Loveless Summer - "Lost in the Supermarket"

Kyle awoke to the obnoxious repetitive pokes of what he assumed would prove to be his younger brother, Timothy. Sure enough, cracking his eyes open, there was Tim, grinning happily, probably because his mom had asked him to wake up his brother, and he was at that age where being annoying was as fun as any video game. "Wake up wake up wake up!"

"Go away..."

"Wake up wake up wake up!"

"I'm gonna hit you..."

"Wake up wake up wake up!" With this, Kyle rose from bed quickly, consuming his brother in a bear hug and tossing him over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. "Hey, what happened to hitting me!"

"I changed my mind, out-the-window-time for Timmy..."

"Put me down! I'm here to help!"

"Help?" Kyle set his brother down, wondering what he meant by that. "Help me with what?"

Tim straightened out his hair and reached into his back pocket, pulling out his trusted little notepad and pen, which he carried with him everywhere he went. With his older brother launching cold, puzzled stares at him, Tim flipped through the tiny book quickly, eventually landing on a page somewhere near the middle of the miniature pad. "You need a drummer, right?"

"How do you know that, little man?"

"Our rooms are right next to each other. I hear everything."

"Okay, well yeah, we need a drummer, but not one of your nine-year old friends. We need someone my age.

"You know my friend Marvin?"

"The little squeamish kid whose allergic to wallpaper?"

"That's the one. His parents got divorced and his mom moved to Vestal," Tim explained, referring to Vestal New York, a Binghamton suburb. "His older sister goes to Vestal High School now, and she has a friend named Danielle whose dating a drummer named... uh..." Tim checked his notepad before continuing. "Mark Boon. That's his name. And from what I hear, he's really good!"

Kyle's first reaction was to sigh and roll his eyes, but given a few seconds to think, he decided that any lead is probably a good lead. "Okay, did you get his number or something?"

"I have his email address," Tim explained, approaching Kyle's desk for a piece of paper that he wouldn't need to tear out of his precious notepad. "Here it is. I guess he just left a band and everyone is trying to get him, so move on this before mom finishes breakfast!"

"Hey, alright, thanks Timmy."

With this, Kyle messed up Tim's hair, inciting a frustrated grunt from his brother, and sat down at his computer to fire off an email. He didn't think much of his brother's potential find, because Tim was just a kid. What sort of connections could he possibly have? But with a bit more time to consider things, Kyle realized that his brother was quite possibly the smartest person his age in the world, and that he had exceptional taste in music, especially for being as young as he was. With this in mind, Kyle wrote an email to Mark Boon, and after heading downstairs for breakfast, he thanked his brother again for the lead.

While Kyle ate breakfast with his family, Ben was out trying to find components for the new band, a breakfast burrito serving as his only real sustenance that morning. He designed a flyer and printed several copies, and, burrito in hand, he hopped into his car and headed out for a morning of hanging his work all over the city. Every music store, coffee shop, and bulletin board he could think of would receive a copy of the flier by mid-afternoon, and when he was finished, he headed over to Kyle's to see how he'd been progressing. Kyle, meanwhile, had taken their search to the web, posting ads on Craig's List and several musician classified sites. By the time they'd gotten together at around four PM, they had already received one phone call and two emails in response to their efforts, with an audition set up for the next day. Things seemed to be going pretty well for them right out of the gate. All they had to do at this point was get permission from Kyle's parents to use their garage or their basement as a practice space.

"Absolutely not!" Kyle's mom replied, after having just heard their rather formal and polite request to practice on the Winters' property.

"Please mom?" Kyle asked, hoping that making his request in a different tone might change her mind.

"I'm sorry Kyle, and you too Benny, but no. We can't have that sort of noise in our house."

Tim was in the kitchen with them, making himself a glass of Ovaltine, him being the only person in the house that liked it. "Mom, why can't they do it during the day when you and Dad are at work?"

Kyle's mom rolled her eyes. "Because we have neighbors. Why should we interrupt their lives and disturb them?"

At this point, Kyle's dad entered the fray, coming in through the kitchen door after having gone shopping for some golf equipment. "Hey gang, what's going on?"

