Chapter Text
Text to: Sophie B, Craig A. (18 July)
Guys, you won't believe where I am right now! I'm at fuckin CBGB's!! One of the best music venues in the whole fuckin WORLD!! We're about to go on in 15 minutes, but I just wanted to let you guys know! This is huge and I'm so excited! I hope you guys are doing okay! Love you both!
Hi, there! It's been a while, and I'm sure you're wondering something along the lines of 'how the hell did I get here?' Well, just like that time when I started having sex, it's a long story, but that's what you're here for, isn't it?
I wish I could say it was one of those meteoric rises to stardom, but at the time, my life was as grey as the sidewalk and the sky. Life at Darrell County Community College (D-triple-C, to anyone who goes here) has been... okay. There aren't any crazy preachers trying to shoot the place up, thank goodness (as far as I know, Craig's dad is still in jail: turns out that trying to overthrow the government – even at the state level – is bad). I've modeled in art classes (gives me a decent chunk of change), and I've been to my share of parties. They even called me 'Helen the Hellraiser,' for a while.
My sex life is... not doing too great these days; not so much active as it is dormant, like a volcano. I've had guys who were either too stupid, too eager, too clingy, and the girls were either too aloof, too angry, or... some of them were too clingy, too, if I'm being honest. Ernie Ericson has been a anchor of stableness (is that even a word? The author's leaving it in, so I guess it counts), but he's transferring to Mountain Height State after the summer. I'm getting my associate's degree next week, but I have no idea what the hell I want to do... I just feel like I'm in a rut.
Look at all this ennui!
What's it like for Helen Jumper?
Just a bunch of Hooey!
That's the life for Helen Jumper!
Not as toe-tapping as previous iterations, huh?
Here I am, sitting on one of the outdoor benches, one of the ones next to a giant chessboard, thinking about how sometimes I wish I could just go back to high school, you know? At least there was something resembling stability there. You know what? Nevermind! I revoke this wish immediately! I suddenly remembered just how crazy Craig's dad was. Even my non-erotic fantasies have gone to shit! I fuckin' hate this!
“What's going on, Jumper?” said a familiar voice.
I turn around and it's Ernie Ericson. He had a bit of a glow-up after we graduated. Not awkward anymore, but he's still got the glasses, he just looks like the “nerdy” member of a Korean boy-band, okay? I want to jump his bones even more than I did in high school, but alas, I tried and failed. For Mister Ericson is a member of the Asexual community. But I'm still friends with him, though. I'm not that kind of person who reacts to rejection in the shittiest way possible
“Bored as fuck,” I say to him, “I'll be elated as hell when this semester is finally over! Two years out of high school, and I still don't know what the fuck I want to do with my life, you know?”
Ernie nodded. “I'm not a hundred percent sure, either,” he said, “but something has to be better than nothing! Going to Mountain Height State on their dollar, though, is a wonderful way to find some direction.”
“Congratulations again, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“I am not looking forward to graduation, though...”
“Eh, it probably won't be so bad.”
My right eye twitched a little. “I've played these ceremonies for three semesters with the jazz band, and every one of them are the fucking same. First, the graduates walk in while we play Pomp and Circumstance over and over and over, until the end of fucking time.
“The board of regents gives the 'keynote' speech, where instead of doing the 'you should celebrate your accomplishments, pat yourselves on the back' speil, he talks about how wonderful it is to be a student-- and how the D-triple-C experience was was an contributor to our success. He takes graduation and turns it into a fucking commercial for the college. 'Come to D-triple-C, where nobody knows what to fucking do with a dick or a pussy!”
“Hey, Jumper,” Said Ernie, “I get that it's a pain in the ass for you, but don't shit on my, and your, big day, Okay?”
“I'm sorry, Ernie, I'm--”
“In a rut, I know.”
I could practically feel him rolling his eyes. Ugh... even Ernie Ericson is sick of my bullshit. If I'm being honest, I am, too... I just don't know how to get the fuck out of it.
I put a hand on Ernie's shoulder. “I'm sorry I've been such a shit, lately,” I said, “thanks for putting up with my bullshit.”
Nothing gets to Ernie, like sincerity. “It's fine,” he says, “well—not fine, but I know you're going through some shit—just try to be happy about graduation, please?”
“Yeah... at least, for Mom and Dad.”
“Yeah, I bet they're proud as hell of you for making it this far.
I start walking to the cafeteria.”I'm gonna miss you, Ernie.”
“Your presence made the D-triple-C experience tolerable.”
Graduation happened just as I expected it would. Normally, I'd be walking to my seat with all the other graduates (trying not to shit on my own moment), I play my bass with the D-triple-C jazz band one more time. It was the one class that had a hundred percent of my attention. I had to be all in if I was going to get through tunes like “Cherry Juice,” or any of the Ellington catalogue. But, Professor Edwards is one of those teachers you really don't want to disappoint, so we worked our asses off, so we owe a lot to him. Or at least I do; thanks to him, I can read chord changes, now!
Yeah, I know I keep talking about the band, but this ceremony is soooo fucking borrring! Another one of our esteemed board of regents is giving a commercial for the school, again.
