WAITED ALL YOUR LIFE ~ Prologue
Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Alaska (Lassie) Jones (OC)
Waited All Your Life Summary:
When a soul has suffered enough pain - it becomes that of a shell. A place no one can infiltrate, sacred and dark - and all alone. Jake and Alaska both closed off their souls to the rest of the world a long time ago, convinced that love would never be in the cards. They didn’t want it - they practically rejected it. Jake’s band Greta Van Fleet and Alaska’s band Icarus Casus were slowly becoming the most prominent rocks bands of their generation. But when they decided to take a month long trip together to the Chattanooga mountains to focus on their new albums - everything changed.
What happens when two souls, shut off from the world and all alone, find each other. Do they help rebuild what was broken - or do they burn everything to the ground.
Warnings: 18+ (Minors BE GONE); Mentions of car crashes, death from car crashes; mentions of death; smoking; drinking; Asshole Jake
A/N: This is the prologue to the story, chapter 1 will be out soon! I know its a little long and content heavy for a prologue, but I thought it be best for the comprehension to have a well established beginning so no one is confused. Hope we all love!
If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know in the comments! xoxo
~ Waited All Your Life Masterlist ~
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My eyes slowly creaked open as I could start to feel half of my face warming up, the bright Michigan sun shining through my window giving everything in its wake a warm and bright cast. As I slowly started to come to, my brother Dallas came barging into my room - causing way too much chaos and overall noise for me to enjoy the first few peaceful moments of my day. “Lassie, Wake up!” He shouted down at me, my body still wrapped in my comforter, his muscular and shirtless chest shading me from the sun. “What do you want Dallas.” I replied, eyes closed and voice crackling from the mere seconds I’ve had to adjust to being awake. “So, you know how I went to that party last night? Well, me and Sam got to talking - and we thought of this great idea.” He said, a grin lining his face. I slowly sat up on my elbows, ready to hear my brothers daily idiotic, ‘brilliant idea’. “What did you come up with today, Dallas. Enlighten me, please.” I respond, eyes wincing at my still very early, very not awake surroundings. I swear to god, I don’t know how my brother and Sam aren’t in jail for his brilliant ideas at this point. “Obviously we have a band, and Sam’s got a band. We’ve never been able to correlate anything between Greta and Icarus because we’ve always been on different schedules and in different places, but Greta just finished their last tour of Eastern America and now have a month long break before they go out on the road again.” He said down towards my direction, expecting some sort of reaction to this news. “Okay…” I respond, clearly not entertained. “Well… me and Sam thought it might be beneficial for both bands to spend the month in the Chattanooga mountains, where the Kiszkas have those cabins, to write. I mean we don’t have anywhere to be, we were gonna spend this time writing anyways… and not only could we help each other out with our new albums but it would be fun. We haven’t gotten to properly spend time together in a while… and he is my best friend after all.” He says. My eyes, now MUCH more awake than before, sigh in his direction. “Dallas…. It’s too early for this shit. Let me properly wake up and we'll talk about this later.” I respond, falling back into the warm cocoon I’ve made in my bed. “Okay, I’m gonna go get breakfast with Sam, be back later.” he says, while swiftly exiting my room and closing the door.
While I would usually proceed to throw a plethora of insults at my brother for his not so brilliant ideas, I decided against it today as his idea…. realistically wasn’t a bad one. Was it one I was particularly exited for? Absolutely not. But I could see the look in my brothers face when he spoke about finally being able to spend some real time with his best friend and thought I’d save the criticism for another day.
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My brother Dallas Jones, and the infamous Samuel Kiszka have always been best friends - in every sense of the word. Sam - having grown up with not one but two TWIN brothers at that, he found some much needed comfort in my brother as they were twins in their own capacity. Dallas and Sam are basically the same person. Both sporadic, ADHD infused, and moronic at most times - not to mention, both the babies of our respective families. They have always been connected at the hip. Dallas and Sam met at the annual Frankenmuth town fair, in Frankenmuth Michigan, the town where the Kiszka’s live. Me and Dallas grew up in the next town over, Bridgeport Michigan - which was a 15 minute drive from Frankenmuth, and about a 10 minute drive from the Kiszka house. Despite them attending different elementary and high schools, you better believe the two of them were together Every. Goddamn. Day. Whether they had to beg our parents to drive them every day… ride their bikes along the highway (and lie to our parents about it), or even part take in the occasional hitch hiking depending on where they were that day… one would always end up at the others house by the time there were stars in the sky.
Thanks to growing up in somewhat rural Michigan where we barley ever saw cops and you knew every single one of your neighbours for miles… it wasn’t uncommon for kids without drivers licences to be behind the wheel and in and around town. This meant that by the time I was fourteen years old (Dallas and Sam being twelve at the time), I was given the responsibility of dropping off and picking up my brother up from Sam’s in an older Chevy truck my dad no longer used. After my long days of school, and my somewhat-social life - I would end up driving down Junction Road every night to collect Dallas. Over time, I got to know Josh - Sam’s oldest brother and (older) twin to Jake. Or should I say the mean twin. Anyways, me and Josh would come to be pretty close as friends. At some point during my daily trips to the Kiszka house to drop off Dallas, I simply stopped going home to stay and hang out with Josh - my new best friend. Homework, film, literature, art, music - me and josh enjoyed all of the same things, and enjoyed each others company even more. Nothing romantic ever conspired between us, in fact we would often refer to each other as our ‘platonic soulmates’.