"Joe," Kyle's mom announced, "Can you please explain to Kyle and Ben why they can't rehearse in our home?"

"What? Why can't they?" Joe Winters asked, living up to Kyle's expectations as the parent who'd take his side in this debate.

"Because of the neighbors... because it's loud!"

"Well, the Halwell's are out of town all summer, they go to that summer house they bought. And the Brown's work during the day, so they're only home on the weekends. And they're talking about doing this during the day, right?" His dad's question beckoned a nod from Kyle.

"And what about messes and whatnot?"

"We'd keep the place clean, Mrs. Winters," Ben replied. "Heck, I'd even clean the rest of the house just for the rehearsal space."

"Yeah mom, we could earn it," Kyle explained, taking a queue from Ben. "No more paying me for chores, I'll do them free, and Ben will help me. And I'll even pay rent from my job at the store."

Barbara Winters let out another sigh, followed by a grunt in her husband's direction for not taking her side in the debate. "Okay, well, I'll have a few conditions."

"Anything, mom!"

"Okay, never, ever on the weekends, never earlier than ten or later than six, you and Ben need to do the chores for free every week, and when your father and I go out of town for a week in August, no band practice."

"Of course mom, thank you!"

"I'm not done yet! And you need to watch your brother whenever I need you to."

"Definitely!"

"And, you need to keep the basement clean, and I mean clean. The first time I see an empty soda can or cables left all over the place, the deal's off!"

"I promise mom, and thank you so much!"

With this, Kyle hugged his mom in an additional gesture of thanks, while tossing his dad a smile to thank him for his contributions. Ben tried to hug her, too, with a large grin on his face, but Barbara stuck out her hand for a shake, in an effort to avoid some sort of weird hormonal thing from her son's friend. And with this, their band had rehearsal space.

The next day, Kyle and Ben held their first audition. He was a potential rhythm guitarist, responding to a flyer posted at McNeil Music, a local music store that specialized in instrument sales. The guitarist, Jake, was only fifteen years old, showing up with a practice amp and a cheap beginner's guitar. He had trouble playing chords, and he reeked of hair products to a point where Kyle was almost confident that he could bounce a baseball off of the kid's head without hurting him. Needless to say, this audition hadn't gone well. They had already arranged two other auditions for the same day, one a vocalist and the other a guitarist, but neither of them were very good either. The vocalist had a Morrissey thing going on, making him more suitable for an Emo band. The second guitarist they auditioned was slightly more talented, but he was focused on metal and he seemed to be a bit forceful with his wanting the band to go in that direction. That night, Kyle and Ben both felt as though the day had been a waste. But Ben's cell phone's voicemail and Kyle's email inbox were both seemingly overflowing with potential musicians by the time they ended up checking them. It seemed that the fliers and the Internet ads might still pay off. They scheduled two guitarists, a vocalist, and two drummers for auditions the next day, hoping that with any luck they might find at least one person worthy of joining the group.

But by the end of their second day of auditions, things started to feel a bit more hopeless. All five of their auditions proved incapable of playing with them. The vocalist was nearly thirty, and would have looked out of place with the group. The same could be said for one of the drummers. The other drummer had only taken three lessons, and had a hard time playing "We Will Rock You" in time, and if you happen to know any drummers, ask them how difficult that song is if you'd like to illicit a few laughs. The two guitarists weren't very talented either, and one of them wanted to play country music. They had two auditions the next day, and one the day after that, and five in the week that followed, but in all of that effort, they hadn't found anyone worthy of joining the group. By that point, Kyle and Ben were already thinking about ditching the second guitarist, or possibly finding someone who could play keys instead. But finally, something good happened in their third week of searching.

Mark Boon, the drummer whom Tim had brought to Kyle, finally responded to Kyle's email. He explained that he had been out of town with his family on vacation, and had returned to an inbox filled with requests from bands looking for a new drummer. He explained that he tried out for two other bands, but neither were playing the sort of stuff he was into, and he flat-out turned down two other acts because they didn't seem ambitious enough. Kyle responded by explaining their goals in ordinary language: they wanted to gig, record an album, and properly "make it" in the recording industry. He went into detail regarding his and Ben's experiences in music, the style of music they'd hoped to play, and where he saw the potential act in ten years, provided everything went according to plan. Mark responded positively, asking to schedule an audition, and it was set up for the following day.

