we could go to a club later and do some body shots or something?” says Fuckhead.

“Take me!” I scream.

“Sorry. I gotta go,” says Aurora.

“Aight. Call me!” he yells when we are leaving.

A box full of calendars sits next to me in the backseat. Aurora said it would be easy to steal them from that dumb cashier girl. She is a crackhead and always comes to work messed up. Luster paid her in dog-betting vouchers.

Our next stop is the Pandemonium. It is the only rock club in town. It is actually a bar. Many people go there. My parents go there a lot.

I follow Luster in. The club is big and empty since it’s daytime. A rock ’n’ roll man is sitting at the bar. He reads a Maxim. He is young and has a nose ring, a little goatee, tattoos, purple hair, and leather pants.

“Can I help you?” asks the dork. He also has a tongue ring.

“Maybe,” answers Luster. “I have a power-pop new wave heavy metal punk rock band named the Anomalies. We want to rock it here like a Randy Savage elbow drop a.s.a.f.p.”

“That’s cool. You can just give me your name and number, and I’ll put you on the list.”

“What list?!”

“Dude, there’s like, twenty bands from the tri-state area who are waiting to play at my club. This is the place to be on the
weekends. So just chill. I’ll put your name on the list, and you can wait six months like everyone else.”

“But we are not like everyone else, and I have to get the rock rolling to get out of this nightmare of the nine to five. We are ready to play. We are ready to rock this town once and for all, put it behind us, and then embark on a rock odyssey of Biblical proportions. We cannot wait that long. We have a lot of work to do and must get started. We have an eighty-year-old guitarist. We have a bass player whose parents might not let her play here once they return from vacation. It has to be next weekend.”

“Man, I’m sorry, but I don’t care, dude. Do you want your name on the list or not?”

“Here are ten Ken’s Fried Chicken calendars with your name on them. Let us play.”

Luster hands the prick the calendars. The prick looks through one of them and laughs.

“Dude, I’ve boned half of these skanks. Hey, why is December missing?”

“Can we play here this weekend or not?” asks Luster.

“No, dude.”

“It seems like you would be more sympathetic,” says Luster. “Look at you. You have your piercings and your vinyl pants and your Gen X facial hair. You are what they use to sell Mountain Dew. Your image has been co-opted by corporate America to use in commercials for everything from Starbursts to Volkswagens. They hire models to pose as quirky slackers to sell their stuff, and yet here you are, the genuine article, not seeing a dime. You are being used.”

“Fuck you, dude.”

“The other day I saw a fifteen-year-old cheerleader with that same tattoo on the small of her back,” says Luster.

“All right, man. Now you’re never playing here, plus I’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

“I knew you would say that, you Dave Navarro mother fletcher,” says Luster. “Plan B, Ember. I did not want to resort to this. Please excuse our bass player for one moment.”

As I’m leaving, I hear the dork say, “Man, I can’t have a fuckin little kid playing here, anyway.”

I return with Aurora walking behind me.

“Do we have a gig or not, Luster?” she says. “I’m getting tired of waiting in the car.”

“This pecker says we have to wait six months to play here like everyone else.”

He’s already looking at her all over.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” he says. “She’s in your band?”

We have a gig next Friday. I hope I grow up to be pretty. It will make my hell-raising much easier.

Monday I get in trouble again at school. The lesbo teacher couldn’t get my parents to come in for another conference. They are bungee-jumping in Cancun.

The teacher says it’s important. She calls my emergency contact, Opal. Opal comes in after school to talk to her. Ray is with her. I sit on the floor.

“First, I guess I should show you Ember’s latest stunt,” says Ms. Watson.

She shows Opal and Ray the flyer I made. It shows a naked demon licking another naked demon. It says “Live @ The Pandemonium, Friday—The Anomalies.” I got caught passing it
out to the other kids.

“That’s us!” says Ray. “We’re the Annohmaylees.”

“It’s the AnnAHmullies, dipshit,” says Opal.

