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The week following Julie’s Orpheum performance Trevor was a nervous wreck. Luckily Carrie had thrown herself into new Dirty Candi numbers. His therapist said he hallucinated the boys, his mind playing tricks on him, replacing the real guys in Julie’s band with his dead friends. Trevor knew better though, when he finally saw them all appear on stage he knew the truth. His friends were in Julie’s band, and they were the ones who wrote hello Bobby on his bathroom mirror. Luke’s wet willies always had a very, very distinctive amount of grossness to them. So now, at five pm he’s having a breakdown on his bedroom floor.
With shaky hands he pulled out the dusty old shoe box he kept buried in the back of his closet, full of reminders of his friends, his brothers. Trevor carefully opened the shoe box, for some reason expecting it to explode. The lid fell onto the floor and he was still standing, so he started to look through the box’s contents. A few pictures of the band were stacked on top of everything else, candid images of them playing during concerts. One of Alex and Luke sleeping on top of each other, Luke’s drool dripping out of his mouth. “I’m so sorry ,” Trevor whispered, tears rolled off his chin, landing blurring the pictures. He set the stack of pictures aside, and underneath the ticket stubs and and Orpheum flyers was a half-folded sheet of music, shoved at the bottom of everything else. Frowning slightly Trevor reached out and pulled at the top of the music sheet. He unfolded it and choked back a sob, Home Is Where My Horse Is , was scrawled at the top in Reggie’s handwriting.
The original ink faded due to the years of abandonment, edges of the sheet were yellowed. Trevor had helped Reggie write the original score, since Luke was adamantly against country. Reggie had trusted Trevor with it, and it was one of the only songs he didn’t end up stealing from Sunset Curve. When Luke’s songs had dried up, the only two he hadn’t stolen were Unsaid Emily, and Home Is Where My Horse Is . Maybe Trevor was a bastard for stealing all of Luke’s other songs… but despite what his manager wanted to do he wasn’t heartless enough to steal the two songs his brothers wrote when they were in the darkest points of their lives. Home Is Where My Horse Is wrinkled in his hand, his fist balling up to avoid shaking even more. Making up his mind, Trevor pushed himself to his feet and walked to his office, suddenly prepared to do something he should’ve done twenty-five years ago when he got his first record deal.
To: Whom this may concern
Regarding: The Truth
Hello,
It’s been brought to my attention that most people are unaware of an incident which occurred twenty-five years ago and jump started my career as a solo artist. The concert will start at ten pm tonight. Please accept this invitation to a small private concert where I will explain my past, and perform a recently discovered song I thought was long since forgotten written by a friend of mine. I hope to see you all in attendance, nothing will excuse my behavior, but you all deserve to know the truth.
Sincerely,
Trevor Wilson
Trevor added his manager, Julie, a few trusted press reporters, and some of his longest supporters to the address part of the email. He exhaled deeply, then flattened out the wrinkled Home Is Where My Horse Is sheet music against his desk. Almost like it had a mind of his own, Trevor’s hand wrapped around the neck of the acoustic guitar, hanging on the wall next to his desk. He softly played his way through Reggie’s sloppily written guitar chords. Bobby had helped him transcribe the bass chords to guitar ones, blending both of the instruments together. He choked on the chorus, the sound dry and hoarse in the back of his throat. He had to do this though, if not for him then for them. For Alex, Reggie, and Luke. “Fuck, okay… it’s going to be fine,” Trevor said out loud. He stood up then left his office, the shoe box still open, contents on the ground.
“Carrie!” Trevor called out when he got to the ground floor. She appeared at the top of the stairs, phone in hand.
“Yeah dad? What’s up?” Carrie asked, eyes glued to her phone screen. He cleared his throat, and she rolled her eyes at his dramatics, but put her phone away.
“Can you pull out the extra chairs and set them up in the family room? I need to make an announcement about my music and invite a few people over to hear it,” he said hesitantly. Luckily Carrie didn’t seem to notice his awkward behavior, and just sighed before walking into the garage to grab the extra chairs.
Hours had passed and by the time his guests were meant to arrive Trevor was almost to the point of being a nervous wreck. He made sure they set out three extra chairs than necessary, just in case the boys popped in with Julie… not that he thought they would. Judging by the haunting they did to him earlier, Reggie, Luke, and Alex were all angry at him, rightfully so. If Trevor had been the one who died and Sunset Curve ended up hitting the charts using his original songs, he’d be pissed off too.
