Snap, crackle, pop.
Sam is pouring milk into his cereal. For once all four of us are mesmerized by the action as much as we are fascinated by the sound of it. Slowly he dips his spoon into the sludgy, sloppy contents of his bowl, brings it to his lips, opens his mouth, shoves the whole goddamn thing in. We watch him as he crunches noisily into the silence. I grit my teeth, avert my gaze. If there’s one thing I hate it’s the sound of people eating.
It’s my day off.
It’s hot and sunny outside; the streets of Valle Soleada are thrumming with life, with the slick bods of those bright young things going out to play. I feel as though I should be working. I spent my entire life never having a dull moment. Being a mutant, that wouldn’t really surprise anyone. Being an ex-terrorist and an X-Man, it comes with the territory. My earlier years I spent helping my foster-mother to disrupt world peace. The rest of my life I’d spent trying to save it. Even on normal days I’d be up with the sunrise, flying out to greet the morning. I always used to curse the fact that I would never be able to live a normal life. So now I get a chance to live like all those regular guys who do the whole 24/7, 9-5 shebang. And I realize that regular life – just like every other damn thing – has its fair share of pros and cons as well. Sure, I can play at being normal. It’s days like this I can’t stand. The utter boredom, the frustration of having nothing better to do, not even being able to vent out my stress by smashing a hole in the Danger Room wall.
It’s all right for Sam, I think. He hasn’t lost his powers.
My finger slips. I hit the guitar string a little off key; the dead note rings out like the piteous groan of some dying creature.
“D’you think you could shut up, Sam?” I spurt out irritably. “Ah’m tryin’ to think!”
“Ah’m eatin’!” he protests, mouth full.
“You’re crunchin’ like Remy’s trenchcoat after he’s been sweatin’ in it for God knows how many weeks!”
“’Ey!” Remy cuts in.
“Well it has been around a bit,” Lila interrupts, voice muffled by her hands as she leans on them.
“Like some old hoe,” Sam adds, gulping down his food.
“’Ey!”
“Say, you gonna get you a new one soon?”
“Shut up people, ah’m tryin’ t’ think!”
Quiet. The guitar wobbles on my knee.
“Thought you guys were gonna help me,” I mutter accusingly.
“Why don’ we go lie on de beach, chere? I’m bored.”
“Me too.”
“You’re eating.”
“Yes, but ah’ll be finished soon, Lila, an’ then…”
“But we spent all yesterday afternoon on the beach!”
“Hey, we’re on vacation, honey.”
“What would Storm say if she could hear you now?”
“What would Sage say, chere?”
“Tessa’s a workaholic. She probably doesn’t even know the meaning of vacation. Wonder how she’d handle one of my gigs?”
“Yeah Lila, let’s have a gig! Right here, in Valle Soleada!”
“Sam, I already told you, I haven’t got any of my material down here…”
“S’not like you can’t teleport yourself to your Dyson Sphere and just pick the stuff up.”
“Sam, are you deaf? I’m on vacation!”
“C’mon, we can have a little jam session in the local bar, Rogue on guitar, you on vocals…”
“Hate to break this to yah’ll, but if you don’t shut up anytime soon, ah’m not gonna have a single thing to play at this godforsaken gig ‘o yours!”
Sam pulls a face, shoves another mouthful in. Lila’s deep in thought. Remy half-smiles and scratches his stubble absently, eyes wandering anywhere but in my direction. The clock ticks, spews out time so blatantly that it makes me want to be sick. Is this ‘normal’ life then? Listening to time bleed away because that’s what normal life is made of? Reminds me of waiting for a bus in the rain, or for a lover to call, or for class to be over. Not that I really ever did any of those things, not proper anyway. Not normal. But with that clock ticking away in the background, I can easily imagine that such a time of my life existed. The natural rhythm of the seconds progresses into a chain reaction of emotions so strong I almost choke on them. I can almost imagine my first kiss didn’t nearly kill my sweetheart, that the two of us stayed on that river bank and fooled around like any other thirteen year old couple would. Like any normal couple would.
I imagine being normal as I once imagined normal used to be, and after that, playing music becomes easy.
Always play from the stomach, further down if you can. It makes the music more believable.
I play the strings softly in time to the clock. Like some improvised percussion Sam chimes in, his crunching adding a quirky little twang to the tune. Remy taps his feet, stops, realizes it fits, starts tapping again. And then Lila hums and it’s perfect, it’s simple, it’s beautiful.
We stop, and Sam is the first to laugh.
Several minutes later and we’re still around the table, but the clock is forgotten.
“Okay guys, I’ll do the gig.”
“Oh yeah! That’s mah gal!”
“Ah’m writin’ the lyrics!”
“Hey, I’m doing the singing, I’ll write it!”
“Can I play de drums on de night?”
“Shut up, Remy, gawd, you’re such an idiot!”
“What, I thought I kept time pretty well!”
“You weren’t a patch on me an’ mah…”
“Crunching?”
“Hey, ah can make up for it with some shakers!”
“Yeah right Samuel dahling.”
“But why not?”
“Because shakers suck.”
“Aw.”
“Say, if you’re gonna play this song, Lila, then what are we gonna call it?”
“Dunno, chere, how ‘bout Boredom?”
“Yeah, right. Soooooo constructive.”
“S’ de truth!”
“Frustration?”
“No way! That’s a Mamas and Papas song.”
We stare at Sam.
“It is!” He lifts his hands up in self-defense.
“Hey, ah know! How ‘bout Our Day Off?”
We look at one another. Sam pouts, looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully.
“…Yeah. I like it. Kinda…cute.”
“Not bad. Bit like White Album meets…nursery rhyme?”
“Nursery rhyme?”
“I dunno…How ‘bout Badly Drawn Boy then?”
“Who?”
“It’s a Brit thing.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, so I admit, it’s better’n Boredom.”
“Cool, let’s call it that then.”
Silence.
“Can we go lie on de beach now?”
-END-