Mark showed up with only a small portion of his kit, explaining that he didn't "need the whole thing to play well." After a brief setting up of his bass drum, snare, floor tom, hi-hats, crash cymbal, and ride cymbal, taking all of ten minutes to unload it and make it playable, Mark proceeded to knock their socks off with some of the best drumming either of them had ever heard. He was, simply put, unbelievably gifted. He had the raw power of John Bonham, the unpredictability of Keith Moon, the technical prowess of Stewart Copeland, and the sheer character of Tim Alexander, while somehow managing to not over-complicate his efforts or step out of his comfort zone. After only hearing him warm up, Kyle and Ben exchanged a mutual look of shock and excitement before dashing to plug in their instruments. Together, the three of them jammed for nearly three full hours, and as if a magic spell had been cast by a musical sorcerer, they melded together with near-perfect chemistry within the first few minutes. It was official: Mark Boon was their drummer, and Mark was so sure of it that he decided to leave his kit at Kyle's house, in the ultimate show of respect and trust. What had seemed like an unforgiving month of trial and error had finally started to pay off. They were still short a vocalist and a rhythm guitarist, but finding Mark had proven to bolster their hopes to all new heights.

In the two weeks following Mark's joining the band, the group went about more auditions, writing a few songs during their early jam sessions in the meantime. It almost seemed as though they suddenly had a guardian angel. By the end of that period, they had found two potential vocalists and three possible guitarists, all of whom had responded to the ads posted. The next step would consist of narrowing their lists down and figuring out who might be the best fit for the band. But by the time they had worked out who they were probably going with, fate decided to knock down the wall one more time. In a single audition, their work to narrow their lists of potential fellow musicians had been made null and void.

Cynthia Foster was home-schooled, so she'd never met anyone in the group prior to her responding to their flyer in Music City, another local music shop. She had friends her own age, through her church and a local girl's soccer team unaffiliated with any of the region's schools, but she was an unknown force in the music scene, having never actually played a live show in front of others. Kyle, Ben, and Mark were growing confident in the people they had chosen from their list of potential musicians, so they decided to ask around to learn more about Cynthia prior to giving her an audition, but they couldn't find out anything about her, shy of seeing her Facebook page, with no mutual friends linking her to the band. Ben and Mark were reluctant, but Kyle insisted they let her audition, figuring one more person in the running might not hurt. She said she could sing and play rhythm guitar, making her a far more ideal option than finding two different individuals for those roles. Besides that, Kyle felt that he had received a "good vibe" from her email, one that prompted him to at least give her a listen.

Cynthia showed up ten minutes early for her audition. Her mom had come with her, in what Kyle had presumed must've been an embarrassing situation. While her mom met with Kyle's parents, Cynthia joined Kyle, Ben, and Mark in venturing to the basement. Right off the bat, Kyle was blown away by her presence. She was stunningly gorgeous, almost to the degree where she looked like she was somehow fictional, like the beautiful quasi-Asian heroes in a Final Fantasy game. Kyle knew from his email correspondence with her that her dad was Japanese and her mom was white, and she definitely looked like such a mix. And though Kyle had presumed that Cynthia would have been limited in her knowledge of modern fashion due to her home-schooling, he was proven wrong in that assumption within his first glance at her. She was stylish, sexy, and clean, blowing his poorly-conceived impressions out of the water. And after setting up her guitar, amp, and pedal board, he realized that she was well-equipped for the role as well. She was plugging in an Epiphone Casino guitar, which she announced was a part of her collection which also consisted of a Danelectro, a Rickenbacker, a Gibson SG, and an old Mexican Telecaster. Her amp was a small Marshall practice amp, and she explained that she also had a Marshall half-stack and a Vox AC30 at home. When she explained that her parents were both musicians and that she had grown up in a strongly musical household, Kyle didn't really understand how much she'd meant it before seeing her equipment.