Luster came up with our name the other day. I looked it up. It’s perfect for us. Nobody knows what it means.

“Yeah. Ember’s in that band with us. She’s publicizing our show with a punk rock flyer. What of it?” asks Opal.

“Ms. Oglesby, the picture on the flyer is entirely inappropriate. Furthermore, do you really think Ember should be allowed to play with you adults at this establishment? I’ve heard it gets pretty wild there.”

“Well, furthermore even more, it’s an all-ages show,” says Opal. “We wanted it that way. And take it from me, fellow. You’re only young once. I wish I had been rocking out at her age.”

Opal has taught me to rock out every chance I get.

“You should come see us,” says Ray. “We rock it—oh we rock so goodly, it is like—can I say ‘orgasmic’ as a word?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” asks my teacher.

“I’m friends with Ember and Opal. I am here for supporting morals.”

“I see. Well, since I last met with Ember’s parents, I’ve seen no improvements in her behavior. In fact, in the last three weeks, it’s gotten worse. It’s almost like she’s trying to get sent home.”

“No shit,” I say. They don’t hear me or act like they don’t.

“We know all about her behavior,” says Ray. “We can’t get her to go to bed until little hours like two or three. We have to tell her bedtime stories to get her to wake down. But she’s not hurting anything or anyone. She is being Ember. We think it is okay.”

“So are you living with Ember?” asks the teacher.

“The whole band lives with her, just until her parents return,” says Ray. “The band has practice at Ember’s every night, and then we all just sleep over for slumber partying.”

“Shut up, Ray,” says Opal. “She doesn’t need to hear about all of that.”

“That would explain why she’s been falling asleep so much lately,” says Ms. Watson. “She’s also been breaking the dress code, dressing like Tina Turner from Mad Max nearly every day.”

“We thought that was cute,” says Opal.

“I’ll give you the bottom line. Ember’s stretched this school’s rules and regulations to their limit. The principal has decided to expel her. And considering her parents aren’t even in this country and that she is living with a rock band, I will have to recommend that she be put in the East Home.”

“Actually, expelling her would work out nice for us,” says Opal. “We were thinking about going on tour soon, so that would free her bum-bum up.”

“But a child needs an education, and—”

“I know that. Let me finish, boy! Could we homeschool her on the road?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’re sure not gonna let you put her arse in some home. Her parents may not be worth a crud, but she’s got family in us.”

Opal strokes my hair. Ray pats me on the shoulder. Being expelled sounds okay. I hate school and the people in it. I am happy with this situation. I like being expelled.

We had a good three weeks together. But this week is not all that great. We don’t know what’s going to happen to me. We’ve been avoiding the people from the girls’ home. Opal and I
mostly stay in the basement and don’t answer the door.

Also, Aurora’s ex-boyfriend won’t leave her alone. He found out she was here. But we have caller ID. We finally took the phone off the hook. Aurora also stays in the basement.

Luster and Ray miss the meals sometimes this week. They go out to pass out flyers and tell people about the show. They come home to practice and sleep.

We are tense about the show. We wonder if we’re good enough. Many times this week, Ray has vomited. I stand by him in the bathroom sometimes as he pukes.

Luster says everything should work out if we do well Friday. (I doubt this.) He says if we’re a hit, and maybe even if we’re not, he’ll set up a tour. We can play all over this country. Maybe someday the world. I want to kick ass in a good way if I can.

Tonight is as crucial to our lives as our mothers’ vaginas. Shoulder demons whisper to me, though I cannot differentiate their voices. I cannot distinguish between the timbres of the ideal realist Richard Dreyfuss or the real idealist Albert Camus. None the nevertheless, tonight could tell us everything we need to know about our future as rock music road warriors on the seven chunk ball Earth. Tonight is a microcosm. If they hate us at the biggest club in a small town, they’ll hate us at the smallest club in the biggest town. If the small reptile minds out there can accept us, then I will have faith in all the rest.