Fourteen years old is usually around the age where twin boys are at their most opposite. Growing up having a literal clone of you walking around, wearing the same clothes and being stereotypically forced into basically the same person - being called ‘Josh and the other Josh’, would naturally take its toll. Josh was into everything I was into, and by the time we got to high school we were generally referred to as the weird kids. The kids who would try out for plays at our high schools, the kids who would read books because it was fun… you get the point - we were the weirdos.
Jake on the other hand - started playing sports all of a sudden and was one of the most popular boys at Frankenmuth High (how typical Jake…). Hell, even at my high school in Bridgeport, he was spoken about as some sort of God. Me and Jake never got along. I would occasionally pass him in the driveway sometimes or he would interrupt me and Josh watching something we would have referred to as ‘cinematic excellence’, and I wouldn’t be so much as acknowledged. Josh always noticed this, him being the intuitive and kind person he is - and he would reassure me that Jake simply had a thicker skin than most, one that needed more work to be able to see the good parts (If they even exist…). I always played it off as though I never cared, but in a truthful world - Jake was my first crush. From the first day I saw him, walking from his house into their garage as I parked in their driveway to drop off Dallas, it was impossible to ignore the absolute beauty that was Jake Kiszka. But as a fellow weird kid and Jake being one of the most popular people in the county - not to mention I was constantly with his brother (happily might I add), I let the kiddy crush remain a kiddy crush and nothing more.
We never spoke once, although I would get the occasional snare in my direction. Again, I was a wierdo alongside with his twin brother - the literal embodiment of what Jake was trying not to be. So why would he ever talk to me?
When I was 15 years old and a sophomore in high school, my dad had left. He stormed out one night, after getting in a fight with my mom. He had quickly packed a bag, left behind most of his things along with some very hurtful and nasty remarks that will forever be ingrained in my memories, and I never saw him again.
I was an absolute Daddy’s girl, in every sense of the word. I was aware of the fact that in reality my father wasn’t the best dad, definitely could have been a better husband to my mother, but I always gave myself the excuse that he was simply trying his best. My dad was the reason for my love of music. We would listen to old records every day after school, and he basically taught me everything I know about music. He gave me my first guitar when I was seven, an acoustic Yamaha. He had picked up on my want to learn the guitar, and pushed me to pursue it. Eventually I got really good and he bought me my first electric guitar for Christmas when I was nine, a dark blue Fender Strat he had come across at a pawn shop. The bond me and my father had, had an interesting way of blurring out every red flag the man held. Which was enough red flags to paint the state of Michigan red. When he left, I was lost.
That year, I had a bunch of classes with a group of people I would never usually befriend. People that were generally perceived as ‘bad kids’ - kids who would constantly defy the rules, had no responsibilities in their lives, and cared about nothing other than doing whatever the hell they wanted, whenever the hell they wanted to. The outcasts, some may say. For some reason unbeknownst to me, this particular group of people took a liking to me - and I was in no position to turn down friends. My only friend at this point was my brother (who was constantly with the love of his life Sam), and of course Josh - who didn’t go to the same high school as me. So, my young and impressionable mind would become their friend. But more so than that, I was in dire need of a distraction. Something that would make my miserable and sad days a little more eventful, something that filled the gaping hole my dad had left in his wake.
Over the year that followed, as I started to let the outcasts more and more into my life, and Josh slipped further and further out of mine. Me and Josh went from seeing each other every day to a few times a week, to maybe once every other week if we were lucky. I was enjoying the numbness of living life as an outcast, and enjoying the freedom of no longer being constrained to my old life, one that served as nothing but a reminder of what was so prudently missing.
I was 15 years old. That night was a Saturday, it was about 1 o’clock in the morning, and me and my group of friends were out drunkenly driving as we used to do. The thought did cross my head on numerous occasions during these constant wild nights out that maybe something bad would happen with someone so intoxicated behind the wheel, however after this becoming a regular outing for our friend group I was confident in the abilities and luck of my friends, the thought not bothering my conscience any further.
That particular night, one of the guys in the group had stolen his fathers SUV after sneaking out, and our group had the idea to race against each other. With liquid courage running through out veins and not a singular care on our minds, we drove down the highway doing about 150 miles an hour. This was a smaller Michigan highway, one that was labelled as a highway but was really a long stretch of road with 2 lanes that drove through Frankenmuth, Bridgeport, and the entire state. The perfect place for a race.