And then came her talent. Cynthia decided to open things up with a cover of Led Zeppelin's Immigrant Song, and within seconds, she had made fans out of everyone in the room. Her guitar playing was quick, technical, accurate, and well-timed. Her sultry lower-soprano voice was warm and enticing, guaranteed to melt the hearts of anyone who'd hear her. Kyle was convinced that she was some sort of muse, or perhaps a succubus. In fact, if he wasn't so wildly in love with Tara, Cynthia very easily could have been the sort of girl that Kyle would have given anything to be with.

The three of them jammed for a few hours, while Cynthia's mom and Kyle's parents drank tea and chatted about raising kids. Like with Mark, the chemistry was there from the word go. Cynthia fit in with the group like a glove, and between her raw talent, her shocking beauty, her professional equipment, and her uncanny ability to improvise, the group was sold: Cynthia was the band's new vocalist and rhythm guitarist. They all exchanged numbers, set up four days out of the week for rehearsals, and just like that, their new group was formed.

From their very first rehearsal, the group knew that they had something special together, a unique chemistry that none of them had ever experienced with other musicians. Whereas their old bands had spent month after month fine-tuning a set list and arguing over what sounded good and what didn't fit, Kyle, Ben, Mark, and Cynthia only needed to present a song idea before watching it come together within a few jams. The group had picked up Cynthia in late July, and within only two short weeks, they already had come close to perfecting a set list of decent songs. Even Kyle's mom came to admit that the new band had serious potential, though she stood by her notion that music should never be treated as much else than a hobby.

After two weeks of work, producing eight solid rehearsals and songwriting sessions, plus three others that were done acoustically at Ben's house while his parents weren't home, the group had developed a remarkable set of fifteen songs. They all still needed fine-tuning, of course, and the group would need to rehearse them religiously before attempting to perform them live, but all-told, the songs sounded great, and confidence was sky-high. That was, of course, until they started to realize just how quickly school was approaching.

Kyle, Ben, and Mark would be entering their senior years of high school. Cynthia would be a junior, though her homeschooling provided her with the opportunity to slack off slightly more than her colleagues. Realizing how quickly school was approaching, the group spent one of their rehearsals talking about the future, their aspirations, and their dedication. They all knew just how unique their band was. The fact that they could sit down and write a song without arguing or even really debating was remarkable in and of itself, regardless of the fact that each member of the group was fantastic at their chosen instruments. While they didn't admit it to their new friends, each member of the band felt that the group breaking up because of college or slipping grades simply couldn't become an option. They needed to keep their group together through thick and thin. Unless their music started to spread and their intended audience were less receptive to the sound than the group imagined, nothing could possibly derail a group where everyone clicked so fluidly from the word go.

They didn't realize it until they sat down for their meeting about the future, but their sound was truly unique, as far as any of them could tell, anyway. Each member brought something fresh and unique to the group, a sound of their own to compliment the full sound as a solidified entity. Cynthia's vocals and guitar style were bluesy and with an indie bite, which left behind a bitter-sweet, almost folk-pop aftertaste. Kyle's lead guitar playing was heavily influenced by his favorite bands, namely Radiohead and Led Zeppelin, giving him titanic shredding guitar solos with the yin, and beautifully-orchestrated soundscapes with the yang. Ben's thick, blues-rock walking bass lines were funky, and with his effects processors, they were often surreal and earth-shattering. In Kyle's honest opinion, Mark Boon was quite possibly the most talented member of the group, and the fact that he was genuinely humble about it was an impressive trait in and of itself. He played thunderous, power-driven, highly technical and complex drum beats that powered every song with the proficiency of a nuclear reactor. Everyone in the band respected each other's talents, and if nothing else, this led each member of the band to the heartfelt conclusion that this band was something special. And by the time they were doing their school shopping and preparing to say goodbye to their summer, their set had developed to the point where the group felt confident that the hour was upon them within which they'd need to prove it.

"I found it, Kyle!" Barbara Winters announced emphatically to her son as he made his way into the kitchen. "It's the perfect college for you!"

