The Audition - A Tale of Terror Part 1
Posted: Tuesday, April 21, 2009
by Ryan Stroud
Today was the day for Jim. Everything was finally going to change.
Jim, wrapped in a towel covering his recently showered and cleaned body, was searching through his closet, looking for the perfect shirt to wear. Hung in his closet were rows of button-down work shirts with "Jim" plastered across a small patch on the left breast. These were the dreadful work shirts Jim wore Monday through Friday at his dead-end job. Next to them, another row of shirts, these being band t-shirts ranging from Yes to Jimmy Eat World.
He gathered up his jeans and faded Converse All-Stars and stumbled on his torn couch in the living room. The couch, purchased at a second-hand store, filled the tiny living room almost to capacity. Jim looked up from tying his shoes to look at the couch. "When I'm rich and famous, you're the first thing to go," he said out loud, as if having a conversation with the tattered piece of furniture.
Jim sat up and looked around his one bedroom apartment. This was the day, the one he had been waiting for since discovering music as a young, disillusioned teen. This was the day Jim had dreamed about since first hearing the sensational sounds of hard rock and alternative music. This was the day for Jim's audition, a chance for him to break out of this personal hell, low paying jobs and claim his rightful place at the top of Rock n Roll history.
Grave Peril, the leading musicians in Jim's small town, was holding auditions for a lead guitarist to join their group. The heavy drinking bad boys of the town had just signed a recording contract and, following the departure of yet another member from their revolving lineup, was holding auditions around town for a replacement. When Jim got the news Grave Peril was in need of a new ax-man, he quickly gathered a demo he had previously recorded in his tiny apartment together and put it in the mail. A week to the day, he received a call from Murphy, the band's bass player, asking him to come out for an audition. Jim nearly passes out after hanging up the phone. This was his ticket.
With his guitar in its case being carefully carried in his left hand, Jim took the keys to his maroon '91 Chevrolet Beretta and unlocked the trunk. The trunk door squeaked open making a sharp, painful noise to Jim's ears. He shuddered.
Before placing his guitar in the trunk, Jim moved a giant box of cleaning materials to one side. The cleaning aids were a staple to Jim's job as a custodian at a local airport. Jim dreamed for a moment the box of chemicals were really a box of freshly printed CDs with his face on the cover. He started coughing at the smell of Clorox powder entering his nostrils, ending the quick dream.
The airport Jim worked at was a small one, unlike Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson or Chicago's O'Hare. This airport was tiny and hardly known about, making it a hotspot for the rich and famous to fly into. There, no one knew who they were. Rock stars, politicians, TV personalities. They could fly into this airport without anyone working there batting an eye, except for Jim. He knew them, he wanted their lives. Waking up in the morning to a beautiful home and fast cars, this was the life for Jim.
Once while scrubbing a toilet in the dungeon-like men's restroom, a ritual Jim partook in daily, he heard a man in the next stall hurling his lunch up. Jim put his toilet brush down, moved to the stall door and knocked.
"Excuse me, sir. Are you alright?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just a second," a drunken British voice said.
The door slowly opened and Liam Giggs, lead singer of Stuttering Betty, stumbled out. Jim looked at him with shocked eyes, partly because of the stream of vomit falling off Liam's face onto his shirt, partly because it was Liam of Stuttering Betty.
"What you looking at?" the drunk man said.
"Oh, um, you're Liam, aren't you? I, um, I'm a fan of yours, sir," Jim's stumbling voice said.
"Yeah, I am Liam. And you, a fan, right. Well, what's your favorite song then?" Liam said, placing his hands on the bathroom sink and turning on the facet water.
Jim just stared, shocked to be speaking with a rock star.
"What, are you deaf? I said, what's your favorite song?"
"'Lemon Kiss,' from Marvel Endeavor,'" Jim answered.
"I figured, I don't even sing that one. Stupid American. I bet you want an autograph." Liam picked up a trailing piece of toilet paper which was attached to his shoe. He reached up, smacking Jim in the chest as he did so, and pulled a pen out of Jim's shirt pocket. "Here you go, for my number one fan in America."
Liam handed Jim the toilet paper. "Have a good day, Stupid American." Liam exited the restroom, slamming the door behind him. Jim, slightly taken by the experience, looked at the toilet paper, which was covered in small bits of vomit. "Sorry for the bloody mess I left on your floor that you have to clean. Your friend, Laim."
Jim frowned at the wad of paper. "He's so drunk he can't even spell his name right."
To be continued...
Ryan Stroud is a military trained journalist who has served in Iraq with the 3rd Brigade Combat Team, 1st Cavalry Division, US Army. Prior to his military experiences, Stroud grew up playing, coaching, and refereeing soccer. Also, Stroud focused many years of his life playing, touring, and recording/producing local music acts. He has a wonderful wife of 4 years, a 2 year old son and a newborn daughter.
Stroud's biggest writing influences are Jim Butcher, Chuck Palahniuk, Edward Lee, Jack Ketchum, Christopher Moore and Ben Fox.
He currently resides in Huntsville, Al, with the 59th Ordnance Brigade at Redstone Arsenal.
Stroud would also like to take a moment to thank his friends who are currently in battle over in Iraq. God bless all of you.
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