After about 10 minutes of keeping this constant and lethal speed, as well as bottles of dark liquor being continuously emptied into our young bodies, one of my friends who was driving the car I was in the back of, decided to overtake the SUV. He pulled into the oncoming lane and drove for a few seconds, his speed increasing by the second. We had just come to a place in the road, called ‘Deaths Bend’ - and it was within a split second that we were now on the other side of it. The moments that followed remain nothing but a blur in my brain.
I saw lights approaching. Quickly. I screamed. Music was too loud. No one in the car seemed to notice. I undid my seatbelt. I opened the door. I fell out of the car.
I woke up in the hospital 2 days later with 6 broken ribs, a tear in my lung, a 3rd grade concussion, not to mention most of my body covered in cuts and deep bruises. I had had emergency surgery to repair the broken ribs and the internal bleeding, living me with a 5 inch long reminder of that fateful night on the side of my stomach. When I woke up, my mother and Dallas were beside the bed holding each of my hands. I asked them where I was, and they told me there had been an accident, and I was in the hospital. I tried my hardest to remember what had happened, but nothing. In fact, I couldn’t remember anything from the entire month. My body had shut down due to the high levels of trauma it had endured, essentially giving it 2 days to rest - all the while, short term memory loss of the past month had kicked in leaving me with no answers as to why I looked and felt the way I did.
The next 2 weeks were the roughest of my life. I was recovering in the hospital, the doctors kept me there to monitor me, and make sure I was recovering smoothly. During that 2 week stay, my mother would not give me my phone, and I did not know why. After a heated argument that was causing my heart rate to spike, she sat me down and explained what had happened.
The music in the truck that night was too loud, we were driving too fast for any sort of collision to be avoided, and everyone present was out of their minds on numerous substances. By the time I had jumped out of the truck, it was too late. The truck had smashed head on into a semi truck who was transporting cargo across the country. The crash happened in front of the SUV as the truck had already passed it, and the collision caused the SUV to swerve out of the way, hitting a couple of the large trees that lined the highway. Everyone in both cars died, and I was the soul survivor barely making it out myself.
After I got released from the hospital, I was more lost than I had ever been. I was in complete denial from the whole situation, I basically turned off every ounce of my humanity. In some respect, this wasn’t a bad thing though. I never gave myself the opportunity to actually feel anything from the accident, or grieve from what had happened - who knows what would have happened if I did. My friends who died that night, were they my greatest friends in the world? No. But why did I survive. What gives me the right to be the one that gets to go on and live a life, while they all rest in the Bridgeport cemetery. It wasn’t necessarily sadness that I felt, it was survivors guilt. It was numbness. I Still, couldn’t remember the events of that night - a few flash backs, and that was it. I would never know if there was something I could have done to prevent the deaths of nine people, I would never know if it was somehow my fault, and I would never get to see the kinds of people they would have become. I would never know why I was the one, above the other nine, who was chosen to survive. I had to wake up every morning and ask myself; what would they have become In their lives and what in any capacity gave me the right to keep living.
As a protection mechanism as well as a coping mechanism, I basically shut everyone and everything out. I put myself into this shell, that no one could get through, to stop myself from feeling anything. I blurred out the guilt, and replaced it with emptiness.
I stayed in bed for the next month, healing - but also too numb to go outside into society. I slept as much as I could to waste away the day, and would only really get up to go to the bathroom. I stopped eating - no longer able to stomach food and only eating what was necessary for me to wake up and do it all again, the cycle of pain and depression I was consumed by. Dallas would come into my room every single day after school (by this time I would be awake) and tell me about every insignificant thing about his day. What he ate for lunch, who said what to who, what him and Sam did the night prior. When he first started doing this, I would just lay there - unresponsive and unenthused by his tactics. But in his true stubborn nature, even though Dallas could tell I didn’t want to see him, he never stopped coming. He knew I needed an ounce of human connection, or he would lose me forever. Slowly I started showing more interest in his daily occurrences, and eventually I got to the point where hearing about what my brother ate for lunch was the most exiting part of my day. If it weren’t for him, that void I had created in my own mind might have swallowed me up indefinitely, to the point of no return. But Dallas, my brother and fiercest friend, was there to save me.
I constructed my life after the accident, as though it had never happened. Everyone I knew, was dead. I had no other friends at school, and no one payed attention to my (now old) friend group so no one really knew the weird kid had ended up in that group anywats. No news reporting of the accident cited me by name, something I made sure of the day I woke up in the hospital. I gave a statement to the best of what I could remember to the police once I woke up, but I was never arrested or questioned any further since the accident, ultimately, was not my fault. No one in town, or in any surrounding towns (other than the parents of my friends who died) knew that I was involved in the accident - and I wanted to keep it that way.
That lasted all of one month, until Josh barged into my room.
He had been calling me and texting me, progressively, for the better part of a month and a half. Even though I found a new group of friends - Josh was still my best friend and we would check in on each other enough to know what was going on with the other. Our friendship took the back burner yes, but the core of our friendship was too strong to every truly end. So when I hadn’t responded to him in a month and a half, he knew something was up.
