The Hush Society Presents..., Izzy Matias [cat reading book .TXT] 📗

"’Course," Eric says. The way he says it confirms he’s in. "I support you."

Benji hesitates. "I still don’t think it’s a good idea to not go to Uni if your Dad kicked you out. Can't you defer to a later semester or take a gap year like Eric?"

"The day I made my decision about Uni was also the very same day that Cassie offered to join The Hush Society. I can’t explain it; it just feels right. Eric’s on gap year, and you’ve just finished Uni. There’s no better time than now. Plus, Cassie invited me to go on tour with them. We’d get to tour England for the summer!"

"Let’s go," Eric whines giving him puppy dog eyes and tugs his arm.

"You’re bluffing," Benji says ignoring Eric.

Why is Benji contradicting me? "It’s true," I say. "The Hush Society has hubs all over the UK. Cassie and her team are visiting each hub and bringing two artists with them. Amber Skye and The Rioteers are just some of the artists who have signed up." My voice is an octave higher, but I’m not mad at Benji. There’s a deeper reason for his reluctance and I need to weed it out.

"Without hearing you play a proper set?" he says.

"That’s what I told Cassie," I admit.

"We’ve been practising together for years," Eric says. "We’ve never been on a proper tour before. This is golden! Come on, Benj, let’s go."

"What’s holding you back, mate?" I ask Benji. "Thought you’d be on board with this."

"You lads are my best mates. If we make a right mess of this, will we still say the same?"

Is this why we’ve never been in a band before? He’s scared that playing together would ruin our friendship?

"We’ll be okay," Eric assures him.

I understand, now, where Benji’s coming from. Going on tour is a commitment. The three of us have hung out every day before, but we’ve never lived together. And we’ve each had our share of band fall-outs that have ended in tainted friendships.

"If we’re going to make this work, you have to let go of your skeletons and stop comparing yourself to other musicians," Benji says and looks at me. "You have to learn how to believe in yourself again."

"Fuck you. I’m awesome." I playfully shove Benji.

"That’s the spirit!" Eric encourages, but Benji just laughs.

Benji turns to me with a somber expression and then says, "I’m bloody serious, Cameron. You have to."

"I know," I say. And I do know; he’s right, but it ain’t going to be easy.

"And we’ll do the same." Benji glances at Eric who feigns shock.

"Whatchu talkin’ bout?" Eric says in disbelief, mimicking a horrible American accent.

"Mr.Stroppy," I point out, and we laugh.

"We’re going on tour," Eric shouts, jumping up and down, his voice echoing around the meadow.

"We ain’t just mates anymore…We’re band mates," I say with a goofy grin.

"That’s horrible!" Eric tells me, referring to my joke, as Benji cracks up.

It has been a long time coming.

#

THIS is what it is like to be in the flow: I completely zonk out and lose track of what's around me. I forget the worry, the negativity, and the doubt.

The now is all we have. I swim in the stream of consciousness created and fuelled by the music. I press my fingers against the metallic strings of my green Squier Telecaster electric guitar. This is the first expensive thing I ever saved up for, with the money I got from my part-time jobs.

The first thing that comes into view from Eric’s basement stairs is the big black leather couch that takes up most of the left side of the room. The couch faces a flat plasma telly with gadgets—the surround-sound system, Wii, and Xbox. Another wall features a display of instruments: cellos, violins, a 1960 vintage guitar, a bass and Eric’s beloved Premier drum kit. But what I love most about this room is the wall covered in CD racks. It houses a massive collection of music. Eric's a versatile listener.

Standing atop the two-inch carpeted stage beside the door, we jam to whatever we feel like. The pulse slows as we approach the last movement of the song. Our instruments go from a loud scream into a whisper.

There's barely a moment of silence before Eric transitions to a random beat. Benji and I take quick breathers, but Eric continues on. He adds more structure to his drumming, like searching for the right tone. He points to us and in an instant, Benji enters with a raw, looping bass line that compliments Eric's melody. A warm energy surrounds my chest. My fingers itch to play.

"Play the riff you were telling us about earlier," Eric says the moment I join them.

"It's not yet done," I shout over the music.

"Doesn't matter," he replies.

We build up a fort of heavy bass lines, funky beats, and experimental riffs.

The pulse of this song—if it can be called a song at this stage—dominates me.

Lewis and I were supposed to be recording a demo this summer, so I have loads of ideas. Since he cut the cord, I haven't shared those ideas with anyone…

But being here with my best mates, it’s like what Nate was saying. At least now I’m playing music not just talking about playing.

A bubble forms in my chest. It grows bigger and bigger as the pressure hits my bones and my heart rate speeds up.

It has always felt so right playing music with my best mates. With them, there's no bull. We say our take on things. We push each other. That's what I like. We used to swap our demos and critique them. If it was utter shite, we said it.

When we jam, we choose a song we love, take it apart, and make it our own. It's fun to see the different possibilities of how one song can be tweaked to sound like something totally different.

Now I have to start opening up to people again about my music. It’s not easy to share your