Chapter 9        

        My band was playing a show the next night at club about an hour north of Berkley. Sarah really wanted to go, but I didn’t want her to go at all. She was upset about it and with good reason. She’s never seen my band play. She’s my girlfriend. And more importantly: Why didn’t I want her to be there?

        I told her I would be too nervous if she was there. I told her it was more of a "guys" night. I told her a lot of things, but none of them were true.

        Really I just didn’t want to deal with her. When I’m rolling solo I can just crash anywhere. On a couch. On the floor. It doesn’t matter. When I’m with my girlfriend we’ve got to talk someone into letting us stay in their extra bedroom. And then they’ve got to make us a little bed and all that. Then, of course, what if it’s early and she gets tired? What if I’m tired and she wants to steer it into the sun. It’s a whole thing. We’re tied to each other.  

        Also there’s all the attention. I spend my time at shows catching up with all kinds of old friends I haven’t seen in years. I move around. I don’t want to worry that she’s not enjoying herself or that she feels left out. I don’t want to have a talk the next morning about how I was ignoring her. I’m horrible at remembering names and therefore fear introductions—which I wouldn’t have to do if I rolled solo.

        So I told her not to go. Simple enough right?

        I was hanging out at the club about an hour before the show when I got the call.

        "Well hello sir! It’s Bennett. Look, I’m bringing a caravan of people to your show tonight. We’re calling it The Wine Country Punk Rock Field Trip."

        “Rad! Only we’re not a punk rock band. We’re grunge."

        "Name two grunge bands."

        "Hmmmmm…  Nirvana?"

        "That’s what I thought. Nobody buys your grunge act. You’re in a punk band."

        "It’s a concept band."

        "Is the concept to sound exactly like Jawbreaker?"

        “Don’t say that out loud!”

        “I think the secret’s out on that one. So anyways I’m bringing a bunch of people from Oakland. What time does the show start?"

        "Eight."

        “Okay. So really ten. Oh hey so Sarah called me and I offered her a ride with us."

        "Cool. Wait. What? No. Don’t bring her. I don’t want her to come."

        "I already told her she could come with us. What’s your problem?"

        "Don’t worry about my fucking problem. Just don’t bring her. Tell her there’s no room or something."

        "Okay."

        "Promise me you won’t bring her."

        "Relax. I won’t bring her."

        "Promise me."

        "I promise I won’t bring Sarah. See you at 11."

        Here’s the thing about Bennett: He will always do the opposite of what you want him to do. And forget about reverse psychology. Reverse psychology is bullshit anyway and has never worked on anything in the history of everyone. It doesn’t even work on pets or children.

        Bennett’s not out to fuck shit up. He’s not operating from any malicious place. He’s just a tornado of good intent that always, always manages to fuck everything up.

        Your girlfriend cheated on you with your neighbor? Let’s get him and her over here for some beers and talk it out. Want a quiet night alone because you’re depressed? Best way to cure that is to show up at your door with a bunch of people.  

        Bennett wants everything on the table. He wants everything out loud. He just doesn’t live in the world of petty nuance. He doesn’t understand things like jealousy or revenge. Things I’m trying to prefect.

        After a night with Bennett it’s not uncommon to see a girl crying on the couch, two friends refusing talk to each other ever again and an eviction notice on the front door.  All the while Bennett standing in the middle with a tall can in his hand: “See? Isn’t everything better now?"

        So of course Sarah was with Bennett and his crew when they showed up at midnight — halfway through our set.

        He brought her! I just couldn’t let it go. I sneered at both of them over the microphone. After the set I hit the whiskey. It got worse and worse. I didn’t get my way. What a tantrum. What a child I was. I remember throwing my cell phone at a wall and breaking it. Flashes of things. Red.

        Sarah ended up driving me back to Berkeley in my car while I chastised her for ruining my night until I passed out.

        What a jerk.