#last year they mailed everyone branded hats and the postcard said ‘hats off to you’

[marnz]

love to receive a branded keychain as a thank you from work leadership as opposed to something meaningful such as, idk, more paid time off or cash

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter thirty one: ginger snaps

Sam awoke the next morning in her bed at her father's house. It had been a whole two months since she had returned from that big tour and nearly Thanksgiving at that point. It all still didn't feel real, even well after the fact.

All the people. All across the country. The fact that she could have her art go places as well as that from Marla and perhaps Belinda, too, if she so wished.

It all felt like a fever dream, even two months onward.

And the fact that they were all within her arm's reach added to the whole feeling of it all. Alex was especially within arm's reach of her, down there in Berkeley. She thought of heading on down there just to visit him before Testament returned to the studio for that new one. She wanted them to be there on that big tour, the Clash of Titans.

It would justify absolutely everything that she had worked for in the past nearly five years.

The fact that it had been five years since she first moved from California to New York hit her like a ton of bricks. Five years! So much had happened since then. So much had happened to her since she had unlocked the door to her apartment.

And yet it felt as though so much more time had happened since then. She faced on a brand new decade with her friends and also with her father. It almost felt as though everyone came together as a family of sorts. A family of choice rather than through blood, even with a bit of blood mixed in there.

She wondered where it all would go from that point onward as well. So many questions that pertained to the next decade cropped up as the days shortened and the shadows over the Bay Area and Catalina Island lengthened out with the impending darkness. The darkness beckoned them all into the coming days, into the unknown. She knew New York had their way with it all, the big city with the tough exterior, but she wondered if the tough facade would slip at some point underneath the cold gray winter.

And then there was California, the direct opposite in all of its laxness. But she wondered if the relaxed politeness would slip at a given point in favor of a fist at the world.

One question that hung over her was how would the Nineties treat them all. She looked on at the halfway point of her twenties in the middle of January; by the middle of the decade, she would have reached thirty years old. Such a strange number that felt so close and yet so far away at the same time.

It all felt so strange to her, especially since Alex would be that age by the decade's end. So close and yet so distant.

It felt as if they were all walking each other home, especially when she thought of her parents and how the decade would fare for them in particular.

There was another question that hung over her as well, and that was the truth about the man whom her mother had spent time with before she was born. Even though it was clear at that point there was no way in which to come in touch with him, there had to be a way to him during that decade. So much could change in a single decade as she saw in the past one alone.

So much could change in a single year: it wasn't even a year ago that she wanted nothing to do with Alex. Now she could feel some sort of spark between the two of them. A year ago she continued to reel from the loss of Cliff and she saw him everywhere, and she obsessed over the fact that black hat continued to smell of him. Now she had nothing more a mere memory of him imprinted within her flesh.

Moreover, Alex had given her that fedora that reminded Ruben of Frank and Nancy Sinatra both. Rather than something that belonged to him, he gave her things that were brand new. Cliff haunted her after he was killed: Alex wouldn't haunt her except through her memory.

Of course.

She climbed out of bed once she caught the fresh aroma of brewed coffee in the next room, and she straightened out one of the many Death Angel shirts she used to sleep in all the while. She padded into the kitchen right as Ruben took his seat there at the table with a fresh cup firmly in hand.

“Good morning, my love,” he greeted her with a smile and an accompanying kiss. “Coffee's ready and there's some waffles waitin for you in the oven.”

He lowered his gaze to her chest.

“I hope they go places, too,” he remarked with a gesture to her shirt.

“I hope so, too!”

“I'm overseeing their new one plus Testament's new one.”

“You're overseeing Souls of Black?” she asked him with a raise of her eyebrows, and he nodded in response to that.

“Indeed I am. They go in—in June, I think? It's a ways off. Those guys have got a bit more touring to do come the springtime.”

“Springtime and a brand new decade,” Sam remarked as she padded to the cupboard for a clean coffee mug.

“I have a good feeling about them,” Ruben confessed as he took a sip for himself. “I feel like this past tour did those five boys as well as Slayer justice.”

“You think maybe the Clash of the Titans will get them even further along?” she asked him as she poured herself a cup.

“I have no doubt in my mind about that, baby girl. They're twisted enough and I feel the winds are changing, too. The world wants something small and to the earth. The world wants something new, too. That said, not only will they get on it, I have a good feeling about Metallica, too.”

“I have no doubt about them, either,” Sam said as she mixed in a bit of cream. “How do you feel about Anthrax?”