“And to the families of the graduates,” she says (she really isn't important to be named), “if seeing the graduates walking the stage sparks some inspiration in you, then don't hesitate to go to DarrellCCC.edu and apply to make your dreams come true.”
See? Total ad.
After what felt like For-fucking-ever, I get my diploma (actually, just an empty scroll with some generic 'congratulations' text on it – they send the actual diplomas in the mail), everyone got to toss their cap in the air, like they do in the movies (actually enjoyed that part), and off went my parents and me to one of the best sushi buffets in the tri-state area.
“Congratulations, springboard!” said my Dad, taking every opportunity to hug me.
“I'm real happy for you, hon,” said my mom as she snapped pictures of me. Both my parents have bachelor's degrees, my mom even went for a master's, I don't see why this is a big deal.
“I know you're probably thinking, 'why are my parents making a big deal out of this,'” said Dad, apparently reading my mind, “'after all, don't my parents both have bachelor's degrees?'”
I hate when he does that.
“Furthering your education is a lofty goal, hon,” said my mom, moving around so all three of us could be in a selfie, “you gotta celebrate every step you take in knowing that much more.” We all smiled as best we can as Mom flashed the selfie button, but alas, their smiles are awkward, and I inherited my smile from them.
It'll still go up on Facebook and get a billion million likes from our extended family. The Jumpers aren't afraid to spring into the public, warts and all.
Get it? 'Spring' into the public? 'Cause our last name's Jumper?
Eh... anyway...
Once we were finally finished taking graduation pictures (for now), I managed to finally dig into the sushi buffet. I manage to snag three pieces of shrimp, four pieces of tuna, and one piece of every other roll that was on display... I gotta save something for the second time around.
As we dug in, my taste buds fucking came after that first piece of tuna went into my mouth. I haven't had good sushi in months. The last time was when I tried some discount sushi at a cheap grocery store. Did that once, never doing it again. This is fuckin' paradise after two years of dorm life and cafeteria food. I burned myself out on Cap'n Crunch, because it was the only thing that cafeteria hadn't fucked up.
Once our bellies were full, mom began, “Well, Helen,” she said, “you still haven't decided where you want to finish your bachelor's, yet?”
Ugh... I knew this conversation was going to happen sooner or later.
“No, mom,” I said, my mouth full of Philadelphia Roll, “I hadn't.”
I took a gulp of my food, and washed it down with a Pepsi before I continued.
“I still have no idea what I want to do... I don't want to waste you guys' money.”
“While we appreciate that,” Dad said, in-between mouthfuls, “while you're figuring out what to do with yourself, you're gonna be working.”
Time for some damage control.
“I already put in ten applications a week before the ceremony. Steph said she could get me an in at Spencer's now that she's assistant manager.”
Go read about her in the last story, she barely had a cameo, but she's cool.
“I already have a job for you,” said Dad, with a grin.
My eyes wanted to roll into the back of my head, but I stopped myself. “You don't mean...”
“Yep, you're going to be doing mixes for your old man.”
Uuuughhhhh... okay, let me explain... my last two years of high school, I really got into sound production, and Dad was more than eager to show me how to work the whole thing. I know what controls the bass, what controls the treble. He trained me to hear what a pin drop sounded like. He had me test microphones, showed me how to set up a recording session. And unfortunately for me, I got really fucking good at it, so good to the point to where Dad would bring me along on gigs. I got “experience in the field” and he would get some cheap labor. I was a glorified roadie.
“More gigs paid for $40, plus food?” I asked him.
“Actually, you'll be paid more, believe it or not,” he said with a smirk.
I sighed gently, and looked at him. “How much?” I asked.
“Six hundred,” he said.
“A week?”
“A night.”
“Say what?”
“There's a guy who runs a bar with live music out in the suburbs of Capitol City. I did sound for him, off and on, between calls for me to come record. Lately, I've been getting more calls, and the owner has his son do the board. It's... not very good.
“So. I told him about your skills, and he said he would pay $400”
“Didn't you say it was $600, Dad”
“It is; I argued for more pay. You're welcome.”
Well, shit, he went to all this trouble to get me a job, I'd have to be an asshole not to take it.
“I'll think about it,” I said.
“Don't think too long,” Mom said, “or I'll have you doing housework with Vanessa.”
Damn, she got me.
For those of you coming in hot to this story, let me fill you in; Vanessa was my parents' housekeeper ever since I was about 5 or so, and around my sophomore year, I found out she was also my parents' mutual lover. It was a whole thing. Go read about it, it's good! It confirmed to me that I was Poly! And housework with her is a total bitch of a time!
“Okay, Dad,” I said, “when do I start?”
“Next week,” he said.
Even though I was glad to have the money and something to do, I still wanted to bitch to Steph, and she's always at work, so getting ahold of her was easy.
“Hey,” she said, pushing her self up against the nose ring counter. “it's a pretty good gig, You're making way fucking more than what I would have had to pay you. If I could pay you, that is.”
