A Song for Julia

very good with people.
    I managed to get out of there before losing my mind and without hurting any small children, or their mothers. Barely. But not without snarling at my boss. I knew it was my turn, but seriously? Am I the person you want serving food to your kids? I don’t think so. Maybe if you wanted to scare them.
    Whatever.
    I caught the green line back to Roxbury. The four of us rent a crappy little warehouse there, where we live upstairs and practice downstairs. It works mostly, but sometimes it’s a little too incestuous for my taste. Mark and Pathin are always bitching at each other about something or other, and sometimes the tension between Serena and me is thick enough, you could cut it with a steak knife. She knows how to piss me off, too. Not that pissing me off is that hard. Plus, they were all bullshit at me, because I’d cancelled Tuesday practice to buy a car, which I’d been saving toward for more than six months. I was sure there’d be bitching about that.
    When I got there, the scene was exactly what I expected. Pathin was sitting at his drum set, arms crossed over his chest. His eyebrows were drawn together, and he had a deep frown on his face. Mark stood a few feet away, face red. He was not quite shouting, but his voice was tense, raised just a little, as he spoke.
    “You don’t understand!” he said. “What I’m looking for is … integrity. We’ve been building up a fan base around our own music! We don’t have to do covers any more.”
    Pathin said, “We have to pay the rent.”
    “I know that! But the EP is doing better now.”
    “Not enough to pay the rent.”
    I stopped and looked at the two of them. Serena, who was tuning her guitar across the room from them, sat her guitar down, slid out of her seat and walked toward me. Her hips swayed as she walked, and she caught my eyes. She was an attractive girl—long, flowing black hair, milk chocolate skin and a body that just wouldn’t quit. When we performed, she wore heavy mascara, black leather, spike heel boots, and usually a camisole or tank top that highlighted the tattoo that rose from between her breasts. Another small tattoo above her eyebrow depicted a small butterfly. When we weren’t doing a show, she leaned toward loose flowered dresses and flip-flops.
    “How long have they been going on like this?” I asked.
    She frowned. “All afternoon. I’m going out of my mind.”
    “Sometimes I think all of us living together is a bad frickin’ idea.”
    “You’re just realizing this now?”
    I shrugged. Her words always had double meanings, and I was sure this did, too. She’d been hinting at wanting to be more than friends and bandmates for a year. I wasn’t interested. It’s not that she wasn’t a wonderful girl and a good friend. It’s that I didn’t want to lose one of my only friends. Not to mention, risk blowing the band up just as we were starting to get some traction.
    “Guys!” I shouted.
    They looked up for all of about a quarter second, and then Mark started bitching again.
    “Guys!” I shouted again. “Knock it off. We aren’t going to resolve this argument today. We’ve got a show to get ready for.”
    “What?” Mark said. “When?”
    Pathin shook his head in disgust. “If you hadn’t been drunk the other night, you’d know, asshole,” he said.
    Serena sighed. “Friday night,” she said. “Metro in Cambridge.”
    “Crap, I hate that place,” Mark said. “The acoustics suck.”
    “They pay well,” Pathin replied.
    “I know, I know …” Mark said. He looked at Pathin and said in a mocking voice, “ We have to pay the rent . Whatever.”
    “Will you two just shut up for five minutes?” Serena demanded. “We’ve got work to do.”
    I muttered a curse, collapsing into a ratty couch we’d picked up off the side of the road a year before.
    “What’s your problem?” Serena said.
    I shook my head and rubbed my hand across my temples. “Just tired, it’s been a long day.”
    “Well, it’s time to man up. We’ve got a show to get ready for. Half the reason these two won’t stop bickering is we were waiting for you.”
    I loved these guys sometimes. Emphasis on sometimes.
    I got up, broke out the guitar, and started tuning it up, ignoring the quieter than before bickering between Mark and Pathin. Finally finished, I cranked up the amp, ran a couple of scales, and said, “I want you guys to hear something. It’s a little different.”
    Serena looked up, and Mark and