Soul Break

My friend Mike and I have been in a band since we were eighteen. The band is called Soul Blade and consists of Mike playing a very loud lead electric guitar and myself playing an old keyboard from the eighties. Our songs are pretty good, but most people think that the band is a joke band because most of the music is made by the keyboard, and because we drink way to many beers whenever we play or make our records. When we were about twenty-one, we booked a mini-tour of the Midwest and made an entirely new record of mostly cover songs. This tour was over spring break, and Mike put it together so that we could go to Springfield Missouri and I could meet his friend Warren.

Mike and I are pretty funny when we play shows. We are always drinking heavily, and we take it very seriously. Most of the songs that I write for it are soulful and I tend to sing them like I am a preacher, or James Brown. Mike just plays too loud, sometimes is on key, and is so tall that he can hang on the ceilings of any of the venues that we play. We left Wichita in the afternoon and headed for our first show in Joplin, but we didn’t know where the gig was that we were playing that night.

“We are playing at a house; I think it is a house, called the Cesspool Castle.” Mike said.

“Cesspool Castle?” I said, “What the hell is that?”

“Warren said that he had played there before, but mostly all the people that go to it are kids that are into metal and sniff paint and shit.” Mike said.

“Do we know the address to this castle?” I said.

“I figured we would just drive down this street, and look for metal kids and then set up our stuff and play.” Mike said.

Mike and I drove down the street that Warren had told him the castle was on, and after about thirty minutes we found it. There were about fifty kids wearing all black, and they had their faces painted like clowns.

“This has got to be the Cesspool Castle,” I said.

“If it’s not, then it will do.” Mike said.

The castle was definitely a cesspool. All of the walls, the floors, and the ceilings in the house were covered in the grossest colored white carpet I had ever seen. All of the things not covered in carpet were dripping wet with some kind of liquid that came from upstairs. We went in and played our set, just after a metal band had played some of the dumbest music I had ever heard. I don’t remember what the name of that band was, but there were five teenagers in it and one old man who did all of the shredding and trilling. We finished our set, and then tried to sell some of our new records that we had with us for gas money.

“Thanks a lot. We are Soul Blade, and we have some Cds for sell for two dollars.” I said.

“Why would anyone buy that for two dollars?” Someone from the crowd said.

It was time to go. The crowd did not like our music, and so we didn’t even wait around to get paid from the king of the Cesspool Castle. Mike decided that we should just go north to Springfield so we could meet up with Warren and hang out. I agreed and we left.

The drive to Springfield from Joplin took about an hour, and on the way Mike told me some stories about Warren. Apparently Warren had just broken up with his girlfriend at Christmas time and had been just hanging out in the same clothes, eating macaroni and cheese, and playing metal music with his band every day since the break up.

“He told me that he has been wearing short Hawaiian shorts and a wife-beater everyday just to see if anyone would notice.” Mike said. “He even wears it to work, but no one has said anything yet.”

“That’s hilarious.” I said.

“Yeah, he had been dating this girl named Sarah for like two weeks before Christmas, and on Christmas day he was hanging out with his parents and family and she called him like two hundred times. She filled up his inbox and everything. He ignored her because he was hanging out with his family and drinking whiskey, and then she showed up at his house at like three in the morning. Then she handed him a note on a napkin shaped like Santa Claus’s face that said “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” He told her that he didn’t know what she was talking about, since they had only been dating for like two weeks. And then she left.”

“Weird.” I said.

“Yeah, then the next morning when he went to his house she was sitting in his house and had cracked the password to his email and was just sitting there reading all his shit.”

“What?” I said.

“Yeah, effing weird.” Mike said.

We made it to Springfield and drove over to Warren’s house, which was just a regular looking house with about forty bicycles tied up in the front of it. Our truck pulled up in front of the house, and Warren came walking out wearing the shorts and the wife-beater.

“What’s going on Soul Blade?” Warren said.

“Yeah!” Said Mike, giving Warren a giant sized hug.

“I got you guys some bikes, we’re going for a ride.” Warren said.

“What’s up Warren, I’m Zach.” I said.

“I know man, come on lets ride.” He said.

“Mike told me about Sarah man, that shit sounded weird.” I said.

“Not as weird as the date I went on last night. I went to hang out with this girl from my work who is a little older than me, but still real good looking. And after we had a few drinks, we went back to her apartment so she could change. While she was in her bathroom, I started looking at a photo album she had laying around, and I started seeing pictures from like the seventies with what had to be her mom in them. I mean, she looked just like her, you know? But I asked her if it was her mom and she said that it was her. Turns out, she is like forty-five.”

“No way. What did you do?” I said.

“I stayed the night, no big deal.” Warren said.

Right then Mike came up with some whiskey and about five Evil Eye cans, and handed them to Warren and me.

“Drink up, time to ride.” Mike said.

“When are we playing our show?” I said.

“We are going for a ride through Springfield, then you guys are playing a show in my kitchen and I’m going to make some macaroni and cheese and had it out.” Said Warren.

“Rad.” I said.

We went on a ride for about three hours, and drank way to many beers. The thing about Evil Eye is that it is a high gravity malt beverage, and it makes you go crazy. Most people can only drink one or so. We drank about four apiece. On the way back to the house to play, Warren told Mike and I another story about a girl he had gone out with the week before.

“Mike and Zach, check this out. I went out to the bar with this girl the other night named Jill that I had met at work and we started dancing. We had been drinking all night and she wanted to dance, so we did. I was totally cutting rugs, and I kept spinning her around, and the last time that I did she projectile vomited all over the place. It was like a constant stream of puke coming out of her mouth.” Warren said.

“What?” Mike and I said.

“Yeah. Best thing about it though, was that when I brought her back around to me she wiped her mouth off and kept on dancing like I hadn’t seen any of the puking.” Warren said.

“Ridiculous.” Mike said.

“Yeah. I just acted like I hadn’t seen it, and just went on dancing. I figured that my breath wasn’t that good either, so what did it matter.” Warren said.

“One time I went out with a girl that was a guy.” Mike said.

“Really?” Warren said.

“No, but that would have been funny.” said Mike.

“Well, you know what they say.” Warren said.

“No.” I said.

“Fuck Jesus.” Warren said.

“What? That’s what people say?” Mike said.

“Well I just did I guess.” Warren said. “I say it.”

We made it back to Warren’s house, and then started to play some songs. We were drunk already so Mike and I were ready to give it our all. While we played, all the people that went on the bike ride with us danced and drank and had a real good time. Warren made everyone macaroni and cheese dressed in his shorts and wife-beater, and served to them out of the pot that he had made it in.

The show lasted until about six in the morning, and then everyone passed out around Warren’s living room. When Mike and I woke up Warren was already at work, and we had to meet up with some friends in another city so we left. I’m sure that Warren will have some more stories to tell me next time Mike and I play a show at his house. I look forward to that, but I hope that he changes his clothes by then.