Rock and Roll Fantasy by Carl Moberg

The heat was intolerable in Tunisia and the set was below his standards. The next stop was Berlin; there was a good fan base in Germany. He recalled the show in Hannover in ’76 when the pyrotechnics went off too early and singed his chest hair. He had a lady friend that he would have to drop in on in Berlin; he hoped she hadn’t gone off with another guy, like Mick from Foreigner. Mick was always stealing his women. He slowly stroked his guitar while his assistant combed through his long waving hair. The comb got caught in his hair and he screamed like a little girl.

As he disembarked in Berlin and Harold realized that he was a bit conspicuous in his new surroundings. He was a rock god, a rock demi-god, wading through people in a spandex body suit. He lit a cigarette and threw the empty box on the ground, someone yelled something at him in German, but he didn’t give a shit. He meandered through the bustling airport allowing his senses to take in everything. Occasionally he was accosted by some adoring fans, usually asking for autographs. Harold loved it when people recognized him. He tried to remember who he was opening for. Was it Styx or .38 special? He needed a drink to clear his head.

Harold was roused from his drunken reminiscence by the song on the Jukebox changing. Through the speaker he heard the familiar slow build-up to the song. “More Than a Feeling” He screamed out, pumping his fist in the air. He wished that he had written this song, than he would have been as successful as Boston. Arena rock was one of those things that got his juices going, that and laser light shows.

“Hey there baby I’ve got “More Than a Feeling” that you and I should making love all night” He slurred to an attractive young woman as he subtly thrusted his pelvis in her direction.

“Wow that’s really clever. You incorporated the title of a song into your cheesy pick-up line.”

“Oh baby you’re “Cold as Ice.” But I’d still like to buy you a drink.” Harold made a sign to the bartender who promptly brought over two shots of tequila.

“Don’t I know you? Yeah, you’re the lead singer of that band Lords of Thunder. I thought you died of a drug overdose or something like that.” The young woman replied.

“No, I just dropped off the face of the earth.” He said sarcastically. “Actually, we have a new album coming out soon, it’s gonna rock. It’s a lot like the old stuff, but I think we finally refined our sound.”

“That’s great, it only took like, what, 20 years? She said stifling a smile.

“Look, you want a drink with a rock legend or not?”

“Hey, you hittin’ on my woman?” screamed an enraged voice

Looking in the mirror he realized that he looked like his past after long nights of drinking and taking lines of horseradish. He couldn’t believe he had lost that fight. It was different now that he didn’t have roadies to fight his battles. He decided it was the woman’s loss. There were plenty of women who would swoon at the prospect of taking a shot with him.

He was beginning to loose his hair and had developed a hefty gut in the last few years but he knew he could still entice the ladies. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t enticed a lady into his bed for the last 9 months. He just had high standards, or at least that’s what he told himself. However he couldn’t help feeling like he had gone downhill. Once the lead singer and guitarist for a moderately successful band he had ridden the wave made by more famous bands. He was part of a wave of arena rock. He ignored the criticisms that the bands of that era cared more about the women and drugs rather than the music. He believed that there was no way to have one without the other. How else was he supposed to write songs about women and drugs if he didn’t indulge? Nonetheless, he lived his dream, partied with his heroes, yet now he was sitting in some dive bar where no one but the bartender and some woman with an angry boyfriend knew what he had once been. Harold returned to the bar where he promptly slammed the two shots of tequila and proceeded to stand up and start playing air guitar to “Wheel in the Sky” by Journey.

Harold stumbled towards the door. The beer and tequila were having some harsh words with each other in his stomach. He rubbed his gut to try to pacify the demons. After he was finished vomiting into one of the potted bushes that lined the sidewalks he began his short but aggravatingly long walk home. He mused that it would be much easier if he lived upstairs from the bar. After fumbling with the keys to his house he staggered in and passed out on his couch.

Going to work after his nighttime recreation was always interesting. He would probably get fired if anyone at the school board knew that he was most likely still drunk while driving the bus. The only reason he was offered this job was because the principal of the school was a fan. He accepted the job because he only had to work a few hours a day and he got summers off. Plus he could use the bus to transport gear to his gigs, even if it was against the rules. He paused at the corner and the bus door swung open.

“Morning, bus driver Harry.” Piped a young voice.

Harold could only grunt a response.

“Rough night? Did you get lucky?”

Haggardly and bleary-eyed Harold looked at his pint-sized tormentor. “Look Greg, you know we can’t talk about this on the bus I might loose my job and confirm your mother’s opinion that I’m a deadbeat and can’t accomplish anything.”

“Alright, sorry Dad.” Greg dejectedly remarked as he walked towards the back of the bus.

The importance of the young one’s statement didn’t hit Harold for a bit. Greg hadn’t called him Dad since he was still living with him and his mother. Harold slammed on the brakes sending a 3^rd grader flying out of his seat and into the front panel of the bus.

“Ooh, sorry about that Timmy. Don’t forget teachers and parents don’t like hearing about these little incidents. Stay strong champ.”

Shit, Harold thought, that’s probably going to cost me my job. I’m already on thin ice since I took the kids to a meet and greet with Journey instead of that stupid historic fort. What were they thinking? Meeting Steve Perry, lead singer of one of the greatest bands in human history, is a far more enlightening experience. Plus Steve still had a pair of Harold’s leather chaps and he wanted them back.