“Lass, why in the hell haven’t you—“ Josh started on as he entered my room, his eyes eventually gazing down to me, in bed, a crop top and shorts on. I was laying down on my back reading a book - stomach exposed. A.K.A, the five inch, bright purple scar that was lined with marks of stitches, exposed in plain sight. His eyes widened as he slowly approached me. I looked over at him, my eyes initially shocked to see him. But who was I kidding, of course Josh would come sooner or later. I closed my book, and slowly sat up - still wincing at the pain of my fragile body. He looked as though he’d just seen a puppy being murdered. “What-what the fuck happened lass?” He said, his voice cracking through his emotion. I sighed, trying to figure out if I wanted to make up some bullshit lie, something that would suffice for Josh’s question, but keep him in the dark from the truth - keep up the act I’ve been playing for months.
I can’t lie to Josh. He is my best friend, he knows be better than almost anyone else in this world, I can’t lie to him. After the moments long pause, I look up at him.
I broke down in his arms as he cradled me, letting out a cry that I had been holding in for months. I told him everything that I could remember about that night. He let out a few tears, I could feel them dripping onto my shoulder as he held me. We talked for the entire night. Josh was amazing. He was exactly what I needed. I made him promise that he would keep up his end of the charade, being one of three people who knew the truth. Without a moments hesitation, he agreed, giving me the exact satisfaction I needed as I was panicking, afraid he would tell someone, and everyone would know.
Josh kept his promise, and never told anyone. We started to hang out again - every day. He was afraid his presence, after what had happened to me, would be too much too soon (Him being the kindest and most thoughtful person - ever) but he has no idea how he saved me. Him and Dallas, are the reason I am okay today, if that is what I am.
I transferred to another high school, one a little further away. I was afraid that people would start to connect the dots if I returned, and figure out the secret I was hiding - but transferring solved that issue as I was now just the new girl. As far as everyone at my old school was concerned, I had simply transferred, end of story. This is when I met Mara. She was very cool. Not necessarily popular, but friends with the popular kids I suppose. She sat around 5’3, short brown hair and great style. She was a good girl, and came from a good family. She and I enjoyed the all same things and basically became each others other half overnight. She loved music just as much as I do, and coincidentally she played bass.
It was during these first few weeks at my new high school that I was struggling to reintroduce myself to society. With the exception of Mara, I would live my life as if I was a chicken with its head cut off, trying to find a sliver of sense in the world I was living in when nothing in reality sense to me. I basically wrote off school, having too much going on in my head to be bothered with something that seemed so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The only thing I could do that would distract me, was play guitar. Iy was my singular healthy distraction that I could pour my pain into. I was already quite good, very knowledgeable in music, but after the accident it was the only thing I could put my energy into that made me operate like that of a somewhat normal human being. It was the only thing I could focus on, and the only things that motivated me enough to actually work towards something, given the train wreck that my life had become.
I had the idea, at 16, to start a band. The thought fuelled me. The thought of combining the one thing in the world I was best at, and doing it along with Mara, seemed like a perfect idea. So I would be the guitar player, Mara on bass, Dallas on drums as he had been playing practically his whole life and was itching to be in a band the way Sam was in a band, all I needed was to find a singer. Thats when Mara introduced me to Grayson Scott.
Grayson was one of Mara’s long time friends. He was tall, had dirty blonde long hair (almost exactly like Kurt Cobain’s) and had the vocal pipes of a God. His voice was a mix between Layne Staley’s and Eric Clapton’s, he had an incredible range where he could sing effortlessly in the lower octaves but could project like no other in the higher octaves as well, with a rasp and tone that could bring you to your knees. Quite frankly, I was surprised another band hadn’t snatched him up sooner. He did plan on being a musician, but when I asked him why he wasn’t already in a band he said he hadn’t found one that had peaked his interest yet.
Not long after, Me, Dallas, Mara and Grayson did our first practice. We covered Layla by Eric Clapton, a song we all knew and loved, and its safe to say we all did a double take after recognizing the sheer talent displayed amongst us all, knowing that this was it.
The four of us had all become incredibly close friends, and would practice every day after school in our garage. We started from the bottom, playing tons of gigs until our name was known around the Michigan area. Not long after, we wrote our first album and started touring in states around Michigan, small dive bars and local festivals. School, inevitably took the back seat as we had realized that this is what we all would most likely spend the rest of our lives doing. Me and Josh remained the best of friends, finding time for each other whenever we could fit it into our schedules - something that became increasingly difficult as he embarked on his journey as the (incredulously talented) singer of Greta Van Fleet, and me as the guitarist of Icarus Causus. We understood the intensity of our schedules, and even though we didn’t see each other as much as we used to - it never affected the depth of our friendship. Me and Josh had the type of friendship where we could go a decade without speaking to each other, and would still remain the exact same friends, time spent apart equating to nothing in the weave of our close bond.
