I stormed into the empty apartment and hastily packed as much of my shit together as I could, however my major desire to not run into any of my former band mates forced me to leave with just my suitcase full of clothes and other essentials, and of course my bass, I’d never leave that behind. I stormed out of the place just as I had come in and quickly made my way to the nearest T station. I boarded the first train that came, I didn’t know were it was going all I knew is that is was away, and that was good enough for now.

I don’t know how much time passed when the train arrived at its final destination, Braintree apparently. The voice of the conductor came over the tinny PA system informing all the remaining passengers that this was the final stop and they’d have to get off, though that’s not entirely true, you could stay on the train if you wanted, but since that would only ultimately be bringing me closer to the place I was trying to get away from after some consideration I opted to leave.

As I left the station I stepped upon unfamiliar streets, I didn’t spend much time in Braintree, but I did have a friend around town, however taking the time into consideration I chose not to give him a call, besides I kind of wanted to be alone at the moment, so instead I found my way to the first roadside motel I found and rented a room for the night.

“A bit late too be checking in,” said the surly manager of the motel.

“What’s it to you?” I shot back at him, odd words for the proprietor of a twenty-four hour motel. “Can I just get a room?”

“Sure, sure kid, a nights’ sixty bucks.” I reached into my pocket, glad that I got paid upfront for tonight’s “performance” and handed him three twenties. “Here’s you key then, room 213.”

I took the key and stepped back out into the cold October night and made my way up to my room. I opened the door to my meager lodgings for the evening. I tossed my suitcase by the side of the bed and carefully propped my bass in the corner. I then crashed on the bed and turned on the television, it only got the basic local channels but that was fine, I just wanted something to break the silence. I laid back on the bed as the late night anchor reported on the day’s events. Apparently the Red Sox beat the Rays tying the series to three games each, so I guess the night wasn’t a complete loss. After one final check on the weather, clear and sunny, the news ended and a syndicated sitcom came on, Everybody Loves Raymond, well you know who doesn’t love Raymond? This guy. Fuck Ray! I quickly snatch up the clicker and turned off the television. Not knowing exactly what to do I grabbed my bass and took it out of it’s case. Propping it on my knee I fingered the fret board and without thinking I found myself playing the opening riff to Don’t Stop Believing, this time it was a solo in every sense of the term, and as I finished the opening a roll of thunder and a crack of lightning shot from the sky as the rain began to pour. Good job weather guy.

The lights were dim as the crowd waiting with anticipation, suddenly a single spotlight shined, revealing myself to the crowd. Nothing gets the adrenaline pumping like thirty thousand people cheering you name, even if it’s just a stage one. I silenced them all with a single raised finger and I took up my bass, I wasn’t going to disappoint them, I then raised my right hand and began to play the world’s best slap bass solo. The crowd erupted with excitement as each note from my funky fresh bass beat caressed their ears, then suddenly a violent pounding came from overhead, an explosion revealed Kelsi atop a ten foot tall platform covered in lights and pyrotechnics and she soon began to violently play her drums drowning out any chance of my funky freshness from reaching the audience whose cheers quickly turned in to boos, however those boos too quickly became drowned out by the thumping of the bass drum, pounding of the floor tom and crashing of cymbals.

I awoke with a jerk to hear that the pounding continued in the waking world as well. This pounding was coming from the door. I opened it to find the ever-surly motel manager.

“Checkout’s at noon, it’s now half past twelve,” He angrily said while pointing at his watch.

“Oh come on, I barely just checked in.”

“Either pay for one more night or get out,” he said making his position perfectly clear.

“Here,” I said as I reached into my pocket and handed him another trio of twenties.

“Nice doing business with you,” he said in what I suppose was his friendly voice and then made his way back to his lair. I looked up at the noonday sun that shined brilliantly in a clear blue sky, so I guess the weather guy was kind of right after all.

I walked own the stairs and looked around, spying a little diner across the street I walked over and got myself a bite to eat, but before I entered the diner I bought a copy of the Sunday Globe and opened up to the classified section as I waited for my grilled cheese on rye, I was going to have to find a new place to live after all.

* * *

About a week later I was in my new apartment unpacking boxes, a small studio apartment overlooking the heart of Brookline. A lot smaller than where I was living but good enough for me, also it was pretty much the only thing I could afford short of moving back home. Thankfully when my parents told me not to quit my day job when I first moved out to start a band I took that advice to heart.

The next few weeks came and passed with little pomp and circumstance. I worked my two jobs at the nearby Stop and Shop and Gamestop, which I came to collectively called Gamestop and Shop, not as fun as playing at the pub, but hey, it paid the bills. I did get a few calls from my former band mates asking me to come back. Ayashi and Saviris I calmly and kindly declined, Kelsi I simply told to go fuck herself.

Coming home from work on a cool November afternoon my phone began to ring in my pocket. I picked it up to see that is said an unknown number was calling, but I took the call anyway.

“Hello?” I hesitantly asked whoever was on the other end of the line.

“Hello, is this Riley Aaronson?” asked the voice on the other end of the line in a cool soothing British accent.

“It is. How can I help you?”

“This is Billy Bluejeans, from the Beantown Buzz,” he replied.

“Oh yeah I know you, you’re the critic that’s always at our shows.”

