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wl_fanfictionTitle: Roadside
Author: l0v3l1k3w1nt3r
Rating: PG (some strong language)
Summary: Not everything on the Whose Live tour is sunshine and lollipops. This is basically real-life WL, or at least next to it.
---
When Ryan woke up that afternoon, he could feel every bump and vibration of the trailer. Shades of green mixed in with the light coming in through the crack of the window curtains. Charlie Parker was dancing in the air (Jeff had probably gotten his iPod and speakers out). Ryan had no idea where they were now; last he remembered, they were in some place near Boston, but that was two nights ago. He was still across the country from Bellingham, however. A whole country apart from his family. And there he was, night after night, city after city, performing improv in front of hundreds of strangers and betting pocket cash on poker with his troupe members. He needn't to figure out how he had shamelessly missed out on Claire's first day of school. Not that he could help it; his job DID bring home a lot of bacon.
Swinging his long legs out of the cramped bunk bed, Ryan pulled up the edge of his pajama pants and murmerred a good morning (although he was well aware it was 1 o'clock by the microwave timer). The others looked like they had just gotten up as well; Chip was drowsily chewing on a banana, his head leaning against a wall. Jeff had his head bent over with his torso onto the fold-up dining table, iPod in hand. Greg, with his cigarette, was in the passenger seat, gazing idly out of the window with haggard eyes. It was obvious he wasn't the only one worn out from their long tour. Seeing as Chip was a family man himself, Ryan wondered how he was coping with his case of homesickness. But it was a thought he pushed aside, as his stomach began to wail for a bite to eat.
"Fuck, I'm sick of hearing jazz." Chip groaned, not even caring if Jeff was still vigilant or not. He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, then threw the banana peel at the back of Jeff's head. Startled, Jeff looked up for a moment, switched the music to Guns n' Roses, and plopped his head back down, barely giving recognition to the fruit that rested on his head. Even in his mid thirties, Jeff could easily pull off as a teenager.
Ryan peeked into the mini refrigerator. "We gotta make a pit stop to a grocery store." he announced. "All we've got is bananas and some frozen instant meals."
"Shotty not going out." Jeff blurted out from underneath his sleeve. Greg unrolled his window, using the loud gush of wind to go on as if he hadn't heard anything. Chip just took another banana, unpeeled it and took a meek bite.
"Fine." Ryan was in no mood for arguments. "Everyone get dressed. Next stop we're going to do some shopping."
Unfortunately, the only clean clothes Ryan had still reeked of sweat and beer. It was hard to keep a clean wardrobe while on the road. So behind Greg's back, Ryan sneaked into his suitcase and stole his air freshener. He could hear Chip yell and mutter a curse from the end of the trailer; he must've hit his head somehow while he was changing. As Ryan pulled on his jeans, he noticed Jeff hadn't drawn an inch from the dining table. Moving to investigate, Ryan placed a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him to arise.
"Come on, sleeping beauty, we're all going."
"I'm not getting up."
This annoyed Ryan. "We're all fucking tired, don't be such a pussy."
"I feel like throwing up."
There was a pause. "Do you want us to pull over now?"
Jeff shook his head. "I'm fine." he said stubbornly.
"You said you felt like throwing up."
"But I'm not going to." Just like a teenager...
Greg walked into the scene, freshly dressed in black pants, a brown shirt and a long sleeved purple dress shirt. "Reggie says we should be getting to a supermarket in ten miles. Can you hang on 'til then?"
Jeff finally got up, walking towards the sleeping quarters. "I said I'm fine." He left a very perplexed Greg and Ryan.
---
It felt funny to walk down the produce aisle without his children hassling him over arguments and candy. Instead, Ryan was accompanied by Chip, who assisted him in choosing out the best food to take with them on their travels. Jeff had wandered off to the magazines, and Greg was lassoed by the aroma of freshly baked donuts from the store bakery. While Chip picked out from a pile of oranges, Ryan was distracted by the scene of a mother and two young boys. She was on the phone with who seemed to be her husband, while her sons wrestled in their cart among the produce. Once every so often, she would try to break them apart, or grab some vegetables. Ryan immediately looked away with her suspicious glance, trying not to pass off as some pervert. It certainly was a challenge to be a parent, but it was a role he'd never dare to give up. And then the thought occurred to him again. Ryan turned to Chip.
"So how are your kids?"
Chip placed the bag of oranges in their card, and continued pushing it along. "They're good... but I haven't spoken to them in two weeks." He hunched up his shoulders a little, as if the subject was a fatal disease. "You miss 'em too?"
