14. Facing the Facts in Reno

fourteen

Facing the Facts in Reno

B eing a rockstar had its advantages. The first being a family that loves you. Midnight Hunt played music with me, but they were also the best friends I had ever had in my life. And Coleman? Well, his caring, and not judging me had me falling harder and harder for him.

The other advantage was that you could get the best fucking back doctor for drummers in the fucking world to come to you. He brought all his equipment, including a portable X-ray machine. I met with him in the hotel room at the Grand Sierra Resort, where we would be playing the next day after having run through all of the testing in one of the hotel’s conference rooms.

Doctor Harter sat on the chair adjacent to the couch, where I held on extremely tightly to Coleman’s hand. He didn’t say a thing about it—simply supported me. “Well?” I asked.

He shook my free hand and turned to shake Coleman’s as well. “There are no injuries or major issues on your X-rays.”

“What’s wrong?” There had to be something wrong. The pain was bad and getting worse.

“That’s actually the good news, Mr. Ziggy.”

I waved my hand. “No mister bull shit. Just Ziggy, thanks.”

“Fine, Ziggy. As I was saying, that’s the good news. And honestly, from what you told me about your yoga and stretching, I’m pretty sure that’s why. It’s kept you going this long, and it’s an extremely important aspect of your back health. So keep that up.”

“But it doesn’t seem to be helping him if he’s in this much pain.” Bless my Coleman for voicing exactly what I was thinking.

“It’s helping more than you realize. However.” He cocked his head to the side. “There are other things you need to address.”

“Like what?”

“Posture and position during drumming is crucial. You need adjustments. And understand it may take practice to get it all right, but even from the start, it will help. But first, you need a brace. This is only a posture correction to keep your back straight with your shoulders above your hips. It’s all about alignment. But it’s not so rigid that you can’t move freely. I know as a drummer, you need to move.” The doctor mimed drumming wildly, and he was pretty fucking accurate. “But the spine likes to be aligned and when you repeatedly do this…” He mimed his drumming again. “Without the spine aligned…” He ran his hands up and down along the sides of his body. “It’s like carpal tunnel. You’ve heard of that, right?”

“Yes, so like carpal tunnel for the back?” I was a little confused, but he was making sense as far as positioning the body.

He tilted his head back and forth. “Not exactly like that. But it helps as a description. Basically, your spine is not aligned correctly, and your muscles are spasming. It’s at the point now where every time you play, it triggers that muscle memory. It’s your body trying to protect the spine.”

“Okay. Got it. So the brace will take care of that?” Coleman asked.

“Not by itself. It’s a tool, but you need more tools. For instance, you need to look at the seat height on the kit and adjust it to the right level. You may have been sitting too low. And you need to be aligned in front of it correctly.” He held his hands out with his elbows tucked at his sides. “I’ll go with you to your kit and help you get the best position and show you how to repeat it every time. We’ll put a block of wood under the back legs to get the seat angle a little higher as well.”

“That’s not a lot. I was afraid this would be too much.”

“It’s not a lot, no. But it’s important. If you don’t pay attention and do this right, you’ll end up never playing again.”

“Oh fuck no.” I stood. That was not ever fucking happening. Playing the drums—playing with Midnight Hunt—was my life.

“Relax…” the doctor motioned for me to sit back down. “You’ll do this stuff and get better. It’ll be hard at first but stick with it. We’ll add a few other exercises to your strength routine as well. Other things like acupuncture or massage can also help. But even just relaxing in a hot tub after a show will help get those muscles to calm down.”

Coleman squeezed my hand. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“No, I guess not.”

“That doesn’t sound bad, no,” the doctor said. “But I’m not finished.”

I rolled my hand in the air, gesturing for him to continue.

“What you put in your body is also a problem. When you consume all the wrong things, your body doesn’t function correctly. Junk food, drugs, and alcohol. It’s all like adding poison to your nervous system. Confusing your body into not knowing what’s good or bad. Your muscles are protecting your spine, but they’re not going to realize you’re aligned correctly now if they can’t sense that through all the shit you’ve been dampening them with.”

“Uh…” I didn’t even know what to say. I mean, my diet wasn’t that bad. But I consumed entirely too many drugs and too much alcohol and had for a long time.

“I know. You’ve been numbing yourself. Don’t do that anymore. You want your body to be able to function properly. Eat a diet of lean meats and a lot of fruits and vegetables. Don’t cut out carbs, but rather eat better carbs. Cut out the processed crap. Not just processed bread and flour products but processed meat and dairy like crappy quality cheese and salami or pepperoni. If you get pizza, just get all the vegetables and chicken if they have it. It’s still pizza. You get me?”

“Yes. I can do that.”