“Greg, we need to talk. Your, uhh, bus form is expired. Yeah that’s it, expired bus form.” Harold congratulated himself on his brilliant handling of the situation Greg walked to the front of the bus.

“Greg what’s wrong? Is everything okay between you and your mother? Is she beating you – I don’t see any bruises.”

“Harry, calm down. It’s nothing. Things have been kinda weird around the house ever since Vince moved in. I never see mom any more cause she’s too busy with him. They must be having sex 10 hours out of the day. And to make things worse you and I hardly hang out cause you’re too busy killing your liver.”

“Vince? Whose Vince? Is he better looking and or richer than me? Is he better in the sack, I’ll kill him if he touches my vinyl collection. And dammit keep calling me dad. My seed is not to disrespected just cause there’s some new guy in town.”

He and his son had always had an open relationship. He may not have been around a lot, but when they did interact they always seemed to be on the same page. The kid had grown up during the decline of the band’s popularity, so he had been exposed to all of the excesses of a rock and roll lifestyle from a young age so Greg seemed to understand what was going on in his old man’s head.

“Dad, it’s Vince Neil, you know, from Mötley Crüe. So I pretty sure he beats you in all those categories. Oh, and he was pretty pissed that there wasn’t a single one of his albums in the house so he went out and bought them all. They are constantly playing in the house. It’s the only thing that drowns out their daily pastime.

“That long-haired spandex wearing no good piece of – “

“Mr. Bus Driver can we get going, we’re going to be late for school.”

“Who said that? Who’s got the marbles to bother me while I’m conferencing up here.” The bus was silent. “That’s right. Besides I told you all school is for chumps. They don’t actually teach you anything important. English, ha, you all already speak English. Well except for Gunther, but he’ll be gone soon anyway.” He turned back to Greg. “Your mom always was a looker I should’ve treated her better when we were together now she’d be sleeping with me instead of some washed up rocker.”

Greg gave Harold a questioning glance

“Alright fine, she’d still be sleeping with a washed up rocker, but at least it’d be me. Anyway, listen here Greg, I know I haven’t been a great father since your mother and I separated but that’s all going to change now. I’m going to be spending a lot more time with you. You’re going to learn all those important life lessons that I didn’t learn until I was too stubborn to believe that they were important. By the way, how old are you?”

“I’m 14.”

“Great, we still got plenty of time to make sure you don’t turn out like your old man. Alright, first things first, in order to get the ladies you have to have mobility. Freedom is a sexy thing. So since you’re up here you’re going to learn how to drive.”

“Dad, that’s against the law.”

“Since when were you Johnny Breaks-No-Laws? Man this new pansy boyfriend of your mom is really not raising you the right way.”

“Uh, Vince did kill a man once.”

“Kill a man, hmm well that’s pretty good. That sure beats me breaking into a Taco Bell when I was all coked out and spraying refried beans all over the place.”

“Yeah don’t they still have a restraining order against you?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure my appeal will be taken seriously and justice will be served. But that’s not the point. The point is you’re going to drive this bus to school and then we’re going to let off all these little kiddies and then you and I are going on a life changing adventure. I don’t know where we’re gong, or when we’ll be back but I guarantee your mother will hate me for it and you’ll have a blast. So get behind that steering wheel and let’s do this. I’m going to educate you in every aspect of life through the glories of sex, drugs and rock and roll”

As Harold watched his son narrowly avoid taking out a small group of Hare Krishna, he realized that having a kid on this adventure could seriously cramp his style. He could sneak him into bars but getting a lady to come back to a school bus where your son is also sleeping might be a bit tricky. He would certainly get fired from his job, but that didn’t bother him, he had been thinking about quitting for a while. He wondered if he could be charged with kidnapping if it was his kid. What was he thinking? This was about his son, not about him.

“Hey son, you know how to play the riff from “Carry on My Wayward Son?”

“Huh, is that a gospel tune?”

“What! You don’t know Kansas’ definitive song? Man, I really got a lot to teach you. I have to give you stage diving lessons. Do you speak roadie or groupie? I’m guessing not. I’ll have to teach you that, oh and of course I’ll teach you how to ruin your band by endorsing a hemorrhoid cream.”

Harold then realized this hair-brained scheme was just going to end up converting his son into a miniature version of himself. It was about time he started taking life a little more seriously. Because the world only has enough space for one Harold Staniloski and Greg would be filling those shoes soon. It amazed Harold, Greg was the only person who didn’t view Harold as a complete waste of life. Harold resigned to himself that he could sleep outside of the bus some nights so that Greg could have some fun, but he would have to make him look a bit older, maybe a piercing or a tattoo. He was going to foster his son’s love affair with rock and roll.

Harold had it all planned out. He would teach the boy guitar and then he could live vicariously through his son. His music career was over but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be his son’s manager. He was going to regain the glory of his youth. But he had to set some boundaries for his son. He wanted his son to live rock and roll, but there were some things that he didn’t need to do.

“Son, don’t do smack, and never use your guitar for anything else other than making glorious music.”

Harold realized that he was doing a good deed, aside from stealing a bus and kidnapping his son. His son was going to learn about the real world and maybe develop a healthy addiction to alcohol. But it was really about the music, that and the fact that he wanted to be able to laugh at his old friends when he was back on top with his son. Maybe, he would play lead guitar until his son developed his own style. After dropping the students off 45 minutes late, Harold popped in the greatest hits of REO Speedwagon and father and son rocked off into the distance.