Completely (Un)expected

"This button turns on the stage left microphones. This slide here controls the treble, and this one's for the bass levels."

My dad had been a sound board engineer for as long as I can remember and he'd been in love with music way before I was even a thought. He loved messing around with sounds and making each minute of every tune perfect and sounding as clear and kick-ass as possible.

Because of his crazy occupation, there was little room for normalcy in our lives. We'd both traveled all across the country, going to different clubs and venues that my dad was to operate the sound board in on any given night. I traveled with him, mostly during the summer when I didn’t have school, though the occasional week taken off during the year to go out to Washington or California was not uncommon.

"What's that do?"

"That'll jack up the volume on guitar-" he paused a moment and picked up the wire with a small white tag attached to it. "number three."

My dad's work always interested me. I'd been a musician since the day I could hold a pair of drum sticks and having a dad who worked in such cool venues with people who made some of the best music I'd ever heard was the coolest perk I think I could have been blessed with.

I always tagged along to the shows my dad was working. He never minded that I was there and though for a while I'd stay back with him and the board, eventually I'd end up wandering off to sit up front, go backstage or, if I was feeling extra daring, sneak out for a quick smoke.

I liked to think that my dad enjoyed having me tag along with him. He never complained and it's not like I ever got in his way. He'd show me what everything did on this brand or that make of sound board and I'd retain the knowledge for all of a minute before I was back to asking questions again. These nights were some of the best of my life, and I couldn’t believe this would be my last.

Travel had never been too far or lasted for too long that my dad couldn’t take me along with him. Every once in a while I'd be alone at the house for a few days or even up to a week while my dad was doing a few gigs and didn’t want me missing a lot of school, but he'd always come back before I could miss him too much. This time, though, it would be different.

It was August. The club was hot and humid but still had a cool vibe to it. There were red and blue lights illuminating the stage where a local band was soon to be jamming out to hard, Jersey rock.

Officially, my dad and I resided in Pennsylvania, that is, when we weren't in some random motel room in Chicago or Minnesota. The last show of the summer was my last show period, or at least for the year. I was to be a senior in high school in just a few weeks and my dad had decided what was best for me wasn’t my current scene.

I fought him on it 'till I turned blue, but in the end, daddy knows best. He was taking me on this last excursion into the 'glamorous' world of music before I was to be buckled down with my aunt, uncle, and two cousins in boring Belleville, New Jersey.

He had been scheduled on a once in a lifetime tour of some of music's biggest names, including one of Seattle's hottest new bands that was sure to be the next biggest thing in hardcore punk-rock. I was happy for him, but devastated to hear that I wouldn’t be sharing the experience with him.

The tour was all across the country. It would hit Columbus and Indianapolis, Denver, and Las Vegas, and not to mention just about every other city in between. It was huge; one of the most 'anticipated alternative-musical endeavors of the decade,' as the press put it, and I was going to be missing out on the whole thing.

Being it next year was my senior year, my dad thought it would be best not to screw up my studying and chance at actually getting into a university by moving me around, preventing me from attending normal school. I'd suggested homeschooling, or 'tour-bus schooling' as I put it. He suggested sending me off to live with family. Family that I hadn't seen in years and was sure barely remembered me. The last time I'd seen my cousins, they were just breaking the toddler years, and seeing as we were all just about the same age, you could say it had been a while.

This last hoo-rah was in New York City at a back-alley club that no one had ever heard of yet everyone seemed to go to. The venue was packed, adding to the sticky, full feeling of the place while also adding to the excitement and energy. I had never heard of the band before; they were a bunch of older guys who looked to be around my dad's age, so there weren't that many kids of my years there, not that I minded. I really only came for the music and bonding time with my dad.

As was customary, once all the techy stuff was all set and ready, dad and I went backstage to meet the band. Well, so I could meet the band since my dad had already known them from the rehearsals and tech meetings.

Equipped with mighty official looking backstage passes, we made our way through the crowded floor to the door on the right of the stage. There, a large man who resembled a wall stood with a stern look on his face that softened a little at the sight of my dad and softened a lot at the sight of me. We flashed our passes to him and he offered a cool nod and courteous smile before bowing to the side slightly and opening the door that had been nearly invisible behind his large, gruff build.

"Thanks, Craig," my dad offered politely.

"No problem, Henry," the human wall named Craig replied. "This your little girl?"

I hated when people would ask that. Yes, I was his daughter, but I certainly wasn’t Henry Owens's 'little girl.' I was almost seventeen, vulgar as fuck, and far from 'little.' I was a big girl, dammit and I hated when people would disparage me just because I was the sound guy's kid.

"Yeah," my dad replied, shooting me a knowing look, aware of just how much I hate the belittlement. "This is Etta."

I was named after my father. His name was Henry making mine Henrietta. I didn’t hate it, but at times I wished for it to be anything else but this. My dad always called me 'Henri with the I,' but usually introduced me as Etta, that way we avoided the confusion of Henry versus Henri.

I smiled to Craig and shook his hand, offering a polite-as-possible, "Nice to meet you." Though I'm likely to never see you again because I'll be stuck in stupid New Jersey, I thought.

Introductions aside, we eventually stepped backstage. The band that was to play in just a few minutes was sat on large, overstuffed leather couches doing everything from tuning instruments to tapping out practice beats on the sides of a vanity table. One man sat changing the strings of a beat up, green guitar and looked up upon hearing the squeaking of the ancient door as my dad and I made our entrance.

Dad had already met all of them, but I was a little more shy. I didn’t know these people and being that I was already a naturally reserved person, I was never one for mass introductions, though over the years I had gotten more comfortable.