“And I’m not going to say no alcohol because I’m not stupid. But let’s say no alcohol for the next few weeks until your body has a chance to adjust. After that, only one or two drinks a week. Save it for the important times. And no drugs. No marijuana. No. I am going to prescribe an anti-inflammatory. But I only want you to use it for two weeks regularly. Afterward, only as needed. And let’s switch out the pot for meditation. I’m going to leave you information on two of the best methods.”

“Meditation?” Was he kidding? Meditation was not the equivalent of smoking a joint.

“Look, Ziggy. It’s up to you. You can keep using it but you’re not helping yourself. If you do everything I say but keep smoking pot, you will end up with, I don’t know, one or two more tours. You’ll still have pain, but it’ll be tolerable. Until it’s not. But will it be too late? I don’t know. Maybe you’ll compress your spine and need surgery. I don’t know for sure, no. Likely, though.”

“Fuck me.”

Coleman pulled me into a hug. I wasn’t sure if that was necessary. If it came down to playing drums or smoking pot, the pot lost. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

The doctor agreed to meet me at the stage for soundcheck the next day, and Coleman made arrangements for us to have extra time to do it and for me to practice with the new alignment and the brace. The doctor left.

And Coleman stared at me like my head was about to explode.

“I’m okay, Cole.”

“Are you though?”

I shook my head and bit my bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

He held me tightly. “You know, we’re here for you. Not just me but the band and their significant others. Marci and Kai, the whole team.”

“So like everybody knows I’m a drug addict and can’t take care of myself.” A tear formed in the corner of my eye. My parents were right all along. I was worthless.

Coleman grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Stop that. No one thinks you’re an addict. You’ve had issues. And you’re getting help. That makes you strong. All I’m saying is that we all love you.”

My chest felt heavy. This was new, and it made my head spin. “I want to lay down.”

“Okay. Come on.”

The next morning, I went through the same routine with my yoga, and I added the extra exercises the doctor left for me like a good boy. I did one set of each. It would take time to build up to doing more. I’d try to add a second set the next day. Afterward, as usual, Coleman was down in the gym working out. I got dressed and searched for my pot. And there wasn’t any. I was jonesing fucking hard.

I flipped through my phone until I found my Reno contact, and I texted her. She could come up to the hotel. But I couldn’t have her come up to the room because I didn’t want Coleman involved. I needed to meet her downstairs. She said she’d be there in twenty, and I could meet her at the valet parking.

With a plan in place, I needed to get the fuck out of the room. I grabbed the key card and my wallet and headed out the door. Drake fell in line behind me. “Where’s uh, Calvin?” The other security guard, now assigned to us, was nowhere in sight.

“It’s Clark. And he went with Coleman.”

“Oh. Well. I’m going down to find some food.” Yeah, I could have ordered room service, but I wanted to stretch my legs. Drake followed. I knew he would. And after what had happened with Zade, I didn’t mind one bit.

After getting a salad at one of the restaurants—look at me being healthy—I ate about half of it and dumped the rest. It was time to head out to Valet Parking anyway. When I got to the exit, Drake stepped up his pace, walking beside me instead of behind. “Where are you going? We need extra security to leave the hotel.”

“I’m just going right here. My friend is coming. When she gets here, we’ll go back inside. Is that okay?” I hoped so because I didn’t want a bunch of security guards surrounding me for this.

“As long as you don’t leave the front. But I’m not sure I like that much.” Drake glued himself to my side. He wasn’t going to have a repeat of the Zade incident. No one was getting close without permission. And since it was my life at stake, I didn’t argue.

A minute or two later, a cherry red Mustang pulled up, and my friend Pam got out. “Yo! Zig, what’s shaking. Long time, no see.” She dropped keys in the valet’s hands and hugged me tight. I waited for her to get her receipt to claim her car, and then we went in the hotel with Drake on our tail. “That’s new.” She thumbed over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m like super famous now. Didn’t you hear about the guy who tried to get me to run off with him?”

“Oh, yeah, I thought that was a publicity stunt, or like Ziggy being Ziggy and bringing more drama than was really there.”

I laughed. Pam was always a straight shooter. She didn’t bullshit around for sure. “No, actually, this time it was a real threat.”

She slapped my shoulder. “Well, fuck you, Mr. Big Shot.”

“Ah…what-the-fuck-ever. Come on.” I looped my arm in hers. “I don’t know where we’re going, actually.”

Pam laughed hard. “You never do. I’ve been here before. Come on.” She headed toward the pool, and we went over to an area with a fire pit. It wasn’t totally secluded, but it was off to the side and no one else was there. It was fucking hot out and everyone around was too busy splashing in the pool or getting drinks at the bar. We sat on the cushions in front of the unlit rocks. Drake walked back and forth behind us, but he wasn’t watching us. He was focused on the environment and people around us.

