Read Online Have A Little Faith In Me by Brad Vance - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brad Vance
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woman have an orgasm.
He loved the beat, he loved the energy, the exuberance. And though he shied from punk, well, he loved New Wave! New Order and Depeche Mode and the Smiths…oh my God the Smiths. It was like Morrissey knew him!
Then Korey decided it was time for Norman to watch some music videos. They went into the living room, and Korey turned the big tube TV to MTV. “Oh, this is lucky,” he said. “Audioslave, Like a Stone, this is a good song.”
As Norman watched the video, his life changed.
It wasn’t just Chris Cornell’s amazing vocal range that hypnotized him. It was his eyes. A blue-green so clear and deep that you could see his soul through them. The face of an angel to go with the eyes. His firm tan arms, and the flash of chest above the scoop of his tank top. The way he lifted his eyebrows and closed his eyes with a sad shrug of his face, the way he nodded his head, the way he walked, held the microphone, his shaggy spiky hair, his golden perfect skin, and worst of all, oh shit worst of all, a flash of a smile shown for just a moment as he looked at a band mate.
He’d seen it at school. The ways girls squealed at sexy pop stars, as if transported to ecstasy by their very existence. But this was different, he wasn’t a duckling imprinting on the first adult duck he saw. Chris Cornell, he was amazing, he was awesome, he was…everything. Heartbreakingly gorgeous wasn’t a word he would think to use. Yet.
“Can we watch it again?”
Korey looked at his face. Holy crap , he thought. Norman Rockwell McCoy, Jr. is as gay as a goose.
“No, man, it’s over. It’ll be on again though.”
“When?”
“In a couple hours, maybe?”
“Do you have this album?”
“Uh, no.”
Norman nodded. He would buy it himself. It would be his first musical purchase. He had no allowance, no income, but he would find a way. There had to be a way, when you wanted something this bad.
“Do you have a guitar around here?”
Korey laughed. “Do I! My dad’s a fucking…sorry, freaking musician. That’s right, you told me you play. You any good?”
Norman shrugged. “Not really,” he said with the modesty drilled into him at home.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Korey said. “Come on. Barrett Springfield’s Musical Wonderland has another room for you to explore.”
CHAPTER 10 – THE DEVIL’S FOUND YOU AT LAST
Faith was lured upstairs by the unfamiliar sound. This wasn’t a song she knew, wasn’t a song that was in the repertoire that Mrs. Jackson had assigned. Was Norman writing songs already? This seemed too complex, and…dark.
Norman was working hard to master the acoustic version of Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun.” His obsession with Chris Cornell had two facets – the gay teenager’s desire to touch his golden god, to possess him and be possessed by him, and the teenage musician’s desire to emulate his new idol in every way possible.
She opened the door, startling her grandson. “What song is that?”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
“Did you write that?”
“No,” he answered truthfully. He didn’t want to lie. But he couldn’t tell the truth, when that would ruin everything.
“What’s it called?”
“‘Black Hole Sun.’ By Soundgarden.”
She frowned. “What kind of music is it?”
He shrugged. “It’s just a song.”
She looked at him again. “What…did you wash your hair this morning?”
Norman flinched. His mid-length hair, usually parted neatly on the side, was spiked up, tousled and messy, as much like Chris’ hair as he could make it with no hair product other than some conditioner he’d left glopped in it.
“Yeah.”
She looked at him, hard. “What exactly are you doing at that boy’s house?”
“Just listening to music.” And playing music, but he left that out. There was a lot to leave out when he talked to his grandmother
He loved the beat, he loved the energy, the exuberance. And though he shied from punk, well, he loved New Wave! New Order and Depeche Mode and the Smiths…oh my God the Smiths. It was like Morrissey knew him!
Then Korey decided it was time for Norman to watch some music videos. They went into the living room, and Korey turned the big tube TV to MTV. “Oh, this is lucky,” he said. “Audioslave, Like a Stone, this is a good song.”
As Norman watched the video, his life changed.
It wasn’t just Chris Cornell’s amazing vocal range that hypnotized him. It was his eyes. A blue-green so clear and deep that you could see his soul through them. The face of an angel to go with the eyes. His firm tan arms, and the flash of chest above the scoop of his tank top. The way he lifted his eyebrows and closed his eyes with a sad shrug of his face, the way he nodded his head, the way he walked, held the microphone, his shaggy spiky hair, his golden perfect skin, and worst of all, oh shit worst of all, a flash of a smile shown for just a moment as he looked at a band mate.
He’d seen it at school. The ways girls squealed at sexy pop stars, as if transported to ecstasy by their very existence. But this was different, he wasn’t a duckling imprinting on the first adult duck he saw. Chris Cornell, he was amazing, he was awesome, he was…everything. Heartbreakingly gorgeous wasn’t a word he would think to use. Yet.
“Can we watch it again?”
Korey looked at his face. Holy crap , he thought. Norman Rockwell McCoy, Jr. is as gay as a goose.
“No, man, it’s over. It’ll be on again though.”
“When?”
“In a couple hours, maybe?”
“Do you have this album?”
“Uh, no.”
Norman nodded. He would buy it himself. It would be his first musical purchase. He had no allowance, no income, but he would find a way. There had to be a way, when you wanted something this bad.
“Do you have a guitar around here?”
Korey laughed. “Do I! My dad’s a fucking…sorry, freaking musician. That’s right, you told me you play. You any good?”
Norman shrugged. “Not really,” he said with the modesty drilled into him at home.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Korey said. “Come on. Barrett Springfield’s Musical Wonderland has another room for you to explore.”
CHAPTER 10 – THE DEVIL’S FOUND YOU AT LAST
Faith was lured upstairs by the unfamiliar sound. This wasn’t a song she knew, wasn’t a song that was in the repertoire that Mrs. Jackson had assigned. Was Norman writing songs already? This seemed too complex, and…dark.
Norman was working hard to master the acoustic version of Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun.” His obsession with Chris Cornell had two facets – the gay teenager’s desire to touch his golden god, to possess him and be possessed by him, and the teenage musician’s desire to emulate his new idol in every way possible.
She opened the door, startling her grandson. “What song is that?”
“It’s nothing,” he said.
“Did you write that?”
“No,” he answered truthfully. He didn’t want to lie. But he couldn’t tell the truth, when that would ruin everything.
“What’s it called?”
“‘Black Hole Sun.’ By Soundgarden.”
She frowned. “What kind of music is it?”
He shrugged. “It’s just a song.”
She looked at him again. “What…did you wash your hair this morning?”
Norman flinched. His mid-length hair, usually parted neatly on the side, was spiked up, tousled and messy, as much like Chris’ hair as he could make it with no hair product other than some conditioner he’d left glopped in it.
“Yeah.”
She looked at him, hard. “What exactly are you doing at that boy’s house?”
“Just listening to music.” And playing music, but he left that out. There was a lot to leave out when he talked to his grandmother
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