It’s been 4 years since the accident, I am now 20, Dallas is 18. We have toured most of the states, and some incredible places in Europe. I still don’t talk about the accident, the only people that know remain my mother, Dallas, Josh, Mara, and Grayson. Ive been better since the accident. I can function as human being in society again. However the accident permanently changed something within me, something that no one will ever be able to fix. The once, very happy little girl who always held a smile on her face, grinning from ear to ear and was full of love and light, is now a fraction of that person. Someone who no longer smiles easily, someone who keeps to herself with the exception of those closest to her, and someone who keeps everyone around her in tight supervision, making sure no one gets too close. Making sure, with the exception of her only true love - her guitar, she never finds love as the nine people who died on that fateful night in September all those years ago, will never be able to either.
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I walked through the door at 11:30 AM, smelling like I had been trapped in a distillery for a month and feeling like I had gone to hell and back. My head, throbbing - and then throbbing some more. I dragged my feet into the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle and practically falling into one of the dining room chairs. As I unscrewed the cap and brought the bottle to my lips, I realized that I in fact had not come back from hell, but that satan himself was standing in front of me. Same difference. “Sam, I am not in the mood.” I say to my younger brother who is carrying this look on his face, as if he had just walked by a homeless person. “Holy fuck dude, you smell like a homeless person.” Sam said. Great.
“Sam, i’m not kidding, fuck off.” I said, completely unenthused. “Anyways, there was something I wanted to run by you-” He said, completely disregarding anything I had just said. He carried on before I could get a word in. “So… we’ve got about a month before we’ve gotta hit the road again, and me and Dallas were thinking it’s a good idea to spend a month at the cabins with Icarus and write. It’ll be FuUuUuUnNnN…” he says, his eyebrows moving up and down on his face, and his lips sporting a wide smile. “First of all, whatever the fuck you just did with your face… don’t ever do it again. Secondly… No. Im not gonna waste our important time off… which needs to be spent actually writing… on you having some stupid fuckin’ bro-vacation with Dallas and leaving it to us to pick up your fuckin’ slack. Not happening.” I reply, as I watch Sam’s once exited face turn to one of disappointment. A smile then appears on his face as he looks to my shirt. “Usually after you screw random whores you’re in a much better mood than this. What happened Jakey, she charge you too much this time? You didn’t get a good bang for your buck?” Sam said, grabbing the collar of his shirt, and insinuating that mine was on inside out. Of course, that stupid. ugly. punchable face coming back into view. Sam’s face, essentially. “Sam, I highly suggest… you get the FUCK OUT before I replace your ass with a better bass player, and you can go back to FUCKIN’ HIGH SCHOOL where you clearly belong.” I spat at him, fuming, as he walked away laughing to himself. “You know, Venus who walks the corners in Bridgeport would love to turn that frown UPSIDE DOWN JAKEY!” Sam yells as he runs outside, the shoe I threw at him hitting the inside if the door with a loud thud. I can hear him laughing his ass off as he gets into the truck and drives off, clearly pleased with his ‘on-the-spot critical thinking skills’.
He thinks we're gonna go to our cabins with fucking Icarus and write music?! Fuck no. I threw the now empty bottle of water in the garbage and went upstairs to have a shower.
Once I had showered and put on a fresh pair of underwear (given the utter war the ones from last night had endured), I fell into bed absolutely exhausted, going right to sleep.
A few hours later, I was rudely awoken by curly headed twin, who was opening my blacked-out curtains and speaking far too loudly for my comfort.
“Awaken my dear brother, we have important matter to discuss.” Josh says in his classic chipper attitude, clearly still in tact, as I shield my eyes from the light that is now penetrating my retinas to the point of pain. “I trust baby sam has filled you in on his and Dallas’ genius plan.” Josh adds. My face falters as I cringe as this notion. “Genius plan. Ha. More like Woodstock 99” waiting to resurface.” I let out a sigh. “Sam - as intolerable as he can be, is manageable without Dallas. With Dallas? Absolutely not Josh. It’s out of the fuckin’ question. Not to mention, you’re just gonna go hang out with your little girlfriend, the average-fuckin’-guitarist the whole time.” I snare in his direction. Josh’s expression, no longer chipper - nor happy with my response what so ever. “Jake. Where do I even begin.” He says, a mixture of anger and unpleasantness in his tone. “First of all, a little fun wouldn’t fucking kill you, asshole. We all have to deal with the misery that is Jake Kiszka day in and day out so if Sam wants to experience a little happiness with his best friend on his month off, he is more than entitled to do so. Second - its a good. fucking. Idea Jake, and you know it. Greta is doing amazing, Icarus is doing amazing, if we helped each other out and inspired each other… it would do nothing but help us. We could write the best shit of our lives. And third - you know damn well Lassie’s not my girlfriend, never has been, never will be, oh - and might even be a better guitar player than you. Stop deflecting from the fact that you like her.” Josh says. A smile suddenly graces my lips at the absurdity of his statement. “Ha. Alaska, a better guitar player than me. She fucking wishes Josh. And what the fuck kind of band name is Icarus Casus anyways? Bad band name, bad guitarist.” I spit back at him, looking directly into his eyes as my sentence sinks into this skin. Josh just stood there - hand on his hip while looking