We are backstage, already in costume but about to tear our diversified flesh off. My bandmates sit on a couch before me. I talk to myself as I so often do to ease my mind and to get to know me better, though my dramatic monologue is intended for them as well.

If you are not nervous, you should be. Cowardly are the cool. Coolness comes from lies that people give themselves—that they are in control, that everything is going to be all right, that they belong wherever they are. The truth is that every second of every day, there are a thousand things that could go wrong, from the tiny animals infecting our bloodstream to the biggest VIPs making horrendous mistakes that will make our great-grandchildren want to sleep all day. The same applies to our show tonight.

“Is this supposed to be a pep talk?” asks Aurora.

No. I am no coach. I am not that big of an asshole. I am just talking so that my thoughts make sounds. The same principle makes me love rock music. But even rock goes wrong
sometimes. I have the highest of hopes for us, hopes that hop on pogo sticks atop the Olympus Mons. But remember who we will be playing for tonight: humanoids, monkeys with wardrobes. Just by looking at us, they might not like us, but it is only fair as I do not like them. Our only chance of getting through is our sound, so you had better play well. Play like you are going to die. This is my dream, so do not botch it. I do not ever want to start hating you. You are four people I never want to add to my two-century-long shit list.

Dude. This crowd is fucked up. We usually get, like, twenty-something white dudes and their girlfriends. Tonight we’re getting everything from old people to little kids. Now I know why that hot chick’s band wanted it to be all-ages, since it must be their crowd. But it’s not just their ages. I’m seeing everything from big black dudes to rednecks to teenagers to well-dressed adults to strippers I’ve boned to preps and even a lesbian.

It’s fucked up, but I can’t complain. There’s a shitload of people here, and I don’t care what they look like because their cash all looks the same. I should start having all-ages shows, and I should probably even have that one band play here regularly.

I go backstage, and there they are. I almost crack up laughing at ’em ‘cause of their goofy outfits. They’re in these shiny glittery gold jumpsuits with tassels on the sleeves and pant legs. That’s actually pretty cool. It’s nice to see a band going all out for a change.

“Whuzup?” I say to the hot chick.

“Hey,” she says and smiles. She wants me.

“You guys go on in ten minutes. Do you need anything? A Heineken or something?”

“No thanks,” she says.

“Cool. We have a kick-ass crowd out there tonight. Probably the biggest I’ve seen since Stranger Danger came to town.”

“We oughtta have a big crowd out there,” says the old lady. “Luster and Ray have been promotin it like a son of a bitch this past week. They flyered the fuck out of this show.”

“Cool,” I say, making sure my sleeves are rolled high enough for the hot chick to see my tattoos/muscles.

That prissy foreign dude peeks through the curtains.

“Ooh! Almond joy!” he yells. “He’s right. There are tons o’ people in the attendance. Hey! Joe is here!”

Must be his boyfriend.

“So you want to come to a party at my bachelor’s pad after the show?” I ask the chick.

“No. I’m sorry, but I hate parties.”

“That’s cool.” There went your next gig at my club, bitch.

Making my way through the crowd. So varying! What beautiful melting pots you can get in this country! Leather, denim, hair dye, pants, every sort of haircut all over everywhere. Teenage boys make me think of Aymon. Wish he was here. If success comes, Milkah will take me back. They will come back to me, to live to the best.

But all of the different types look at me funny because of my rock and roll costume. I “excuse me” all the way through
them all until I get to Joe in the middle of teen people. He looks bored, smokes droopy cigarette, and wears John Deere cap.

“Joe!” I yell.

“What’s up?” he speaks, looking at my outfit. Smells like beer.

“I’m so glad you came here! I got you a present!” I had his present specially made. It is a T-shirt. A nice one! (Airbrushed.) He holds it up to read the front.

“‘I fought in the Gulf War, and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.’ Ha. That’s pretty good. Course I also got a bullet in the hip, thanks to you! Still limp a little! Got sent home and couldn’t finish my duty as an American!”

How? Don’t know what to say. But then he starts laughing friendily, so so do I.

“Just kidding,” he says.

