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okayohay · 2 years

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THE ONLY LIVING BOY IN NEW YORK

A word of caution: This will hurt. I've been toying with the idea of writing a story about a band breaking up for years. I wanted to write the rawness of it as it's happening, with no backstory of how the band behaved prior to the fallout. I could never figure out how to do that, until last year, when the drummer of a band I admired, announced that the last three shows he played were his last with the band.

This story is meant to pay homage to a time and a band I knew when things were different. Anyone out there who is still part of the Catfish and the Bottlemen fandom, is feeling a mix of hurt and malice right now, and there's nothing any of us can do other than suffer through it. I decided to make this a fanfiction and I'm writing it in Van's perspective. This is not fact. This is not real. This is just my take on the state of things and my attempt to put life into something that doesn't really exist any more. I don't expect anyone to like it. But I needed to write it. I hope it gives those of us who are still here a little bit of peace, even though it's fictitious.

I love you all.

THE ONLY LIVING BOY IN NEW YORK

CHAPTER ONE

Word Count - 2058

“I’m leaving the band.”

Four small words that were about to change the course of my life.

I was standing on the platform behind the stage for the first time in eighteen months. Nervous excitement brewed just below my skin as we attempted to ready ourselves for our first show post-pandemic. But the words that I heard from my bandmate, were not the ones I was expecting when I’d asked if everyone was ready.

I turned my head at the same time I reached for my guitar, craning my neck toward the person who just spoke the words I never thought I’d hear any of them say. I looked right at Bob, the backbone to the band who rolled his drumsticks habitually through his fingers when my eyes met his. His facial expression was a mix of nerves and relief and the realization of his relief made me nervous.

I felt the lopsided smile on my face as I spoke. I could taste the anxious fear salivating in my mouth. “What was that mate?” A nervous laugh rolled out of my mouth after and to my right, I noticed Johnny tune his guitar as if nothing was happening around him. To the left of me, Benji sat his bass down and folded his arms over his chest, stepping forward toward Bob.

Benji’s words were quieter than mine, more cautious and realistic perhaps. “This isn’t a joke? This is real?” It sounded like Benji’s words were more of a statement rather than a question, and that did little to pacify my nerves.

Bob nodded once at Benji as he neared him. Benji shielded his eyes with his hand and turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose and grunting. I looked away from Benji and met Bob’s gaze again. His eyes were glassed over, frosted in feelings and he sighed. “These next three shows, they’re my last.”

I felt my knees shake as I reached for the cart next to me that was holding an array of speakers and cords. I steadied myself against them and looked at the floor, trying not to throw up the half gallon of water I’d chugged before getting ready to start the show.

“Wh-what…Bob, what the hell do you mean?” My words had become gasps mixed with loud whispers. I didn’t sound like myself.

A small, almost unmeasurable cry escaped from Benji, whose back was turned away from the rest of us now. His long, curly hair kept his face entirely hidden from view. I wanted to reach for him, to attempt to gain some sort of composure, but I knew if I let go of the speakers, I’d collapse.

Bob cleared his throat, speaking quietly but in a firm tone. “I’m done, Van. I’m done with all of it. I want to be home with Allie. She’s pregnant. We want to start our life and we can’t do that on the road. I need to be there for her.”

“She’s pregnant?” From behind me, Johnny Bond spoke up as he lit a cigarette casually, draping his guitar from his side. “Congratulations.”

Bob smiled softly at Bondy’s good-tidings and Bondy blew his smoke at me as if someone just told us a boring story.

“Did you know about this?” I nodded to Johnny.

He glanced back at Bob and stared at him for a few moments before deciding to answer. “Na. I didn’t know nothin.” He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a long drag.

I looked at Bob. “I don’t believe him. And I don’t believe this. Why are you telling us this now? Before the biggest night of our lives? This is the show we’ve dreamed of playing since we were fifteen, standing in the back of the coffee shop talking about where we’d be someday. Why are you telling me now? You had so many moments, Bob. You waited until right now?"

Benji sniffed before coughing and turning toward the rest of us. He stayed off to the side, not closing the space between us and keeping a distance.

“Because I didn’t want you to think that tonight was the start of a new era. I mean…it could be the start of a new era, for you and whatever plan you have next, but it’s not a start for me. It’s the end of the line.”

I placed my hands on the tops of my knees and bent over on a gasp of air. The space around me began to spin and I shut my eyes hoping to stop it.

“Don’t do this to me, Bob.”

“I’m sorry, V. I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want it bad enough.”

“What if I want it bad enough for both of us? What if we figure something out with management? Talk to them about what we could do differently so that we wouldn’t always be on the road? Make it so you can be with your family but still be with the band. We can still be Catfish and the Bottlemen like that, yeah?” The hope in my words was evident, the belief was even present. But in glancing around the room, that belief turned quickly to despair. The looks on the faces of the roadies and the sound and lighting directors who managed to come back to work in the industry post-pandemic, said enough. Disbelief. Shock. Loss. They were all wearing it, and I knew my own expressions was a reflection of theirs.