at the floor, his fingers grazing his chin as what I said clearly hit a nerve. Geez Josh, did I offend you or your precious Alaska? Oh, grow a pair. “I yearn for the day Jake, where you learn how to be a decent human being for once in your fucking life. I mean honestly, do you ever hear yourself? What the fuck happened to you. You used to be kind. We used to be each others best friends - and I honestly don’t recognize the person you’ve become - nor does anyone like him. I know you’ve been going through shit Jake, the drinking and the women will attest to that, but honestly - get your shit together.” Josh said, “And one more thing. In the years Alaska and I have been best friends, you have never once spoken a word to her. You don’t know anything about her Jake. You have no right to talk about her, much less judge her when you’ve never even spoken as much as a word to her. If by some miracle you got over yourself, for a mere second, you might actually find that you two are more alike than we are Jake. Even more than the twin brother you hate so much.” He finished, turning on his heels as he walked out of my room. He was upset, I could tell. “FUCK!” I yelled to myself as I slammed my fist into the wall besides me, a gaping hole now in its place, and a force that was bound to leave my fist purple by the next morning. Why did I have to be such a dick all the time? I sat on the edge of my bed, my head in my hands. I know everything Josh said was true. That I was an absolute asshole of a human being. That Alaska, was a fuckin brilliant guitarist and that I had never actually spoken to her. That writing with Icarus over the course of a month would undoubtably be beneficial to the band. But I would never admit to that. I’ve grown comfortable in the shell I’ve cast around myself, confident in my abilities to keep people away, and by proxy - my ability to keep myself from feeling anything whatsoever. Does being an asshole to the people I care about make me happy? No. But am I willing to do it to keep myself from getting hurt? Clearly it hasn’t stopped me thus far.
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I started Greta Van Fleet because of my love for music. Growing up, my father was my biggest inspiration and fiercest supporter, instilling nothing but amazing music into me and my brothers, forming the foundation of the life we live today. We lived and breathed for music. It was always a dream of my fathers, to be in a band. He played almost every musical instrument there is to play. Guitar, drums, bass, you name it. Not to mention, he is the best harmonica player I have ever heard.
I was fifteen at the time. My father was driving home one night from Saginaw. He was attending some chemistry event held by whatever board he worked for. He had just passed through Bridgeport, and was only about 10 minutes away from home.
There Is one particular spot on the highway from Bridgeport to Frankenmuth, known as ‘Death’s Bend’. It’s an area of the road that is particularly dangerous, especially if you’re driving at night. The road turns into a giant hill, once you come to the other side of this hill there is a sharp turn. Cars driving East can’t see any oncoming traffic, and if there is anyone driving in the other lane who strays even the slightest bit from their lane - the odds of two cars crashing gets amplified by a hundred. Not to mention, the large oak trees that line either sides of the highway making it even more dangerous, as there is no safety blanket if you crash. You won’t just be rolling into a field, you will be meeting your fate, head on into a tree.
This is exactly what happened to my Dad that night. He was coming up to ‘Deaths Bend’, and couldn’t see the car on the other side. The driver who was approaching my father, was drunk - swerving in and out of both lanes, whilst heavily speeding. As soon as my father made the turn - they crashed into each other. Both drivers died upon impact, and before I knew it, my father became nothing more than another soul that ‘Death’s Bend’ would claim. Whenever people would talk about him around town, his name was always strung into a sentence with the words ‘Death’s Bend’. Realistically, car crashes were so common on that road, even a few months before his death - nine teenagers from Bridgeport were killed. I heard one survived, but no one knows who it was.
When my father died, I lost the most vibrant and special parts of myself. With his death, came depression. Anger. Sadness. So many different feelings that were circulating in my head all at once, they all blurred into one. Numbness.
I stopped doing anything related to school, as I simply couldn’t be bothered. It seemed like such a stupid thing to try and focus on, when the very word ‘focus’ didn’t exist to me. Hell, I stopped going to school all together. As I failed class after class, my privileges to be on any sort of athletic team were revoked. I would sleep all day, and watch TV all night. I didn’t touch my guitar for an entire year, the Cherry Red Gibson sat in the corner of my room collecting dust. Even looking at the thing made my stomach churn.
Eventually, my mom made me go back to school. She understood that I was taking my fathers death harder than any of my other siblings, who had taken a mere month to grieve our father, and seemingly moved on. But she told me I couldn’t waste my life away any longer, and that I had to return to school. I missed a few months, and would have had to repeat a few classes - the weight of this on top of everything else made me even less inclined to return. When I did, I didn’t bother rejoining the athletic teams, I didn’t bother to be the centre of attention that I once was. My mom’s attempt to re-introduce me as a functioning member of society did not quite go as planned. Every day I went to school, I would notice more and more of just how much I had lost. My father. My reputation, and along with it all of my friends - who were now leading Frankenmuth High’s soccer team to victory in the state championships. My love for guitar. It was all slipping through my fingers more and more with each waking day.