I hid behind my dad slightly as he caught up with them as if they were old friends that hadn't seen each other in years and discussed the status of the sound equipment.

In due course, my presence was made. I was once again introduced as 'Henry's little girl named Etta,' this time by my father who was deliberately pushing my buttons in an effort to get me to loosen up a bit.

Hands were shaken, 'hello's and 'nice-to-meet-you's were exchanged and soon the conversation was turned on me.

"Poor kid," a man who sat tuning a bass coddled. "You've got to hang out with all the adults tonight. No one your age."

"Eh, that's okay," I shrugged. "I'm really only hear to listen."

In response to my reply, one of the guitar players turned and asked seemingly to no one in particular, "Hey Frank, isn't your boy here?"

Leaning coolly by the vanity and previously hitting its sides with a set of well beyond broken in drum sticks, the man apparently named Frank replied, "Yeah, but I'm not sure where he went off to."

Almost as if on cue, a boy appeared in the doorway, catching the attention of Frank. He wore his hair in his eyes and just messy enough to be alluring without looking dirty. His jeans had more rips than solid fabric and the lettering on his band tee shirt was so illegible that it could have said just about anything and I'd never know what it was. His ratty converse were torn and scuffed, much like mine, though his looked even older, the white fronts looking more brown and dirty.

My eyes instantly locked on his hazel ones, just peeking out from under his messy fringe. The world fell for just a moment and all that was left was me and this boy, whose name I didn’t even know yet.

"Oh, Frankie, there you are," Frank broke the silence. I assumed this was Frank's 'boy' and much like my own father and I shared a name, so did these two.

"Hey, dad," he replied to his father, his eyes averting from mine seeming to immediately forget that I had ever existed.

"Where've you been?" his father inquired.

"Just around." He seemed mysterious and interesting, but that may have just been because he was new to me. I hadn't met anyone new that was around my age in a long time seeing as I'd gone to the same school with the same kids since pre-kindergarten. I hadn't yet needed to be versed in the art of meeting new people; I had been banking on the probability that my cousin already had friends he'd be willing to share with me once I was settled in Jersey.

"Frank, this is Henry Owens. He's going to be doing the sound boards tonight." Younger-Frank and my dad shook hands and he offered up a smile like I'd never seen before. His shallow dimples pulled in and his little silver lip ring glistened in the dim lighting.

After a beat when I thought I was actually in the clear, my dad pulled me out from my pathetic hiding spot behind his hip and said, "And this is my daughter, Henrietta."

My body raced with adrenaline and my heart started to beat faster and harder, which was only exacerbated when his hand made contact with mine. The shock from the feeling of his skin nearly sent me into a coughing fit.

His hazel eyes seemed to drill into me, and I would have gotten totally lost in them if he hadn't spoken up.

"It's nice to meet you, Henrietta." His hand released mine, but I wasn’t so quick and I held on awkwardly for a moment too long before pulling away rather quickly and shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans.

"Uh, yeah, you too," I stuttered before finding my words a little more easily. "And you can call me Henri, or Etta; whatever's fine."

Not only did I want to prevent younger-Frank from thinking I was weird, I didn’t want my dad or older-Frank to get a clue. It was clear that I was at least infatuated by younger-Frank, if not crushing on him, but I didn’t want the 'rents to know that. I tried my best to keep my cool and use as little speaking as possible in an effort to prevent babbling and anything stupid from slipping out.

"Well, good to meet you, uh, Henri," he replied, settling on which name he'd call me. He turned to his dad after a beat and said, "I'm going to go grab that last snare."

His dad nodded and gave him a quick, "'Kay."

Just before turning to leave from the door he'd entered from, younger-Frank looked to me one more time.

"See you later?" he asked, most likely rhetorically. I wasn’t sure if he was expecting an answer or not, but considering he stood for a moment awaiting at least some sort of response, I managed to mutter out, "Sure."

He smiled once more, before stepping back and walking out into the brisk night air to retrieve the last of the gear he'd promised to bring out onto the stage. I just watched as he slipped into the darkness, just as mysteriously as he'd entered and I couldn’t help but wonder if I'd actually be seeing him later or not.

A touch snapped me from my daze as my father laid a hand on my arm. "Henri?" he queried. "You going to come work the board with me?"

My dad never actually expected me to offer anything when it came to operating the sound board. Sure, a few times he'd let me turn on some microphones or turn up the volume on a set of guitars, but nothing major. I usually just sat and watched as the dials were turned with expert precision and the slides were moved with perfect timing at the experienced hands of my father and his years of musical influence.

"Yeah," I offered along with a smile to mask my uneasiness.

We said goodbye to the guys and made our way back across the hectic club floor to the raised sound board balcony. I thought it was cool that we had the whole space to ourselves with no one to bother us and no possibilities of cute boys named after their fathers finding us.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to see Frank at all again that night, but I didn’t want to let him distract me from the last night of music and time spent with my dad that I'd have until God knew when. I didn’t want to let the thoughts of him overtake my mind and prevent me from enjoying my time with my dad, so as the lights finally dimmed and the curtain lifted, Frank was pushed out of my mind and my last night with my dad began with the opening song.

Notes

Hey-yo!! So it's me again, posting another story. As promised, this is one of my newest stories and another one of my absolute favorites! I'll still be posting What Happens in High School on Fridays, while this story's updates with be on either Wednesday or Thursday (I haven't yet decided; for all I know, I'll make it on Friday too) anyway, enjoy the reading, leave a comment if you like, and feel free to message me anytime!!