“Perfect.”

“Yep.” We made a discreet transaction that I didn’t think anyone would notice.

“I’ll get you tickets to the show as well.”

“Sure. How about a drink now?”

“I’m not going to the bar, but…go get whatever you want. Charge it to room Twenty-five twelve.”

“Mmm… sounds perfect. Be right back.” She did a little tap on my shoulder as she walked away.

When she went to the bar, Drake came a little closer. “Do you really want to be making these choices?” He had never questioned me. Ever.

“They pay you for security, Drake, not like literally babysitting. You know?”

“I care about you. I know you’re a client, but I do like you. You know, sort of…”

I snorted a laugh. “That’s seriously the most you’ve ever said to me.”

“Still.”

“Let’s keep the same arrangement we had. You make sure no one hurts me or shoots me, and I’ll do my thing.”

Drake rolled his eyes. This big-bad motherfucker, with probably an eight-pack set of abs and biceps like boulders, rolled his eyes like a teenager. “Whatever.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation, but I also hoped he wouldn’t say anything to Coleman. I wasn’t going to tell him not to though. Pam returned with two big pink drinks. “These are called Desert Danger…” She handed me one. “I think they have four kinds of alcohol in them… I don’t know. It’s good though.”

She sat with her drink, and I took a sip. It was a little fruity and a bit strong. “What’d you do? Tell them to make it a triple?”

“Yep.” She sipped her drink while looking at me, until she burst out laughing. “No, duh, but your face right now is hilarious. Ah, fuck, Zig-man. I sure missed you.” She reached out and tweaked my nose, but it didn’t bother me.

“It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah. But life is good. You know? Brock and the boys keep me fucking busy.”

“You ever marry that asshole?”

“Nah…whatever, we’ll be all like I’m Goldie Hawn, and he’s my Kurt Russel. What we have works. So…” She took another drink. “Besides, he’s still a roadie and gone all the time, which actually helps. You know absence makes the heart grow horny and all that.”

I chuckled. Pam always made me laugh. “I don’t think that’s how it goes.”

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Who’s he working with now?”

“Blacksmith Sugar. They’re on the East Coast right now.”

“Are they playing Rocktoberfest? I’d love to see them and say hello to Brock.”

“Yeah, they’re on the first night, though.”

“Fuck yeah! We’ll be there for the whole festival. Are you going to be there?”

Pam shook her head. “No, the kids. I can’t be gone like that. But I get to see you now, bud.”

Pam and Brock were a connection I’d made very shortly after Midnight Hunt broke up the first time. We’d toured together with shitty bands in shitty joints and become great friends. “It’s great to see you, Pammy.”

“I know. And I look pretty fucking great for having popped out two brats, huh! Hey, can you get three tickets for tonight? I’d like to bring my oldest and his boyfriend.”

“Yeah, sure. How old are they?”

“He’s almost thirteen. Do you believe that?” She’d gotten pregnant while we were touring dives around the Midwest. It ended her coming with us.

“Damn, it’s been a long time.” I didn’t even want to do the math.

“It has, but I was fucking glad to see y’all get back together. You were way too fucking good to be playing those shitholes with those shitty bands.”

“Thanks. I’d like to think that.” Catching up with her had been great, but I really wanted to go hide out and smoke this joint. I didn’t want to ditch my friend, but I had other things to do. “Hey, I have to run. You should hang out. Charge whatever you want to our room.”

“Oh, yeah. I bet you have a lot of shit to do before the show. And I actually do too, but it’s been so fucking good seeing you.” We stood and hugged and walked down together, hugging again before she went out the front doors to retrieve her car while I went toward the back of the hotel. To find a spot where I could roll up a joint in peace.

After I got high, I went back to my room and took a shower. I put on fresh jeans and a T-shirt that was so old, it was nearly worn through, and I had no idea what was originally on the front of it. Now it was pieces of what it had been and looked a little like abstract art. But it was super comfortable.

I had an hour before I had to be down at the stage, which was onsite at the hotel, and I wasn’t sure where Coleman was, but I had words filtering in my head. Probably because it had been an emotional few days. I grabbed my notebook and opened it up. The words on the page were kind of gelling with the new ones I had, so I figured I’d work on meshing them together.

