Power Chord by Ted Staunton

sing on the chorus.
    While we mangle my song, part of me floats above everything. That part of me is calm. It wonders what sounds worse than a strangled chicken. Archie barfing? A sick ostrich? Pick one, it tells the rest of me, because that’s how you sound, especially on that high note you can never quite reach—the one that’s coming up now. Then it tells me that “Sleeping in the Backseat” still sucks. All that running, running, running doesn’t cut it. Meanwhile, the rest of me feels as if I’m in a train wreck.
    There’s a trickle of clapping when we finish. Then comes the kiss of death.
    Someone at the back is clapping like crazy. I don’t even have to look to know it’s Mom.

Chapter Fifteen
    As we come offstage I know one thing. Now that I’ve blabbed that we didn’t write our good song, no one’s going to listen to us again. Ever. Actually I know two things, because I also know that I feel so crappy I don’t want to see anybody. Too bad that’s not an option. Mom and Chuck are already in front of me.
    â€œHon, I loved it! Why didn’t you play that for me before? It’s so sensitive .”
    â€œThanks, Mom.”
    Mom laughs. “Don’t be sarcastic, you. I had to shuffle a lot of things, but I wouldn’t have missed that for the world.” Then she says, “And look who I met at an agent’s open house last week!”
    â€œDavey,” Chuck says, “how are ya?” Chuck is grinning. He sticks out his hand. Mine are full. He sees and laughs. “Know the feeling.” His mustache is shorter now. He’s thicker-looking. “Man,” he says. “Did that take me back! Who’d have thought you guys would still be listening to that stuff? Loved what ya did with it! Make me a million, okay? Hey, we’ve got to do some pickin’. You still got the guitar too?”
    I nod.
    â€œSmokin’,” says Chuck. “You’re on! Haven’t played since I gave up truckin’. Sell houses now like your mom. I’ll be over, okay? Let’s do it.”
    I nod again. I’m still trying to catch up. Mom takes Chuck by his leather-coated arm and says, “We’re going to grab a quick bite, hon. Do you want to come with us?”
    â€œI’d better stay here,” I say.
    Mom smiles and says, “All right. We won’t be late.”
    Next it’s Denny and Pig. I see them at the guitar cases. I’m still thinking about my mom’s “ We won’t be late.” Denny and Pig won’t look at me. I know I have to say it.
    I put down the bass amp. It’s killing my arm. “Look,” I say, “sorry, but I saw them come in. I had to.”
    â€œAw, no sweat.” Denny shrugs as he snaps his case shut. “Alison said they got good footage.”
    That makes me feel a little better. After all, it’s not as if the whole world was here. “So Pig can post it on Myspace,” I say.
    â€œWell,” Denny stands and shuffles. Then he says, “It wasn’t exactly for that. See, they were just filming me. For a video club project.”
    â€œVideo club?” I say.
    Denny says, “Yeah, I joined, ’cause like, the girls wanted me too. We’re making this movie.” Denny shrugs and makes a face. He says, “So, like, sorry, Ace, but I have to bail on the band. There’s not gonna be enough time for music.”
    â€œBut—,” I say.
    â€œMe too,” says Pig, from behind his shades. It might be the first thing he’s said all night.
    â€œWhat?” I spin to him. “You joined video club too?”
    â€œNo,” Pig says. “I’m in air cadets. Always was.”
    â€œ Air cadets ?” I say.
    Pig nods and points to his Cleared For Takeoff T-shirt. “I’m starting flying lessons,” he says.
    Suddenly the boots and the hair and the shades make sense. Pig says, “And my