“Guilty as changed,” he said smugly.

“What can I do for you?”

“Well,” he began, followed by a pause. “I’ve noticed you haven’t performed lately and while I wasn’t at you last performance I heard about it from the staff at Charles pub.”

“And is that how you got my number?” I asked.

“Yes,” he admitted with a bit of shame. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s ok. So what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’d come down for an interview, rumors are you guys are splitting up, and I know our readers would like to know if their was any truth to the rumors. Also I have my own curiosities on the subject.”

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint you there Billy, but don’t really want to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’m sure if you give Kelsi a call she’ll talk to you,” I added. “But I’m sure you won’t like what she has to say.”

“I already gave her a call,” replied Billy. “And I didn’t like what she said.

“Well if you take what she said to you, and what you heard from the guys at the Pub you can write a fairly accurate article, but like I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright Mr. Aaronson, I understand and respect your privacy, and everything you’ve said today is strictly off the record.”

“I appreciate that.”

“And if you ever want to talk I’m in the offices every Tuesday and Thursday until five. Come by anytime, even if you just want to jam a little, we’re not too busy down here.”

“Alright then Mr. Bluejeans, I’ll take that into consideration,” I said to him, then after exchanging goodbyes we hung up and I went on with my normal day.

After about a week’s worth of normal days came and went with very little ado, then came the day before Thanksgiving I got an unexpected guest. I had just come back from a shift at Gamestop and Shop and was going to relax with a little Netflix on the good old XBox 360 when there came a knocking at my door. I opened it surprised to see Kelsi standing there.

“Hello there, angel from my nightmare,” I cryptically said to Kelsi.

“What?” she said to me confused.

“You here to try to get me to come back too?” I asked her a bit more straight forward.

“No I’m here to see if you’ve stopped being a little bitch,” she answered. I then responded to her by slamming the door in her face. I then went back to the couch when a more forceful knocking came from my door.

“What?” I said to Kelsi half in a shout.”

“Here, this it yours,” she said handing me a stack of mail. “Fill out a change of address form or I’ll just burn it next time.” She then turned to leave but before she got to the stairs she looked back and said, “If you ever want to play again, you know where we’ll be.”

I went back to my apartment and tossed my mail beside me on my couch and pondered the seriousness of Kelsi’s offer to come back was, the thought didn’t last very long as I quickly went back to rewatching to second season of 30 Rock, Werewolf Bar Mitzvah spooky scary indeed. I then picked up the mail Kelsi brought over. Bill, bill junk, chain letter, latest issue of Beantown Buzz, here we go. I thumbed through that for a while and a particular article caught my eye.

“Is this the last of Valefor? By, Billy Bluejeans,” I read aloud to myself. “Billy Bluejeans you British bastard you wrote that article after all.” I then began to read what Billy had written.

“It seems that everything I had warned against has finally come to a head last Saturday, it seems Valefor my have played their last show. Hired to play a private party Valefor began their show at Charles Pub just like every other concert of theirs yours truly has been privy too, in fact it seemed that they had taken what the critics had said too heart. Saviris played with more energy, Ayashi sang with more heart, Kelsi played mostly what she was supposed to and the bass was as always well anchored by Ryle. They began the night off with a few of their familiar numbers and I applaud them for then branching off into songs they’d never played before, however things took a turn for the worse on their second set.

“When the band took the stage for their second set the crowd was excitingly waiting to know what song they would play next and to many people’s surprise Ryle began to play what sounded like the beginning to Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing on his bass, quite a bit of ingenuity. Sadly about twenty seconds into the opening Kelsi’s old habits kicked in and she began to play over Ryle’s bass then causing Saviris and Ayashi to miss their proper cues resulting in a cacophony that ultimately got them booed off stage, a sight I’ve never seen before, and one I never thought would happen to Valefor.

“Sadly I have to report that after the events of that night bassist Riley “Ryle” Aaronson has left the band. Apparently some animosity had began growing between Ryle and the other band mates and it all came too all came to a head that night and prompted Ryle to quit, and as unorthodox as it may seem for me to say as an unbiased member of the media, that maybe this is for the best. Perhaps Ryle will find another band that will appreciate his skill. Maybe the remaining members of Valefor will find a sound that works for them? Whatever may happen there is one thing that I ask for everyone involved. Whatever you do, don’t stop the rocking.”

I let out a deep contemplative sigh as I took in all Billy had said in his article. “Maybe I should find a new band?” I then looked to where my bass stood in the corner, more or less in the same place it had been ever since I’d moved in. “I did stop the rocking,” I said to myself, and for the first time since that night a bit of regret filled my mind. But I couldn’t keep thinking like that, I had to take his first bit of advice and find myself a new band. I then grabbed The Beantown Buzz and flipped to the end of the magazine where ads looking for musicians were posted, unfortunately not many people need a bassist, lots of call for drummers, maybe Kelsi should be looking at this, Then I came across one promising ad.

“Fledgling local band seeks a guitarist and bassist to fill out our sound, call Sarah MacKenzie at 617-555-8740 if you’re interested. Sarah MacKenzie,” I said to myself. “Why does that name sound familiar?” Either way I picked up the phone and began to call her, then remembering the date I decided to wait a few days before I called, tomorrow’s Thanksgiving after all.