I turned to my tour manager, Steve, but he couldn’t look at me. He looked at the ground and refused to face any of us. I knew in that moment; Steve already knew we were disbanding. He knew this was coming and he didn’t say anything. Rage elbowed it’s way toward my disbelief and I felt myself wanting to erupt.

“I’m done with it. I’m done with the noise, Van. I’m ready to be quiet. I liked the last eighteen months. I like where I’m going now. You can want it enough for yourself, but you can't want it for someone else. I'm sorry. I am."

I couldn’t speak. I shook my head and bit my lower lip, telling myself this wasn’t happening. Not Bob. Not Bob. Please not Bob. I felt myself drawn to pray in my mind as the roadies and sound techs around us from the festival crew hovered and buzzed, not understanding what was happening within our circle. I didn't know how to pray though, and it felt like I was clinging to religion as a last ditch effort to keep Bob with me. With us.

"Please...please stay."

"Van...it's already done." Steve spoke softly from the side, clearing his throat afterwards before repeating itself. "His decision has been made."

I wanted to reply. I wanted to beg, to plead and to fight for him back, but I was interruped by a production member for the festival.

“T-minus five, boys. Get set up.”

The lights dimmed and a sea of hundreds of thousands of people cheered from the other side of the curtain. I steadied myself on my legs and swallowed the pain in my throat. We all looked at each other then. The four of us who had started aiming for this feat months after the release of our first album six years earlier. That was the beginning, and this was the beginning of the end.

“I’m not leaving yet.” Bob said soflty and nodded to the stage. “I’m here now. I will play these three shows with you, and I will do it like I have always done it. I won’t let you down, Van. Any of you.” He sighed and reached for my guitar, handing it to me nervously. “We gotta do this. But you’ve gotta know what’s coming. I’m not going to lead you on.”

I fixated my eyes on my black guitar that seemed to glitter under the haze of the backstage lighting. I couldn't remember the last time it had looked this clean. A breeze blew around us, causing me to feel a slight chill even under my long-sleeved t-shirt. The crowd began chanting as a swarm of techs prodded at the mics in our pockets and flicked the buttons to the earphones we all wore. I didn’t flinch. I was use to this by now, and I was stunned into a statue like state. Someone started pushing us toward the stage, and I was vaguely aware of our pre-entry song playing over the speakers. Someone told me it would be okay, and to just get through the show. We’d talk about it later. I watched Bondy extinguish his cigarette into an empty Pepsi can as he brushed by me without a word.

Someone continued ushering us to our places, pointing where we each needed to walk and shouting about watching for the cords on stage left. We didn’t even get a chance to do our huddle before the show. There was no pumping-up, and we didn’t throw our arms around each other and combust into a pre-show chant. That was tradition, but no one said anything about it, they just kept walking.

I watched the three of my bandmates walk to their places on the stage and heard the crowd roar with excitement. I could feel the stage floor shake beneath me as I continued looking around at the scene. I wanted to move. I wanted to revel in this, I wanted to go out there swinging, leaning my back into Bondy’s like old times and climbing on top of amps while throwing myself toward the crowd. But I was frozen in place. There was nothing pushing my forward, but everything else was holding me back.

Benji stepped off the stage, jogging toward me between flashes of light, and remaining hidden enough so that no one off stage would notice. I could barely hear him through the screams beyond us, but I made out the gist of what he was telling me.

“Van. Get through this. I’m right here, let’s do this. Now. You’re on.” He gripped my shoulder and nodded, and I pulled myself out of the moment as the sound around us grew. I knew what I needed to do, what was expected of me. What I owed everyone.

Benji headed back to his place on the stage and when he made it to his mic stand, I began taking long strides toward my own, and despite the poisonous feelings swirling round my chest, I managed to throw my hands in the air and embrace the homecoming that was happening for us. It was loud, and it was emotional. My entrance was met with screams and cries, and pleas to stay together from fans in the crowd. It was like they knew what was coming, too. It was like they didn’t expect the four of us to be on this stage together after all this time, and I didn’t want them to know that it was going to be a short-lived reunion. Fear gripped me for a second, as I wondered if I’d ever feel like this again. Would I ever have another moment on a stage like this again? Would I ever be at this level again? And worse, who would I be next to if it wasn’t Bob? I glanced over my shoulder at him as he adjusted his cymbals. The realization that this was ending crossed my mind in a fury and I winced.

I shook my head and stomped the ground angrily when I made it to the mic stand, jumping violently as I tried to stamp out my feelings in the moment. My anger was only met with more cheers. It probably looked like I was pumping myself up. It probably looked like I was revving myself up, when really, I was doing everything I could to keep from breaking down. I threw another arm in the air and adjusted my guitar strap.

Bondy’s guitar chords started humming the rift of our opening song and I sighed as I palmed the mic like a memory. I opened my mouth, pressed my lips against the cool metal and closed my eyes. The show had to go on, so I started it with a line.

“Go, ahead and tell me….”

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