"Yeah - well, my kids, of course." Ryan laughed uncomfortably. "Mackenzie's going to her homecoming dance this year."
"Do you get to see her?"
"... Pat promised she'd send pictures."
"Oh. That's good." An awkward silence.
"How long have we been on the road?"
Chip thought for a moment. "Three months."
"Oh." That was all Ryan could say. But in his head thoughts were jumping about like fireworks.
---
Flipping through the pages of a music magazine, Jeff skimmed into articles of interest, his headphones blaring out the vocals of Vincent Neil from Motley Crue. He was reading an article on a musician's opinion against Proposition 8 in California, when he had a sudden feeling he was being watched. Trying to look up as high as he could while still passing off as if he were still reading, Jeff fell upon the partial sight of a brunette holding an art magazine. She was doing just the same, not even paying attention to the article on hers detailing the brilliance of Monet. Donning a wry smile, Jeff boldly made eye contact, pulling on his well worn mask of charisma.
"I've got a Monet replica back at home."
The girl seemed a little flabbergasted, hardly believing the handsome man had just spoken to her. "I'm actually not much of an art fan." she admitted. "My brother's the artist. I'm definitely a fan of music though."
Jeff wasn't sure whether the girl was nervous from knowing who he was, or the fact that she simply found him attractive. Either was, it didn't matter; it amused him enough to know his company was wanted so desperately. "Yeah... not a big fan of Proposition 8 too?"
The girl shrugged. "Nah."
The smile faltered. "You don't care if some people are being denied of their right to marriage?"
"Well, I'm not planning to get married to a girl anytime soon, so it doesn't matter."
Forget her fucking company. "It was nice talking to you." Jeff barely made an attempt to conceal his annoyance, as he took his magazine with him to find Greg. How he hated shallow people. They were like chickens with their heads chopped off. Bit it seemed it wasn't only the girl's opinion that had upset him.
"It's ok, tiger." Greg spoke with a mouthful of pre-purchased donuts. "You'll find another." How the hell did Greg read him like that?
"She's from Massachusetts... it wouldn't have worked out." Jeff reached into Greg's grocery bag and pulled out an eclair. Before he took a tantalizing bite, he noticed Greg was watching him rather listlessly.
"What?"
"Nothing..." Greg began. "I just remembered... Jenny liked eclairs... I was gonna buy a few more, but I realized it's probably not very likely you can send eclairs to California without the cream going stale."
"You could always send some flowers." At least Greg could send flowers to a loved one back home.
---
Hitting the highways once more, the boys ate a proper lunch in silence, just three hours away from their venue. They had decided to eat what they had before first, and indulged into the frozen dinners. Greg had suggested another game of poker after eating, but even he was getting tired of playing the same card game over and over again. He shuffled and folded the card deck continuously in private while he sat in his bunk, another lit cigarette between his lips. Greg wasn't actually much of a fan of gambling, but it was, or had been, a popular pastime during their travels. In total, Greg had lost $350 of his pocket money over the past couple games, which was probably why he wasn't so crazy over gambling. If Jenny had ever found out, she probably would want to tan his hide. Then again, any interaction with Jennifer lately would be warmly welcomed, considering how rare they seemed due to his work.
Greg figured he might as well play Solitaire to keep himself amused.
---
Thirty minutes until showtime. Surprisingly, they had arrived early, enough to be present for the sound check. Every so often, Greg would cough a cookie down his throat. The pastries slowly decreased in number, and left Jeff upset when he discovered their absence.
"Greg!"
The bespectacled man gobbled up the last morsels. "What?"
"You ate all the cookies, you pig, that's what!"
"I don't see you eating them."
"That's because you crammed them all in your big mouth before I could get to them!"
"Calm down." Ryan rolled his eyes, as he had been interrupted form his book. "There's plenty more in the trailer."
"Greg's probably devoured those too!"
"I'm not a pig!" Greg protested.
"Shut up, both of you! You guys sound like my kids!" For some odd reason, Ryan somewhat appreciated having to speak in that harsh tone. What dampened his spirit was the grave, dismal look Chip had entered the room with.
"I-I can't continue the tour." he blurted out. There were words of protest, but Chip silenced them easily with his own. "My wife is in the hospital." The atmosphere of the room fell into a dark, bitter chill.
"I'm sorry." Ryan couldn't find anything else to say. What he wanted to ask, however, was if Chip was planning to leave this instance. There was no way they could find a replacement on such short notice. He knew Chip would have been willing to let him go no matter what if Ryan were placed in his situation. But neither couldn't afford to go through with it. Ryan regretted the words he eventually had to say.