“The world could use some humor, too,” he added. “They definitely have it. As for metal itself, who knows? But those three bands there—Metallica, Anthrax, and Testament—I got a good feeling about each of them.” He took another sip. “I also feel the world shifting more towards true artistry, too.” And he flashed her a wink as a result of that.

Sam showed her father a little smile as she took a little sip from her coffee.

She considered taking a walk that day, just to see the trees all along the street change color. Alex was probably home as well. If not, then she could take the bus over to Greg's house.

One of the myriad of things she missed there on the East Coast was the distinction of seasons: there on the West Coast, and in California in particular, there could be a nice sunny day in the middle of December, and the next string of days following would be rather nice and sunny until the point in which it all became monotonous. At least Seattle and the Pacific Northwest mixed it up every now and again with the rain storms and the drizzle from the Puget Sound. But it was about that time, in the first days of November, when Sam could walk about the streets of New York and have a look up at the trees overhead. At all the shades of orange and yellow amongst themselves.

But there in the Bay Area, the leaves either had switched over to yellow and never went any further than that, or they stayed green and changed colors upon hitting the ground around her. She missed that crisp smell of the leaves around her as she strode about the sidewalk.

She reached the cafe at the end of the block: right next door to that place was a brand new bakery. She spotted those dark rust colored cookies near the front window. Even though there wasn't very much of an autumnal feeling about the area, the very sight of them made her wish for more of it.

More of it and all for the guy she liked to hang out with when Joey wasn't around.

She strode inside of there and she spotted small packs of bite sized ones on the rack across from the window.

“Ginger snaps,” she muttered to herself, and she picked out a small pack of them off from the rack.

All the spices. All the love in the world for him.

She yearned to find something for Joey but she had no clue what she could give him. Add to this, she would have to send to him via mail, which meant it wouldn't be fresh by the time he received it.

Something sweet and gentle on his poor stomach like sugar cookies or a snicker doodle. But then again, there was the fact she had to send to him. But then again, it could serve as a care package to him.

She traded in between him and Alex all summer long and yet things felt so distant between the two of them. He was her boyfriend after all: they were still together even after everything else had happened all around them. She still had her heart on him: she still wanted him. She still wanted him even against all odds.

She thought about Alex and all the times they had gotten close. She knew that if Testament were to go anywhere in the world, he needed to have some sort of clan behind him much like with her. Things on the West Coast were alive as she cradled that pack of ginger snaps in her hand.

But then, there was Joey. Back there in upstate New York. Each coast was on the brink of something.

The electric feeling in the air, the signs that things were about to go sideways for everyone. She knew that Metallica were on their way to something for themselves, even without Cliff at their side.

Something to help Joey along the way it was, then. She picked out a couple of snicker doodles as well as a couple of sugar cookies in the shape of angels for him. Something else, too: something that she could pick from home, both of her homes anyways. It only made sense especially since Alex had given her things along the way himself: giving each other things meant they loved each other. She could do it for Joey as well, and it would be in a sense that she still loved him as her boyfriend rather than just a boy who happened to be her friend like with Alex.

Within time, Sam bowed out of there and returned to Ruben's house down the block. She wondered what she could send to Joey as she walked past the mailbox by the curb. She tucked the paper bag of cookies under her arm as she peeked inside there. An envelope that decreed something about the new decade and the last one before the New Millennium as well as a blood red postcard. All the memories of getting fan club letters from Eric back on the East Coast returned to her.

But she turned it over and spotted a Polaroid photograph of the Cherry Suicides: each of them sat cross legged on the floor in blood red lingerie and with sparkling little Santa hats upon their heads. She turned it over again and saw the words “Captain Shelley!” written in pearly white ink. Following that was:

“Hey, remember a few years ago when there was this big ass wave of thrashy music that came out? Well, here's the next wave for ya.”

She clasped the envelope to her chest as if it was going to get away from her and she closed the mailbox with her elbow. She headed back into the house to better read the postcard; she set the brown paper bag down on the edge of the bed almost without thinking.

The pearly white ink made her think of milk.

It was milk and cookies for real that time around.

“Sam—

it's been a while! We're just about done with the new album—we just have to mix it and do whatnot to it. You're not gonna believe this: a major label wants to sign us and for all we know, it just might be either Metallica or Testament's label (there's an imprint up here in New England so our hope is that we don't have to move out there from here in Providence). It's mainly why we haven't been able to come in contact with you lately. We've just been gambling the whole thing about going to a major label as well as focusing on the new album. Remember those guys from Texas we told you and Alex about back on New Year's, Pantera? Apparently, they were recording next door to us and they sat in with us for a couple of days. Their guitarist Darrell offered us free drinks on him whenever we show up with them!