Shit. I see a bunch of familiar mothah fuckas up in here, you know whum sayin. Cuz I’ve fuckin sold weed to half the mothah fuckas in here, aight. And acid, shit, ecstasy, occasional meth, whatevah, know whum sayin. Wait ’til I tell ’em ’bout my crack, you know whum sayin. It’s all good. My little brothah wanted me to come to this shit, you know whum sayin. Fuckin told us all to come. We said, shit, we didn’t want any of that freaky shit, you know whum sayin. He fuckin told us off, said we was— what was it?— that Eve record, yeah, Eveolution. Said comin here was the least we could do cuz we was makin Eveolution go backwards or something, know whum sayin. Said we was, shit, fuckin turnin back into apes and shit right before his eyes like those mothah
fuckas went from pigs to men in Animal Farm or some shit. Fuckin quotin books and shit we don’t know about. Sometimes I wanna bust a cap in his smart ass, you know whum sayin. His Reading Rainbow ass, you know whum sayin. We didn’t know what the fuck he was talkin ’bout, you know whum sayin, but we came cuz we figured we could find some customers here, and we was right.

As I’m looking over the crowd through the curtains, I see that my father ended up coming to the show. He’s gradually coming to terms with his broken Jesus statue, and I think he no longer resents the band. I see him out there talking to Christy and Kristie. He probably recognizes them from the calendar.

I also happen to see an odd-looking boy standing alone off to the side. He looks uncomfortable here but kind of like he’d be uncomfortable regardless of his surroundings. He’s looking at the crowd like he either hates them or he’s afraid of them, or maybe even afraid for them. He’s not handsome in a traditional sense, and I could do without the dorky Bill Cosby sweater, but I want him horribly. I’m picturing him nervously approaching me after we play a perfect set, and he’d say something like, “I’m sorry, but y’all’s music is just so gorgeous that it hurts me to watch you play it,” or “I’ve been looking for someone like you for so long that I had already given up,” or “Please love me. It could be you and me versus everyone.”

Then, from behind me, I hear someone remark “Whuzup?” in a cool guy voice. It’s David. He’s wearing a visor and jeans with slits cut at the bottom so the pant legs can drape
casually over his sandals.

“What are you doing back here?” I ask him.

“Just chillin. I’m here to forgive you. I’ve been trying to call you. I know you and that black dude stole my calendars. But hey, I guess I had it coming, you know whum sayin, and I can’t stay mad at you when you’re lookin so fine. So are we cool?”

“Sure. I gotta go do something.” I attempt to leave, but he keeps talking.

“Cool. Tell you what. Just to show you there are no hard feelings, I’ll let you hang out with me sometime.”

“Don’t do me any favors, David.”

“That’s cool. Man, lately, you are such a hotty. I gotta be honest, I’m sweatin you pretty hard. What are you doing after the show?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s hook up.”

“David, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested. I don’t know why I ever was. You’re a typical male. You’re a dick. Please leave me alone.”

“That’s cool.”

I walk away. Even after what he did to me with the calendars, I still feel bad about talking to him like that. But with these horny, cocky guys and their one-track minds, sometimes you gotta get tough and s-p-e-l-l things out to get through to them. Even cool guys have to get their hearts broken sometimes. Don’t they?

Nobody has ever done this to me. She cannot do this to me.
Stupid bitch. She cannot treat me like that. I’m not some teenage boy you can just brush off. I’m a man, point blank. I’m twenty-three, I’m in my prime, I got girls all over my stick, I’ve backpacked across Europe, I got a cool job, a sweet Jeep, tight body, perfect hair, people love me, and you don’t talk to me like that. Stupid bitch. I’m gonna make her pay. She’s a hot piece of ass, but you know what? So am I. The bottom line is you don’t treat me like that, point blank…Ah cool, somebody’s got a sweet amp back here. It would kick ass as a car stereo speaker. Cool.