One particular day, during lunch at school I decided to go sit in the music room. Our school didn’t have a big music department, and most of the kids in this small town listened to pop so the love for music I had was not a widely reciprocated notion - leaving the music room empty every day. I just wanted some privacy, I was tired of the pitiful eyes following my every move as I walked down the halls, and didn’t want to sit in the cafeteria where I would be subject to more stupid glances from people I didn’t care to know. In that music room, my eyes trailed through the rack of different guitars they had on display. A few Strats, some acoustics, and one epiphany - modelled identically to my Gibson (as Gibson owned Epiphone, essentially making Strats Squire version of Les Pauls). I put my stuff down, and sat on the stool. I picked up the beautiful instrument, placing it on my lap. It felt very strange to have my arms around a guitar again, to be so close to something I once loved so much. I took a long pause, memories rushing through my head as I held this object, a pure conduit to my father.
[FLASHBACK, JAKE, TWO SUMMERS AGO]
“Hey kiddo. You’re sounding really good on that thing. Making some real progress with her.” My father said, as he stood at the opening of our garage. I was sitting on a stool, no shirt on as sweat dripped off of my chest from the scorching mid summer Michigan heat. “Thanks Dad, Ya think?” I asked, looking up towards him. “Ive listened to a lot of stuff in my life son, seen a lot of players and been around a lot of music. At the rate you’re going, you're gonna have lapped Hendrix by the time you’re 30.” He said down in my direction, smiling. “I don’t know about that Dad.” I said, returning his smile with one of my own. “Oh I do know kiddo. You keep going the rate you are now - you’re gonna be one of the greats Jake. Trust me.” He said. In the distance behind my father, I could make out the rumbling engine of that old and clunky Chevy truck that found its way up my driveway every day. Alaska. As she strolled up the driveway, Dallas got out of the car - running for the house before the car could even come to a complete stop. It was a funny sight, my dad laughing at his level of determination. But I was not laughing. No way. I was watching Alaska. As she put her truck into park, took the keys out of the ignition, and got out of the car. Damn was she beautiful. She was wearing a tight pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said Bob Seger & The Silver Bullet Band. Fuck Yeah. Her long, straight, dark brown hair that nearly reached her hips swayed from one side to the other. “Hey Kelly!” She said to my father, him replying with “Hey Sweetie”, a wave, and the warm smiles my father was famous for. She walked from one end of the driveway all the way to my front door, my eyes walked with her.
“Jake. Jake you there?” My dad said laughing in my direction, as he snapped me out of the Alaska-trans-like-state I was stuck in. “Tell me Jake-“ my dad said, his serious ‘lets talk son’ demeanour coming into play. Oh god, here it comes. “Why haven’t you talked to her? She is here every damn day.” My dad says. There it is. “Cause we’re not friends…” I replied to him, a smug look resting on my face as I try to look occupied. “But you like her, don’t you.” He adds, his eyebrows lifting and a slight smile adjourning his face. That was said as more of a statement, rather than a question. Shit. Why did I have to be so transparent? It’s not like anything would ever happen between me and Alaska. She was this beautiful, smart, intelligent and way-out-of-my-league girl, I was this stupid jock who did shit in school. Not to mention, she is best-friends with my brother. If I was him, I would be looking at her the same way - and quite frankly i’m not quite convinced he isn’t. I wish I could talk to Alaska, I wish she would come to our house every day to see me, not my weird curly headed twin. But I didn’t say that. Instead I said “God Dad, no. I don’t like Alaska.” My father looked at me, or looked through me I should say. “Okay son, whatever you think. All I can tell you, is that is the exact same way I would look at your mother before we started dating. Hell, I still look at your mother that way. Just some food for thought Jake.” He said, as he exited the garage, leaving me with my guitar.
Annoyance washed over me as I looked around - slightly embarrassed my first crush had just been exposed. There was no way in hell I would ever get that girl, she is way to damn good for me.
I sat there, the guitar in my hands, as I tried to get that memory out of my head. I knew what I needed to do. Just strum the damn thing Jake, it’s really not that complicated, you’ve done it a million times before. I took a deep breath and slowly strummed the out-of-tune guitar, its weird and wonky tones making me sombrely smile. I know it’s been a while Dad. I know.
After that day in the music room, I started playing again. Every day during lunch, every day after school. It was nice to have one thing in my life that I was good at, something that didn’t judge me or look at me with sorrow-filled-eyes. I fully embraced guitar as if it was my lifeline - it was quite literally the only think that was keeping my days from going to complete waste. Sometime not long after, I had formed Greta Van Fleet. My brothers were more than happy to be in the band, I think they saw what it meant to me. I also think they knew this was my only chance to do something with my life, as my grades weren’t going to get me anywhere anytime soon, and it was the one thing that (sort of) brought me out of the intense depressive like state I was stuck in. I was a little more human this way.