It turned out, waiting for Steph to give me a job would have been a huge fucking waste of my time; they initiated a hiring freeze, two weeks ago.
“Yeah,” I said, “but now most of my evenings are spoken for. I mean, what if I wanted to go on a date some night, huh?”
“You mean with all of the lovely, lonely, horny men Maple Creek has to offer?”
“Shit. You got a point.”
The two of us shared a laugh at that. Most of the decent dudes in that town left as soon as they graduated high school... the not-so decent guys pack up by the time they turn 25. The ones that were still there, after then, they started creeping on the high school girls who were dumb enough to listen to whatever lines they fed them. Everyone says it's gross and predatory, and it kinda is, but really, I just find it kinda lame, you know? It's like they're trying to get retroactive revenge on all the girls who blew them off back when they were in high school. Anyway...
“Who knows?” she said, “could be fun.”
“I guess,” I said, “think you might come down one night and keep me company?”
“I don't see why not.”
---
A few nights after that conversation, I started the job. 7 pm to 11 pm every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. We're supposed to get weddings, which is a whole other beast, but I'll cross that bridge when I get to it, I suppose. I have my hands full with so-so heavy metal bands who think they're the next Dethklok. If I have to hear “Face Fist” one more time, I'm going to fucking scream! Not to mention that, at soundcheck, after we have everything nice and leveled out, I tell the band not to mess with the levels, and what the fuck to they do? They turn everything up to eleven! Like the audience thinks they'll suck less if they play as loud and as fast as possible.
On and unrelated note, I got myself some noise-cancelling headphones, like the air traffic controllers have. I used my first paycheck on them!
And of course, my days off are on the days when people don't to a goddamn thing! I don't go to church (if you read the last story, you'd know why), all the good places to eat close early on Sundays, so if I get to the point where, I realize I should eat an actual meal, it could be too late, and I'm S.O.L. And it would look like corn dogs and hot pockets for dinner tonight... again.
I gotta learn how to cook.
Oh, and I'm living in the guest house, now. After I graduated, and started at D-Triple-C, my parents insisted that I live in the dorms, they would fully furnish my room for me and my roommate. Can you tell they wanted to get me out of the house? And the second I set foot in that dorm room, my parents moved all my stuff to the guest house, so they could move Vanessa in with them! Now that I know what's up, they've gotten to be less coy around me. It's so weird, seeing the three of them together – it's like the three of them are on a second honeymoon. Was that was it was like for me, back then?
Well, it's something to think about later.
Mondays are for trips to the bank (they pay me in cash, and I gotta keep it somewhere), keeping a few bills on me so I can treat myself to a nice meal at Diamond-Tip Mall (Don't worry, I don't seduce middle schoolers, anymore). After lunch, I head over to Spencer's and bug Steph for a few hours, and I may or may not take home a new sex toy afterward, and I may or may not have paid for it. Also, I may or may not have built up a collection. At least my libido is coming back, I guess too much navel-gazing slams the brakes down on the old sex drive. I just needed some time just being active to get my motor running again. Also, I worry about myself a little on that front; I've gotten into butt-stuff. Like I've really gotten into it: I've graduated to the four-and-a-half inchers!
Wednesdays were more of the same, deposit money, eat, bug friend, go home, masturbate. Monotonous? Yeah, but I could use some monotonous structure in my life. When I'm at work, is when all the 'interesting times' happen.
Tuesdays and Thursdays are reserved for the bands that are just starting out, trying to make a name for themselves. Since they're starting out, they don't 100 percent know what they're doing, so they have more of a tendency to listen to the sound guy. Or girl. Or person. Either way, they know that any chance of them getting a clean demo is entirely in my hands. And I'm more of the type to give these guys a break, after all, the audience sure as hell isn't! They're fucking brutal! One band got booed off the stage before they could play a note, and it was because they didn't like the drummer's mullet. Then, that same band tried taking the stage, the next week, with the drummer's head shaved, and they got booed offstage, again! They said he looked like a skinhead, now. Fast forward a month, and their drummer has what's considered a respectable hair length, and they finally were allowed to play their set.
Only to get booed offstage again! It seems that the audience wasn't in the mood for a 70s cover band, that night. At least they got one song in; I turned down the audience jeers as best I could, in the demo. That band, I felt sorry for, and I hope the tape will find them better gigs.
Thursday still featured amateur bands, but a lot of those are the death metal bands that I was complaining about earlier. It never fucking fails, I get the sound levels just right during check, and come showtime, they turn up their instruments all the way, and play a power chord that damn near blows out the speakers. The audience cheers them on every time they do it. Some of these guys have a really devoted fan base, you'll see the same people at every show they play. It would be kinda impressive if they weren't so annoying.
Any time I tell them they needed to make sure they could hear each other, and they usually say yes, but then, come showtime, their monitors are at minimum and before you know it, one of their songs was being played with each player at their own tempo, which, kinda made it sound better, I think.
Now, I've been working at that club for the past five months when I get one of those moments that change the course of my life forever... an 'inciting incident,' if you will.
But, first! I gotta tell you the story of how I got my groove back.