"What?" Kyle was a bit puzzled and caught off guard. He'd just spent the afternoon imagining how massive the band could get... college wasn't on his agenda, and if it was, he had already decided that he didn't want to go far from Binghamton, or more importantly, far from the band.

"I was looking at schools, and I think I found one you'll really like! It's in West Virginia, the campus is lovely, and..."

"Wait... West Virginia? Mom?"

"Yes," she paused, wondering why her son's tone was that of disappointment, but quickly drawing up her own conclusion that he was concerned over being homesick. "Don't worry Kyle, it's not that far away, and we'll come visit you..."

"Mom... there's no way I'm going to school in West Virginia."

"Why not?" his mom was obviously let down by her son's assertion, as she had put her hopes and faith in the school she'd been researching. Kyle realized this immediately, easily recognizing her saddened tone. He needed to come up with something quickly to ease her concerns.

"I... I was hoping I could go to Binghamton University, actually."

"What? Why?"

"Well... because you and dad both went there, and it's close to home, and..."

"And you wouldn't need to leave your band?" She was starting to piece things together.

"Well, that too."

"Hon, what's more important, your band or your future?"

"Well," Kyle began, taking insult to his mom's assertion. "I kind of think my band is my future, mom. I really love music, and there's something really special about this band."

"Oh, I don't think you're right about that Kyle." She immediately realized that saying something to that effect would hurt his feelings, and decided to backpedal a bit. "A lot of people try to make it in music, and they fail. I don't want you to postpone college or put off responsibility, only to get let down by your band."

"Mom... seriously, have you listened to our practices?"

"Well, yes, and you guys are definitely talented, but it's hardly worth not going to college for."

Kyle was tremendously put off by his mom's attitude. In the back of his mind, he knew she was only looking out for his best interests, but at the same time, she was showing no real compassion for what he wanted. "Why can't I just go to Binghamton University, get a degree, focus on music, and if everything falls through, I have an education to fall back on? Why is that such a bad idea?"

"Kyle, you can't just ignore how important college is. You should try to get into the best school possible. And you can always start a new band in Virginia, can't you?

"What's wrong with Binghamton University? You and dad both went there!"

"Nothing, I just..."

"Oh god, Barbara," Kyle's dad interjected, having walked into the kitchen in the midst of their debate. "Let the boy go to school at BU if that's what he wants."

"Oh, thanks for the support, Joe..." Kyle's mom was obviously angered by her husband's interruption, and his lack of support for what she deemed to be a good cause. "I want what's best for our son."

"I do too, and Kyle is a smart kid. I'm not saying it's wrong to suggest schools, and I'm not saying you don't have a point. But if Kyle wants to go to Binghamton, the band influencing that decision isn't a bad thing. It shows he's serious about it. And it's not like Binghamton's a bad school."

Barbara Winters' attitude shifted. Joe had a good point, and she couldn't really argue against the logic. "Look, I want Kyle to have a future in something. I don't want to see his hopes get dashed. Everything you ever hear about the record industry is negative... it's extremely hard for someone to gain financial security as a musician." she stopped to turn to her husband, who himself was a musician around Kyle's age. "You should know that better than anyone, Joe." Seeing her husband slowly nod, she turned back to her son. "So let's make a deal. Kyle?"

Kyle brought his hand to his face, knowing this couldn't end well. "A deal, mom? What kind of deal?"

"You can go to Binghamton University, but your father and I get to chose your major."

"What? No!"

"Barb..."

"Fine, fine, fine... we get to approve of your major before you commit to it, is that fair?"

Kyle paused for a moment. He knew he didn't want to major in pottery or something akin to that. She did have a valuable point... protecting his future with a meaningful degree would pay off should music not work out for him. And he'd surely choose a major that his mom would approve of, seeing as how he was already considering either engineering or business management, two fields that Binghamton University was renowned for. "Okay. Approval of the major. Is that it?"

"No," Barbara continued. "I want a promise from you that if the band's momentum isn't going well by your sophomore year, you'll consider... and all I'm asking for you to do is to consider... applying to transfer to a private school."

"I can do that, mom."

"See?" Joe said. "That's reasonable, isn't it?"