Did guitar bring me out of the hole I was in? Yes. But was I the same Jake I was before? No, and I never would be again. Something so deep, so crucial and so lasting had cut through my heart the day my father died, something no one would ever be able to fix. I became a completely different person after, I was an absolute asshole to everyone around me. Especially Josh. I often find myself getting upset at the way I treat him, he is my twin at the end of the day and I am one shitty excuse for a brother. I kept to myself most days, never smiled, never showed an ounce of happiness, and in fact showed the opposite; the Jake people probably remember from high-school, the bad twin. The twin who would bump into people in the halls ways and laugh, the twin who would swear and act out towards teachers, the twin who was simply an asshole. As the next 2 years of high school would follow, I started attending parties - which means two things. Girls, and alcohol. Something that started as a one time thing - me, drunk on a Saturday night and losing my virginity in the woods to some chick from a few towns over, turned into a weekly occurrence. I never understood the concept of an alcoholic, I always thought the notion was quite stupid. If someones an alcoholic, just stop drinking. Problem solved, I would think to my younger and simpler self.But the alcohol became a weekly necessity, making me run through women like a track star, and making my already-bad anger issues worse than they’d ever been. I knew it was a problem, but I when I looked at the opportunities I was working towards; the place I was in with the band, I always told myself that where I am now is much better than where I was when my father died.
He died 5 years ago. Greta Van Fleet is doing better than ever. We are still a smaller band, haven’t headlined any massive tours yet, but that was coming sooner rather than later, I felt. My drinking problems were still prominent in my life today, if not worse than ever.
I felt bad for how I spoke to Josh this morning, he didn’t deserve the level of disregard I gave him. I sat in my bed for the better part of an hour, thinking over this plan to go to the cabins. I ultimately decided that it wouldn’t be the end of the world, one month to write (or to drink) I thought to myself. I got out my phone to text Josh.
Jake, 4:00: Fine, we can go to the cabins with them. Make the arrangements.
Josh, 4:04: Great! This will be good for us, I promise. I’ll text Sam and let him know.
I put my phone on my night table, and leaned back into bed - arms laying across my forehead. I wonder what she’s like now. I haven’t seen her in years.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After Dallas had barged into my room at the ass crack of dawn to tell he his and Sam’s plan, I’d fallen back asleep. A few hours later and a second shot at waking up peacefully might I add, I laid in my bed - arms laying flat against my forehead. His idea, wasn’t bad. It would be good for Dallas to spend some time with Sam, hell, I would love to spend a whole month with Josh. I got up, put a pair of shorts on over my black lace underwear, and headed outside for a smoke. As I sat on the porch of our house, ribbons of smoke leaving my lips, I deliberated the whole plan and decided it was fine. I got out my phone to call my brother.
“Hey Dal——where are you?” I said, hearing the sounds of his and Sam’s laughter echo in what I assumed was a truck. It was nice to hear him laugh like that with his best friend, he sounded happy. “Me and Sam got kicked out of the diner, we were in there for like 3 hours and were holding up their table apparently. Given any thought to my question earlier?” He asked. “Yeah, I guess it's fine for us to go. I don’t see a reason why not.” I said into the phone. A roar of ‘YEAH’s and ‘LETS GO MAN’s were let out from the other side of the phone, as I heard them dab each other up. Typical boys I thought, as I laughed and took a drag of my cigarette. “Hey Lassie-“ I heard Sam say from over the phone, “Jake was suuuuper pissed about it when I told him this morning, but Josh must have talked to him cause Josh texted me a while ago and said that Jake okayed it. So we’re all good to go, you should call Josh so you guys can arrange everything.” Sam finished. Jake was super pissed? Why? Does he seriously look at me in the same nerdy and weird way he did when we were in high school? I mean, how immature can a person be. Annoyed and confused, I let Dallas go and told him to drive safe. “Always Lass, I love you.” He responded, before hanging up. I smile every time my brother says that to me, ‘Always Lass, I love you’. Him watching me go through everything I went through after the accident made it a priority for him to always tell me he loves me and always reassuring me that he’s okay. Gosh, I love that kid to death.
The happiness however did not last long, as the thought of Jakes sudden disinterest to make the trip with us, made its way back into my thoughts. Did he really hate me that much? I know it was not for Dallas’ sake he would react like that, he’s always liked Dallas. And he doesn’t know Mara or Grayson, so the only culpable reasoning behind his vulgar reaction leads to me. Why in the fuck did he hate me so much? What did I ever do to him, hell the man has never spoken as much as a word to me! I calmed down my thoughts, as I finished my cigarette - throwing it into the ashtray on the corner of one of the steps. I wonder what he’s like now. I haven’t seen him in what seemed like a lifetime, I can still remember the fluttering he would bring to my stomach when I would see him around. Somehow - I clearly doubt that is the same Jake I will be met with. This Jake seems like even more of an asshole (if that were even possible), and I was intrigued to say the least.
I was agreeing to this plan for Dallas, and for the betterment of the band. Whether I had fun or not, was not all that important. It’s only one month after all, it will be over before I know it.
But one thing’s for sure - this trip will be nothing if not interesting.