"You can't go."
When Ryan woke up that afternoon, he could feel every bump and vibration of the trailer. Shades of green mixed in with the light coming in through the crack of the window curtains. Charlie Parker was dancing in the air (Jeff had probably gotten his iPod and speakers out). Ryan had no idea where they were now; last he remembered, they were in some place near Boston, but that was two nights ago. He was still across the country from Bellingham, however. A whole country apart from his family. And there he was, night after night, city after city, performing improv in front of hundreds of strangers and betting pocket cash on poker with his troupe members. He needn't to figure out how he had shamelessly missed out on Claire's first day of school. Not that he could help it; his job DID bring home a lot of bacon.
Swinging his long legs out of the cramped bunk bed, Ryan pulled up the edge of his pajama pants and murmerred a good morning (although he was well aware it was 1 o'clock by the microwave timer). The others looked like they had just gotten up as well; Chip was drowsily chewing on a banana, his head leaning against a wall. Jeff had his head bent over with his torso onto the fold-up dining table, iPod in hand. Greg, with his cigarette, was in the passenger seat, gazing idly out of the window with haggard eyes. It was obvious he wasn't the only one worn out from their long tour. Seeing as Chip was a family man himself, Ryan wondered how he was coping with his case of homesickness. But it was a thought he pushed aside, as his stomach began to wail for a bite to eat.
"Fuck, I'm sick of hearing jazz." Chip groaned, not even caring if Jeff was still vigilant or not. He rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, then threw the banana peel at the back of Jeff's head. Startled, Jeff looked up for a moment, switched the music to Guns n' Roses, and plopped his head back down, barely giving recognition to the fruit that rested on his head. Even in his mid thirties, Jeff could easily pull off as a teenager.
Ryan peeked into the mini refrigerator. "We gotta make a pit stop to a grocery store." he announced. "All we've got is bananas and some frozen instant meals."
"Shotty not going out." Jeff blurted out from underneath his sleeve. Greg unrolled his window, using the loud gush of wind to go on as if he hadn't heard anything. Chip just took another banana, unpeeled it and took a meek bite.
"Fine." Ryan was in no mood for arguments. "Everyone get dressed. Next stop we're going to do some shopping."
Unfortunately, the only clean clothes Ryan had still reeked of sweat and beer. It was hard to keep a clean wardrobe while on the road. So behind Greg's back, Ryan sneaked into his suitcase and stole his air freshener. He could hear Chip yell and mutter a curse from the end of the trailer; he must've hit his head somehow while he was changing. As Ryan pulled on his jeans, he noticed Jeff hadn't drawn an inch from the dining table. Moving to investigate, Ryan placed a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him to arise.
"Come on, sleeping beauty, we're all going."
"I'm not getting up."
This annoyed Ryan. "We're all fucking tired, don't be such a pussy."
"I feel like throwing up."
There was a pause. "Do you want us to pull over now?"
Jeff shook his head. "I'm fine." he said stubbornly.
"You said you felt like throwing up."
"But I'm not going to." Just like a teenager...
Greg walked into the scene, freshly dressed in black pants, a brown shirt and a long sleeved purple dress shirt. "Reggie says we should be getting to a supermarket in ten miles. Can you hang on 'til then?"
Jeff finally got up, walking towards the sleeping quarters. "I said I'm fine." He left a very perplexed Greg and Ryan.
---
It felt funny to walk down the produce aisle without his children hassling him over arguments and candy. Instead, Ryan was accompanied by Chip, who assisted him in choosing out the best food to take with them on their travels. Jeff had wandered off to the magazines, and Greg was lassoed by the aroma of freshly baked donuts from the store bakery. While Chip picked out from a pile of oranges, Ryan was distracted by the scene of a mother and two young boys. She was on the phone with who seemed to be her husband, while her sons wrestled in their cart among the produce. Once every so often, she would try to break them apart, or grab some vegetables. Ryan immediately looked away with her suspicious glance, trying not to pass off as some pervert. It certainly was a challenge to be a parent, but it was a role he'd never dare to give up. And then the thought occurred to him again. Ryan turned to Chip.
"So how are your kids?"
Chip placed the bag of oranges in their card, and continued pushing it along. "They're good... but I haven't spoken to them in two weeks." He hunched up his shoulders a little, as if the subject was a fatal disease. "You miss 'em too?"
"Yeah - well, my kids, of course." Ryan laughed uncomfortably. "Mackenzie's going to her homecoming dance this year."