You threw my heart in a pine box

My love went deep, six feet

Can’t claw my way back—nowhere left to dance

No drums to beat

With me you buried another chance

There’s no second chance

There’s no second chance

I’ve been running on fumes

Running for my life

Banging out other peoples’ tunes

Looking for my way back to you

but in the end you don’t care

End the end you never dared

You threw my heart in a pine box

My love went deep, six feet

Can’t claw by way back—nowhere left to dance

No drums to beat

With me you buried another chance

There’s no second chance

There’s no second chance

This hole is dark can’t climb out

No matter how hard I bang and shout

Once you gave me a lifeline and a song

Now you’re giving me nothing but gone

After that, I was only staring at the words with a blank head and a heavy soul. I wasn’t sure what this song was. At first, it had been about me and Coleman, but now it felt like it was about my whole life. Drums had saved my life, but now they were slowly being taken away, and that was due to the drumming. Well, and maybe the drugs a little, but it was all fucking wrapped up together like a giant knot that wouldn’t let go no matter what end I tugged.

“Hey, Ziggy.” Coleman sat next to me on the couch. “What? What’s wrong?”

I sniffled and wiped my face. “Hard couple of days. No big deal.” I closed the notebook, but Coleman stared at it. “It’s not ready.”

“Okay. When you are.” He pulled me into his arms and hugged me. “I’m here.”

He felt warm and comforting, like home. Like a home I’d never known. I turned to the side and smooshed my nose into his neck. Maybe I could get through this as long as I had Coleman. I’d never been one to look for this, but in his arms, I felt like snuggling in.

He kissed the side of my head, which he had started doing more of lately. I kind of liked it too. “You have a show to do. Are you up for it? We can have Simon play again.”

“Oh fuck no. Don’t give that kid a bigger head than he already has.” Coleman knew I was kidding. Simon didn’t have that kind of disposition at all. “Seriously, though. I’m good. Just enjoying this for a minute.” I hugged him tighter.

“Mm…well, okay. I like this a lot.”

“Me too.”

When someone pounded on the door, I heard Marci yelling up and down the hall. “Let’s go if you’re going to do it. Soundcheck as soon as you get your ass on stage.”

“Har-har. That’s when all soundchecks should be. No more bullshit about me being late. They start whenever the fuck I get there.”

The doctor met us there as promised. He adjusted everything, which turned out wasn’t a lot, but he said that little bit would make a huge difference. I’d have to trust him on that. He also brought a couple of braces with him and sized me for the best fit. “You only need to wear this when you play. However, since you have a show tonight and it’s new, you may want to wear it for a little while before the show. Maybe an hour or so.”

“Okay. Thanks, doc.” I shook his hand and climbed back behind the kit. We had gone over the changes with Simon and my roadie, Mick, so they knew exactly how to line everything up. We threw in a brace for Simon for the few times he played. He might not need it so much now, but he was a great drummer and would eventually be in his own band.

Randy from Bramble Punk came over and talked to the doc while I took advantage of the extra time we arranged and practiced with the new setup and brace, getting used to the feel.

After a while, I finished up and handed my sticks to Mick. “That feels good.” I looked around but the doctor was gone.

Coleman smiled at me and made his way over. “You like the changes?”

“Yes. I think I already feel better.”

“Good. Randy got a brace and some adjustments, too. You’re doing a great job, leading by example.”

I shrugged off his comment. I was no fucking leader of anything. I just wanted to be able to play without the pain.

Marci held her hand up. “Yo! Meet and greet happening now. Come on.”

Coleman helped me take off the brace, and we gave it to Mick until show time. I jogged down the hall to the conference room set up with fans ready to get merch signed. I was in a much better mood and able to enjoy this more than normal. I even remembered to give Coleman Pam’s name for tickets. She’d skin me alive if I forgot.

I was looking forward to playing the show and realized it was the first time in a long time that I truly was.

When it was finally showtime, we all ran out on the stage. But I had to put the fucking brace on. So, I figured I would do it in Ziggy style. I grabbed it and stomped up to the front of the stage.

Miami stared at me for a minute, not sure what I was going to do. Well, I didn’t fucking know either. So I shrugged and pulled my T-shirt off and tossed it hard into the audience. I leaned into Miami’s mic. “Hey, Reno!” I had to wait for the noise to die down before going on, as usual. “We’re going to get started in a minute, but I need to get this brace on first.” I held it up over my head. I moved away from the mic and spoke to Miami. “Help me get this bitch on.”

We finagled it in place and adjusted it. When it felt right, I grabbed the mic again. “Thank you for your patience, Reno!” And pause for the screaming to stop—a little. “This is new.” I tapped the front of the brace. “But it’s going to let me keep playing for you a long, long time!” I yelled louder with each word, and the crowd responded. I motioned for them to get louder, and they didn’t let me down.

Miami mimed kicking me back to my kit, and I played it up a little before heading there. Of course, the crowd loved that. Miami had the mic now. “Our fabulous and infamous drummer…the Zig-meister!”

I ran through a complicated riff before easing it back into our first song, The One About Fighting .

Miami came in at the right time, “It happens more than I like, it’s a whirlwind of spitfire…”

And we were off on our own whirlwind, and we put out a fucking kick-ass show.