If we get this record deal, we'll release it through that and we might see some genuine airplay afterwards. Neither of the four of us can promise anything because it's all hearsay and after all we've been through in the past five years, we trust you and the periphery fans more than we trust some fucking guys who look like question mark in suits. One example of a lack of trust is neither of us have any idea if they're going to market us as a 'riot grrrl' band or a 'death metal' band, even though it's obvious that we're straight up punk with a bit of thrash thrown in for good measure.

Who knows? It might be a hit! It might be a hit and we'll play on this thing called 'Clash of the Titans', and we'll also have you at the helm, too: our good friend and kinda sorta partner in crime from the West Coast. Hope all is well out there in California—we were going to see Testament on this tour with Anthrax and Slayer but it was either that or go see Metallica, and we got invited to the latter when they came through here this past summer. It was an offer we simply couldn't refuse.

We love you and miss you so much.

Zelda, Rose, Minerva, and Morgan”

Sam sighed through her nose and turned the postcard back over for a look at the Polaroid once more. She kept her eye on Zelda, who looked even more toned than she remembered. When they first met each other, she was slender, almost scrawny: the muscles on her arms were taut and slightly thick, which told her she was getting stronger and more powerful with time and with each tour as well. Underneath her lingerie, Sam noticed that her waist had gotten quite a bit fuller but her stomach looked rather toned.

A tough Rhode Island girl had to look it.

She propped up the postcard on the desk so she looked on at the Polaroid every time she climbed out of bed. She then rubbed her hands together to prepare Joey's care package: there was one Death Angel shirt that didn't fit her given it was too large for her but she knew that he would be comfortable in it. There had to be more than just a shirt and some cookies however.

Ruben had already left for work, which meant that she had the house all to herself.

If nothing, Alex could help her, or perhaps Greg could join in on the help. She had no idea if Eric and Louie were home, and even though she saw Chuck the day before, she knew that he wasn't around, either. Alex was closer as well. It was a bit of a trip down to Berkeley from Castro Valley, but nothing a bus ride couldn't solve, however.

A quick phone call to Jerry ahead of time, who told her that Alex was in the shower at the moment, and thus she put her jacket back on and she headed back out there again.

The San Francisco fog covered the sky overhead but she knew it wasn't enough to warrant a rainstorm. She kept the ginger snaps in her jacket pocket all the while: she would surprise him with them even though they weren't necessarily a surprise with him at that point.

She bowed her head against the winds as she made her way up the street to that familiar house near his high school: and he still hadn't shown her his high school, either.

The door was slightly ajar and thus she left herself into the cozy warm house. His parents were elsewhere but the pipes running in the wall told her that Alex hadn't climbed out as of yet. Sam made her way down to his room, right across from the spare where he showed her his homemade rig. She wondered if he would show her some new riffs in there: she nudged that door open and she made her way inside of there.

That little amp on the floor right underneath that little red guitar. Right next to that stood a white guitar that appeared to be a little bit bigger. She picked it off of the floor and held it close to her body. It felt rather cumbersome in her hands, but then again, she wasn't as acquainted with it as him, and he hadn't put that leather strap on it, either.

But she took a seat on the chair next to the table and she cradled the guitar in her lap. She took the pick out of the strings near the guitar's head and she caught a soft metallic cling as a result. Without putting her fingers on the strings near the head, she gently strummed it.

A flat metallic noise ensued. She knew it would be louder if it was plugged into that amp there.

She pictured herself next to Alex onstage somewhere and they were performing “Practice What You Preach” together. But she had a mountain to climb all the while: a long way to go before she could twin him the way in which Eric did onstage.

She set her index and middle finger on the bottom two strings, albeit the thinnest of the six. So thin that they nearly sliced through her fingers. She jerked her fingers back as if she had been cut but no mark had been left there on the skin. She set her fingers there again and she strummed yet again: that time, the sound was more muted. She pressed harder, such that it ached her fingers.

She jerked her hand back again and shook it about, but she tried again.

“Easy with that thing,” Alex's voice caught her attention, and she jumped, and he chuckled as a result. She glanced back at him there in the doorway with his hair dripping wet and a towel wrapped around his waist. “That's brand new so be careful with it.”

“Man, you got tough fingers,” she remarked as she shook her hand about again. “This hurts.”

“You're just not used to it is all,” he assured her as he padded into the room. “It's just like with anything else, really. The more you play around, your fingers get stronger and so does your skin, too.”

She tried again, that time harder on the frets.