"Do you get to see her?"
"... Pat promised she'd send pictures."
"Oh. That's good." An awkward silence.
"How long have we been on the road?"
Chip thought for a moment. "Three months."
"Oh." That was all Ryan could say. But in his head thoughts were jumping about like fireworks.
---
Flipping through the pages of a music magazine, Jeff skimmed into articles of interest, his headphones blaring out the vocals of Vincent Neil from Motley Crue. He was reading an article on a musician's opinion against Proposition 8 in California, when he had a sudden feeling he was being watched. Trying to look up as high as he could while still passing off as if he were still reading, Jeff fell upon the partial sight of a brunette holding an art magazine. She was doing just the same, not even paying attention to the article on hers detailing the brilliance of Monet. Donning a wry smile, Jeff boldly made eye contact, pulling on his well worn mask of charisma.
"I've got a Monet replica back at home."
The girl seemed a little flabbergasted, hardly believing the handsome man had just spoken to her. "I'm actually not much of an art fan." she admitted. "My brother's the artist. I'm definitely a fan of music though."
Jeff wasn't sure whether the girl was nervous from knowing who he was, or the fact that she simply found him attractive. Either was, it didn't matter; it amused him enough to know his company was wanted so desperately. "Yeah... not a big fan of Proposition 8 too?"
The girl shrugged. "Nah."
The smile faltered. "You don't care if some people are being denied of their right to marriage?"
"Well, I'm not planning to get married to a girl anytime soon, so it doesn't matter."
Forget her fucking company. "It was nice talking to you." Jeff barely made an attempt to conceal his annoyance, as he took his magazine with him to find Greg. How he hated shallow people. They were like chickens with their heads chopped off. Bit it seemed it wasn't only the girl's opinion that had upset him.
"It's ok, tiger." Greg spoke with a mouthful of pre-purchased donuts. "You'll find another." How the hell did Greg read him like that?
"She's from Massachusetts... it wouldn't have worked out." Jeff reached into Greg's grocery bag and pulled out an eclair. Before he took a tantalizing bite, he noticed Greg was watching him rather listlessly.
"What?"
"Nothing..." Greg began. "I just remembered... Jenny liked eclairs... I was gonna buy a few more, but I realized it's probably not very likely you can send eclairs to California without the cream going stale."
"You could always send some flowers." At least Greg could send flowers to a loved one back home.
---
Hitting the highways once more, the boys ate a proper lunch in silence, just three hours away from their venue. They had decided to eat what they had before first, and indulged into the frozen dinners. Greg had suggested another game of poker after eating, but even he was getting tired of playing the same card game over and over again. He shuffled and folded the card deck continuously in private while he sat in his bunk, another lit cigarette between his lips. Greg wasn't actually much of a fan of gambling, but it was, or had been, a popular pastime during their travels. In total, Greg had lost $350 of his pocket money over the past couple games, which was probably why he wasn't so crazy over gambling. If Jenny had ever found out, she probably would want to tan his hide. Then again, any interaction with Jennifer lately would be warmly welcomed, considering how rare they seemed due to his work.
Greg figured he might as well play Solitaire to keep himself amused.
---
Thirty minutes until showtime. Surprisingly, they had arrived early, enough to be present for the sound check. Every so often, Greg would cough a cookie down his throat. The pastries slowly decreased in number, and left Jeff upset when he discovered their absence.
"Greg!"
The bespectacled man gobbled up the last morsels. "What?"
"You ate all the cookies, you pig, that's what!"
"I don't see you eating them."
"That's because you crammed them all in your big mouth before I could get to them!"
"Calm down." Ryan rolled his eyes, as he had been interrupted form his book. "There's plenty more in the trailer."
"Greg's probably devoured those too!"
"I'm not a pig!" Greg protested.
"Shut up, both of you! You guys sound like my kids!" For some odd reason, Ryan somewhat appreciated having to speak in that harsh tone. What dampened his spirit was the grave, dismal look Chip had entered the room with.
"I-I can't continue the tour." he blurted out. There were words of protest, but Chip silenced them easily with his own. "My wife is in the hospital." The atmosphere of the room fell into a dark, bitter chill.
"I'm sorry." Ryan couldn't find anything else to say. What he wanted to ask, however, was if Chip was planning to leave this instance. There was no way they could find a replacement on such short notice. He knew Chip would have been willing to let him go no matter what if Ryan were placed in his situation. But neither couldn't afford to go through with it. Ryan regretted the words he eventually had to say.
"You can't go."
---
Part Deux coming soon....
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