Under the Stars and Stripes (Under Him)

“So go the rumors.”

“I forgot, you’ve crossed it too.”

“A few times,” Varg said, still in good humor.

“Ever coming back?”

“Next tour maybe. My wife and kid are here. You know how it is.”

“I can’t imagine. Being away from them, I mean.”

“Me neither.”

“Thanks babe, love you too.”

Stephanie appeared on the screen, giving Varg a lovely little kiss on the cheek. I’d only met her a few times in the role of tour manager for his band, though I’d never seen their little one, who was bouncing in her arms as she planted the smooch.

He looked different out of his stage-clothes, a polo shirt buttoned to the top, his long hair tied into a neat ponytail. I couldn’t help but wonder if domestic bliss might have defanged him a bit. Not that that would be a bad thing. He always seemed to have an edge. Even more than that found in most Heavy Metal frontmen.

I wasn’t a Metalhead myself, but knew a lot of them, and tended to be misunderstood in similar terms by people who were as equally ignorant as the ‘Metal is Satanic’ gang of morons. Something had always struck me a bit odd about him.

He had an authentic, dark intensity possessed by few, and survived by even less. It was good to see him doing better.

“How you doing, Theo?” Stephanie asked him.

“Good, Stephanie, and you?”

“Couldn’t be better. We’re really looking forward to seeing you tomorrow. In the flesh, that is.”

“Digital just isn’t the same, is it?”

“You have no idea,” Stephanie said, punching Varg gently in the shoulder.

Returned fully to the real world, my U.S. contacts confirmed, I finally felt relaxed enough to let go. I’d likely miss out on the complimentary breakfast, but that was the least of my potential worries.

Chapter Five - Becca

The ring was still there. A low, persistent tone in my ears. Like my brain was prompting someone to leave a message.

The message from the previous night, while indirect, was also clear. Something had changed in me. An element I didn’t quite have the words to describe. It was like a door had opened to a whole new world. One I was eager to explore.

The jacket creaked as I rose like a mummy from the tomb. I hadn’t drunk the night before. Just wasn’t my scene. But I came home exhausted enough to have it be basically the same result. My clothes stayed on as I crashed on the bed.

I didn’t have my forced seminar that day and was as free as I would get until graduation. Then it would be time to face the big, scary world, all on my own.

I’d put it off as long as I could, knowing even as I did it that I was only delaying the inevitable. Like death and taxes, adulthood came for us all in the end. It was the only other thing that could really be counted on in an otherwise chaotic universe.

After the scene I’d inadvertently made the day before, Ashe basically insisted that we meet at a restaurant for lunch the next day. There were still no guarantees, but at least I wouldn’t negatively affect her working life were things to go pear-shaped again.

I would still be on my best behavior, with minimum ‘moment of excitements,’ as my mother used to call them. She could have had a bright career in the diplomatic service.

I was there first, surprising no one. They didn’t call me ‘Stopwatch’ because I was good at chess. Although I was actually President of the chess club, much to the pride of my father, who’d held the same office when he was at school. Granted, for him, that was for medical school. But at least there was one way in which I had followed the family tradition.

As I waited, I listened, putting the Loki’s Laugh disc through its paces once again, wondering if they were planning to put out another one soon. I doubted I would ever really tire of their debut. Each of the tracks were so complex that I was still finding new things in each of them.

It was a bit of a diversion from planning my graduation concert, but that was good sometimes. Too much work could be as bad as not enough.

“Hey, early bird,” Ashe said.

“Hi.”

I put the neatly folded jacket onto the table, placing the Chuck’s on top of it.

“Still wearing the shirt, hey?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Just make sure to wash it on occasion.”

“Of course I will, I—”

“Gorey bat.”

That silenced me right quick. It didn’t seem like Ashe was ever going to let me forget that time in our second year that she gave me a T-shirt with a silk-screened version of an Edward Gorey illustration. The one with the flying bat.

I loved it so much, I wore it every day without rest. It had nearly disintegrated off my back by the second month.