“You don't wanna press down too hard, either,” he added. “Trust me—I've made that mistake before.” He showed her his left hand and the faint scars on his fingertips.

“You want a nice balance,” she said.

“Exactly, right!” She then flexed her fingers and tried it yet again.

“That's better,” she remarked.

“It'd also sounds better plugged in, too,” he added, nonplussed.

“I was just giving it a shot,” she confessed with a shrug.

“You should try it! You know—I've always found something so badass about a chick who does things like this and works with her hands. Playing guitar or doing what Belinda does.”

Alex raked his fingers through that singular patch of hair on right side of his head, right behind the little tuft of gray: given his hair was wet, he appeared to have a cowlick coming in right there with the hair underneath the main hair looking as though it stood up on end.

“Did you get the Cherry Suicides' news letter, by the way?” he asked her.

“As a matter of fact, I did!” he declared with a twinkle in his eye.

“The next wave of thrashy music as Zelda described it—with them and you guys.”

“There has to be more of us out there, though,” he pointed out. He peered over his shoulder.

“You know what? Seeing as it's just us here right now...” He unraveled the towel right before her and she came face to face with his underwear.

“Bad boy,” she playfully scolded him with a wag of her finger.

“Good bad boy, I presume?”

“Yes!” she chuckled at him. She followed him back across the hallway to his bedroom: she hung there in the doorway as he put on a clean pair of jeans. Sam looked over at the small cutout of a long haired man right next to his cutout of Eddie Van Halen. He had a red guitar in hand, much like the one Alex had, except he held it as though it served as his weapon.

“Who's that guy?” she asked him; he turned around to find her pointing at the cutout.

“Yngwie Malmsteen—do not ask me how to spell his name, either. Amazing as hell guitar player, too. He's absolutely brilliant. He's Swedish, I think?”

“I would think with a name like that, you're gonna go places,” she said.

“Oh, yeah, you're gonna have to like—prove yourself in some way.” He chuckled again as he put on that same black button up shirt that she loved; once he left the top two buttons undone, he fixed his hair and let it dangle over his shoulders to better dry. She watched him put on a little black metal pendant when he spoke again.

“You know, we ought to hang out over Hanukkah,” he offered to her in a low voice. “I'm not doing anything then.”

“When is Hanukkah this year?”

“It's—” Alex paused and glanced up at the ceiling in question. “It's couple of days before Christmas if I recall correctly.”

“Wow!” She gaped at him, and then she flashed him a smirk. “So you want me to hang with you over Christmas.”

“Nah, it'd be over Hanukkah,” he pointed out with a wag of his finger. “We'll light the menorah together and treat you to some matzo.”

“Wave that finger at me again and I'll tell you what to do with it,” she warned him, and he pointed the tip up his nostril, which in turn brought a laugh out of her. He then snapped his fingers and his face lit up.

“What?”

“Chuck and Tiffany are getting married,” he said.

“No way!” she declared, excited, and he nodded his head out of excitement. “When?”

“Uh, late April, I think? Or May—I only know it's in the springtime after we get back from the tour and before we go into the studio. Some time around Greg's birthday, that's as far as I know. They're holding it over the Bay itself and then they're moving down to Dublin together.”

“Are you gonna help out?” she asked him with another smirk on her face.

“I just might,” he chuckled, and then his expression turned thoughtful. “I guess Chuck's cousin is in a band, too.”

“His cousin?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he was telling me about that just the other day when he told me he and Tiffany are getting married—he was like 'my cousin started a band with a couple of his classmates, like last year.' And I said, 'alright, man! I hope we get to see them perform in the future.' We're all kind of a tribe now, we might as well—come—together under one umbrella.”

“I do not like the way you said 'come' just now,” she scoffed, and he snickered at that.

“When do you guys back on tour again?” she asked him.

“We leave—right before your birthday, actually,” he replied. “About a three days before. We're going over to Europe and then Japan and Australia. We're going places, Samantha.”

“And then you go back into the studio,” she said in a soft voice. “And you—raise holy hell.”

“The label's also telling us to do it, too,” he added.

“But still!”

“Yeah, I mean—we could become the biggest band in the world for all we know,” he confessed with a shrug. “Or at least one of them. It's just—do or die time with all of us. I think Metallica is really going to find themselves a spot in the world of some sort—something a la the Scorpions, maybe.”

Sam sauntered closer to him and she was met with the fresh soft aroma of soap about his neck and hair. His skin never appeared softer and the bridge of his nose seemed to have an extra sheen to it despite the sole light from through the window.