I see some prettyboy snooping around my amp, probably dreaming about what it would be like to have car speakers that size. I say, “That’s not a bass amp like you’d want, so just fuck off,” and he says “whatever” and does just that.

I peek through the curtains to take a look-see at the audience. It’s a damn good-sized crowd. For once in my eighty years living here, this town has surprised me. I see most everyone I know, except for my nieces and their kids. I see my group therapy cronies, and even Kip took the night off from the gay bar to come and see me. Lots of sweet prat out there, too.

Dammit. I wish I had been rockin out all along like this instead of working in a damn car part factory my whole life, slaving away making rims and hubcaps. But I reckon I can make up for it now. I’ll just rock extra hard.

I hope the show goes well tonight. Ah, what the hell—Dear Lord, please let it go well tonight at the show. Let them accept us and like us. And please let us get somewhere with our music. We all need it. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you for so long or gone
to church for ten years, but it’s just ’cause I didn’t want to be partying and having sex on a Saturday just to be acting all holy on Sunday. You know that’s what they all do, and I didn’t want to be like that. I’m sorry. And you know every time Mass was over and everyone was filing out, they wouldn’t let each other out of the pews and into the aisles. There were similar situations in the parking lot afterwards. It just got to the point where I hated being around those people, and then I got so old that I started doing whatever I wanted. Isn’t that sorta like you?

Come to think of it, could that explain things? I know you waited millions of years before you put us here. Were you just getting tired by that point, and that’s why we turned out like this, so used up and unoriginal? I don’t mean to blame you, and I should point out that you have made a few diamonds in the rough. Russell Crowe and Wesley Snipes immediately come to mind. And you did really well with my bandmates, too.

I hope we do you proud, because we really are on a kind of mission with this band, and I think it’s one that you’d approve of. Anyhow, I thank you for everything. It’s been rough, but here I am, so thanks for letting me be. Please, just don’t let me start driving slow like an old woman anytime soon, and please let things go well tonight.

Opal:

Thank you for submitting your query for “THINGS GOING WELL TONIGHT AT THE SHOW.” However, We are currently experiencing a heavy production schedule, and, unfortunately, your project does not meet Our needs at this
time. Thanks for considering Us, and best of luck to you tonight and in the future.

Yours Truly,

God

P.S.—You’re right about Crowe and Snipes. They’re a couple of my faves, too!

I had another nightmare last night. Everybody was dying. It was no one I knew. Just tons of people without faces. Billions of them. All of them. Their faces were cut off. They were in piles. They were on fire.

I was safe, though, up really high somewhere. I was telling them to line up and then walk into the fire. They all did exactly what I told them to do.

I watched it all. I was crying tears made of blood. But the scary part was that they were happy tears.

“Are you okay, crazy baby?” asks Luster.

“Yeah.”

“You look a bit more saturnine than usual, little friend.”

“I’m okay.”

Luster crouches down to talk to me. He quiets his voice for me.

“What is wrong, rabid child? Talk.”

I can’t avoid him, but I don’t mind it.

“I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of, darling one?”

I can’t tell him about my nightmare. It’s too weird. Even for him. I don’t answer.

“Is it our show? Is that it?” he asks. My dream is bothering me, but he’s right. I’m afraid of the show, too. I nod.

“I am scared, too, baby. There would be something wrong with us if we were not scared. We do not want to play it all cool like a bunch of rappers or contestants on Elimidate or fratboys at a pool party, do we?”

“No. They’re in denial.”

Luster laughs. “That is right. You said it.” He suddenly frowns. “But, Ember, maybe we were wrong in having you rock out with us. Maybe you should be doing little kid things instead of playing with us.”

“No! Hell no, dumb-ass! I’m doing what I want! I love this band! Shuts the hell up, shit-head.” The other bandmates walk over when they hear me yelling. Luster doesn’t see that they stand behind him. He laughs again.

“There is the Ember venom I know and love.” He leans in closer to me and says, “I love this band, too, you know. Even if everyone botches my compositions out there, no matter what happens, I love you people. I guess we really should not be scared after all.”