Taste of Chaos pt. 2 (: |
Flying. Oh my God, I’m flying. And I’m sober. Holy fuck.
Matt Wachter wasn’t going to move. He wasn’t even going to blink.
C’mon Matthew, open your eyes.
I will not.
C’mon on. Just once. You can do it.
I can’t, I just can’t.
Just once, Wachter, it’ll be alright.
Still, knowing this was the wrong thing to do, he obeyed.
David was sitting next to him, his fingers never stopping, missing what was usually there. His guitar. They were taping the surface of the armrest at some unknown rhythm as their owner slept.
In front of him sat the remainder of his band. Closest to the airplane window sat Atom, pretending to watch some movie. All he was actually doing was sleeping with the airplane headphones on. Next to him was Tom.
Tom Delonge was constantly moving, unable to contain the huge level of energy he was persistently full of. He would write, for an endless amount of time, then he’d, without warning, stand up and pace through the plane. Sometimes he would go to the bathroom. Sometimes he would merely walk within the limited space he had been giving, until he sat back down, yet again writing.
Matt watched him as he sat, hunched over a small piece of paper, trying to from words to his countless number of ideas. His foot was banging the airplane floor with the beat that he most likely had in his head, not his ears.
Because Tom was listening to music, his headphones on, and, Matt was startled to discover, so was he. Trying to focus on the music, the bassist closed his eyes again. Not hearing anything but his own heart beating, he admitted defeat.
“Excuse me, miss.” Matt forced his voice not to shake. “Could you get me a drink?”
“Of course, sir. What kind of drink?” The flight attendant smiled at Matt. A smile which he could not return.
“Anything. Everything.”
“Right away, sir.” She looked kind of worried.
“No, no. Fuck it. Don’t give him anything.” Tom had stopped writing. “He’s an alcoholic.”
At this, the attendant looked even more worried.
“I am not.”
“Now, Matthew. The first sign of addiction is denial.” Tom looked over to the attendant. “Thank you. But I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t give him anything for the rest of the flight.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll tell the other attendants.”
The minute she left, Tom slumped back down again.
“Fucker.” Matt whispered. “You stupid bastard”
“C’mon Mattie, where’s your sense of fun. And, more importantly, where’s your balls?”
“Fucker.” Was all Matt cared to respond.
“Idiot. Hey, Atom, wake up, bastard.” Tom hit the unsuspected drummer, who yanked awake muttering “I’m awake. Just watching the movie.”
“Yeah, well, could you tell Matt he’s being an idiot?”
“Oh for Fuck’s sake, Matt. This isn’t about you being scared of flying, is it?”
Matt merely shrugged.
“Angels and Airwaves. You don’t see the irony in that?”
“Yeah, well. You can be the airwaves and I can be the angel, then.”
“The chances of this plane going down are less than zero.” Atom said, pushing his glasses further up his nose.
“Yeah, ever heard of 9/11?”
“You know what, Wachter? Your problem is that you won’t let things stay in the past.” Tom shook his head again, as he picked up his headphones and went back to writing.
Matt leaned back, closing his eyes, and tried desperately not to hyperventilate.
Calm down Mattie. Everything is going to be okay.
xxx
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