My Vanishing Twin by Tom Stern

Author:Tom Stern
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rare Bird Books
Published: 2017-05-23T18:29:36+00:00

4.

“It’s not working out,” Klaus explained as Richard Pope looked on, stone still. “Something in the sound,” Klaus continued, without even a hint of awareness as to how pompous and moronic he sounded.

“Sound takes time,” Walter replied earnestly, also without even a touch of awareness as to how pompous and moronic he sounded.

“We’re not feeling it,” Klaus insisted.

“Well…I’m feeling it,” Walter insisted right back.

“We don’t think you are.”

Walter tossed his eyes between Klaus and Richard Pope, before explaining, “You don’t know what I feel.” He was embarrassed by how not rock ’n’ roll that sounded.

But Klaus and Richard Pope did not flinch, unwilling or unable to validate Walter’s statement.

Walter was surprised to find a heavy sorrow settling into his chest and tears stinging at his eyes.

“If this is about our disagreement the other day, then…” Walter trailed off.

Klaus scoffed gently.

Walter couldn’t quite tell but Richard Pope might have done the same, only his just barely perceptible. But he probably didn’t. He probably just remained completely still.

“It’s just not working out,” Klaus repeated, ignoring all the words that had been said since last uttering this same phrase.

“You already said that,” Walter demanded, angrily. “What I’m trying to do is make it work.”

“We don’t want to make it work,” Klaus shrugged the words from his mouth.

Walter could not help but admire the man’s cool and irreverent indifference, even if Walter happened to be on the wrong end of it in this particular moment.

“Don’t say ‘we,’” Walter could not stop himself from scrapping. “Richard is his own man. Let him speak for himself.”

Walter looked to Richard Pope.

But Richard Pope did not move a muscle. He just sat. As he always sat.

Walter strained to recall a single moment when he had seen Richard Pope anywhere other than seated behind his drum kit. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even imagine it. He had never even seen the dollop of a man stretch his legs or, better yet, arrive at practice and take a seat behind his kit. Richard Pope was just always sitting there. As far as Walter was concerned, the man might not even exist except when banging out his sloppy drumbeats or waiting to bang out his sloppy drumbeats. Come to think of it, Walter was only now realizing that Richard Pope was perhaps the most rock ’n’ roll motherfucker he had ever seen in his life.

“It’s only been a few months,” Walter altered his approach, still unwilling to let his band go, lackluster and infuriating though it may be.

“Time enough,” Klaus replied.

“And you haven’t even heard ‘The Not Monster Song,’” he adjusted again.

“Don’t care,” Klaus countered.

This smarted.

Walter fell speechless. But still he did not move.

So Klaus got up, walked across the room, and opened the front door to whatever the hell this space was. He left the door open and walked back to the middle of the room where he sat down amidst the band’s setup and started to tinker on his guitar.

“Just leave, man,” he dismissed without so much as looking up from his guitar.

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