When everyone was settled in the family room Trevor glanced at Julie, who settled in the back next to the three extra chairs. It looked like she was talking on the phone, but she was obviously having a conversation with someone he couldn’t see. With a sigh Trevor settled on the stool, and leaned into the microphone he set up beforehand. “Hello,” Trevor said, taking a shaky breath. “Thank you all for coming.” The speaker squeaked, and he cringed as the harsh sound filled the room. He adjusted the microphone and the sound stopped.
“Mr. Wilson, your email stated you had something to share about your past. What is it?” Kevin, one of the reporters Trevor sent the email to, asked. Trevor nodded at him,
“Yes Kevin that is correct. It has come to my attention that I haven’t exactly been… honest with how I started my career, and today I hoped to finally settle the truth.” When he glanced at Julie, the image of his dead bandmates flickered, and his eyes met Luke’s. “In the nineties I was in a band called Sunset Curve and we uh… at least I thought of us as a family.” Luke’s form solidified in the seat next to Julie, Alex and Reggie following suit. “We had a gig to play at the Orpheum, our dream . It was going to kickstart a region-wide tour,” his voice cracked. Tears filled his eyes, “but my band mates died that night, my brothers died that night. And I was left alone. Music had been such a big part of our lives that when they were gone I stopped playing… until one day a manager heard me playing one of Luke, Luke Patterson he was our songwriter. Until a manager heard me play a song Luke wrote on the beach.” He looked at Carrie, unsure of how she was going to take the news of her whole life being a lie.
His three brothers were crying, Reggie into Luke’s shoulder and Alex into Luke’s. No one else seemed to notice they were in the room though, so Trevor continued on. “So at first I told the manager the truth, the song was written by my dead band mate and I wasn’t really playing a solo act… then he locked me into a contract, so I stole Luke’s songs. I stole Sunset Curve’s songs, and recorded them as my own.”
Carrie let out a choked sob then ran out of the room covering her mouth. Luke, Reggie, and Alex were crying in the back of the room, Julie looking like she wanted to comfort them but couldn’t. The reporters clamoring for him to answer more questions, flashes from cameras shining in his face. “There is one more thing,” Trevor said into the microphone. The chaos settled down, and he inhaled slowly. Staring right at Reggie he said, “I found sheet music for a song our bassist, Reggie, wrote but never got the chance to play.” Reggie sniffled, attempting to dry his eyes with his flannel sleeve. “It’s about the band, Sunset Curve, and that we were home to him more than anything else. I’d like to play it for you all… if you’ll let me.” The crowd quieted down and Reggie looked like he was about to breakdown. If Trevor was being honest, he wasn’t too far from a breakdown himself. Trevor picked up the acoustic guitar and started strumming Home Is Where My Horse Is , remembering a time when things were easier.
Memories of them as kids, ready to take on the world, one concert at a time. When Reggie showed up at Bobby’s house with a black eye and bruised cheek, Bobby wanted to grab his bat and go after Reggie’s sorry excuse for a father. When Luke finally ran away, taking shelter in the studio soon to be home for them all. Alex, coming out to them as gay and everyone breaking down in tears, reassuring the drummer they’d stay by his side no matter who he liked. Bobby, hitting a homophobic football player in the face when he made a gay joke in the hallway.
The final chords of Home Is Where My Horse Is hung in the air, melodic and peaceful. Something washed over Trevor, a wave of… something. Something safe, something warm and reassuring, wrapping around him like a blanket of protection. He looked to Luke, Reggie, and Alex and saw they were smiling, content, eyes filled with forgiveness.
Alex went first both times, in death and in the afterlife, disappearing in a glimmer of gold.
Reggie followed him next, a flash this time, but gold nevertheless. He looked at Trevor like he was proud of him, like he forgave him.
Luke went last, hanging on to Julie as the two of them hugged, ignoring the strange looks from Trevor’s other guests. They exchanged looks of understanding and Julie gave Alex a small smile, reaching up to cup his cheek as he disappeared in a haze of golden dust, falling into her lap.
Trevor knew they weren’t gone though, they’d never be gone. They were alive in him, in Julie, in their music… and this time he was going to make sure that everyone knew their names.