“To be frank—I don't want to be alone when it happens,” he said in a soft voice.

“You won't be,” she vowed to him, “you won't be, my sweet friend.” She nestled closer to him. For a second, she had forgotten she had the ginger snaps in her pocket and she considered pushing him down onto the bed, flat on his back, but she never did. Instead, she eyed his chest and the soft silken skin on his collar bones and his neck.

“How'd I know I was ever going to like such a gorgeous boy,” she wondered aloud, and he rolled his eyes at that.

“You are! You're very gorgeous, Alex.”

“I'm gorgeous in the sense that a cadaver is gorgeous.”

“You don't look like a cadaver, Alex—you've got this nice milky skin and this inky beautiful hair, and this glorious tuft upon your head. You're really beautiful—and I see you getting more beautiful with age.”

He locked eyes with her and for a second, she thought he was about to kiss her, but he never did. Instead, he picked up the towel from the edge of the bed and shook it a bit.

“Would you like something to drink?” he offered her as he slung the towel over his shoulder.

“Ooh, yes please!”

He led her out of his bedroom and down the hall to the kitchen.

“By the way—just out of curiosity, what'd you come over for?” he asked her. She then thought of his whole thing with Joey. Still very much a delicate subject even though Alex had forgotten the whole ordeal between her and Aurora: if he forgot that, then it was possible he laxed on the feud between him and Joey. But it was a gamble nonetheless, and one she had no idea whether it would be good to take it on.

“I just wanted to pop in,” she duly replied to him.

“Doesn't really count as a pop in, though, now doesn't it?” he joked as he poured her a glass of ginger ale. He then reached over for the television remote which sat there on the counter and he pointed it out the kitchen door and he pressed the button; the sight of the ginger ale reminded her of the bite sized ginger snaps in her jacket pocket.

“Where exactly is your menorah at?” she asked him as she took a sip.

“It's right in here—” He drummed his fingers on the cupboard right before their heads. He fixed on something in the next room and his eyes widened. He craned his neck a bit.

“What's up?” she asked him, and he rounded her to the doorway.

“What's up? Alex?”

“Oh my gracious god,” he muttered. She joined him there and they watched a breaking news report on what appeared to be a crowd of people congregated around something huge and concrete. She caught the sight of graffiti on one side of the concrete wall, graffiti and barbed wire.

“What is it?” she asked him.

“The Berlin Wall's coming down,” he declared and he looked over at Sam with a sparkle in his eye.

“The Berlin Wall's coming down?”

“It's coming down. That thing is coming down, Samantha!” He gasped and held a hand to his chest. A huge chunk of the wall collapsed as a couple of people in West Berlin knocked a huge hole in the wall with people chanting right behind them.

Sam brought a hand to her mouth.

“It's coming down and reuniting the country—this is huge!” he proclaimed.

“What a way to go into the Nineties!” she added as he set his hands on her shoulders.

“Right? Oh my god—!” He threw his arms around her. She thought about the time he had been accidentally left behind near the border of East Germany. Fears no more after this.

“The world still has a long way to go, though,” he pointed out. “There's so much wrong right now—but this is huge, though.”

“Quite the feat if I do say so myself,” Sam raised her glass of ginger ale.

“Let's fucking do this,” he told her with a slap of her free hand and another embrace for her. The pack of ginger snaps crinkled in her jacket pocket, such that he held back a bit and showed her a bewildered look. She reached into her pocket for them and he gasped at the sight of them.

“Just keeps getting better!” he declared; with two fingers, he opened that little bag and popped one into his mouth. She raised the glass to him again.

“Milk and cookies,” she stated, and she couldn't resist the smile on her face.

“Milk and cookies!” He tapped the ginger snap against the rim of her glass for a toast.

“This decade is going to be epic for all of us, Samantha,” he said, “I can just feel it in my bones.”

“I can, too. There's something in the air right now. Something big among us. It's quickly coming to a point that I almost can't stand it, to be honest.”

“When you absolutely can't stand it—like you're like 'hooooly fuck, make something happen already!' is when it really happens. I say this because that happened with the first wave. Like  we were all like, 'one of us has to go somewhere at some point.' And we did! We all did, even if Testament kind of came in after the fact.”

“Let's just hope we're not in between waves,” she noted.

“Oh, no, you don't want that,” he said as he popped another ginger snap into his mouth. “You get in between waves you run into a wall.” He gestured to the television screen before them, of all the Berliners rejoicing after decades of separation. Of a world on the waves of change.

And all the while, she wondered if Joey was seeing the same thing as she took another sip of ginger.