It’s been a few weeks since Jesus and Joe Strummer came out! I’ve so thankful for everyone who has given it a chance. As a thanks, I’d post a preview of some in progress work. So below are “sides” A and B of Too Much Blood on the Page. Thanks for reading, and I hope it’s not too terrible of a read.
Too Much Blood on the Page, Side A
I should call him.
No, screw him.
I sat on the worn leather couch in my cluttered home studio, surrounded by posters of past gigs, half-finished lyrics for the new album scribbled on scraps of paper, and guitars propped against the walls.
I was staring at my phone once again like I had done probably a dozen times this week. My mind was a whirlpool of conflicted thoughts, each one more turbulent than the last. Memories of our glory days mixed with the bitterness of our fallout, leaving me feeling both nostalgic and as pissed off as I was when it all first happened. I was so lost in it all that I didn’t even hear Gemma’s footsteps approach the doorway.
“Are you going to call him, or are you just going to spend the evening having a staring contest with a chunk of plastic, circuit board, and glass…again?” she asked, her voice laced with the kind of sarcasm that had become her trademark—a blend of affection and exasperation that I’d come to both love and occasionally fear.
“I’m thinking about it,” I mumbled, which was true in the sense that my brain was indeed forming thoughts. None of those thoughts involved actually dialing, but they were thoughts, nonetheless.
Instead of admitting that, though, I added, “He’s an jerk.”
I knew that wasn’t exactly helpful, but it was the best I could muster at the moment.
And it was accurate.
Gemma, far enough away that I couldn’t see her expression but I swear I could feel her rolling her eyes, walked into the room. “He was an jerk for all 25 years you were friends… You should still call him, Des. Even jerks need friends when they’re dying. You’ve been thinking about it for a week. At this rate, you’ll develop a permanent furrow in your brow. It’s not a good look for you.”
I smiled, despite myself. Damn her.
I wanted to be all angsty over this, but she had a way of cutting through my bullshit with surgical precision.
“It’s a phone call, Desmond. You’re not planning a heist or asking him to get the band back together!”
“It’s Charlie,” I said, as if that explained everything. And to me, it did. Charlie: my former best friend, Bloody Pages bandmate, and the person who managed to both ruin and make my life in equal measure.
I still remember being talked into climbing our rigging at our first big outdoor show, or the night we wrote terrible punk rock songs while drunk on cheap tequila that we mixed with Dr. Pepper, both laughing at what we thought was a clever name for our creation. “Rio Grande! Get it! Dr. Pepper is from Texas. Tequila is from Mexico! They meet at the Rio Grande!” We laughed and laughed at our genius, telling anyone who would listen as we wandered around outside. We eventually wrote a few good songs together too.
And then there was the time we “attacked” our RA with Legos. We were drunk, as usual, and had taken Legos to his door. We set up cowboys with guns, knights with swords, pirates with cannons. They even had defenses! We thought we were really stealthy, but he eventually opened the door and told us he had heard us the whole time. We told him “We have you surrounded!” We laughed, and he smiled slightly…before telling us to pick them up and leave. He was no fun!
Gemma sighed and came to sit next to me, laying her head on my lap and looking up at me with those big, understanding, eyes. “Yes, it’s Charlie. Your best friend. The one with cancer.”
Her voice softened a little at the end, and I could see the sympathy in her eyes, glistening in the dim light bleeding in from the hallway.
I hated that look. It made everything feel heavier. “Former friend…” I muttered, more to myself than to her.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, a heavy, contemplative silence.
Finally, Gemma spoke again. “I know for a fact that if you added up all the days you thought about calling him since the last, horrible, time you two were together, it would add up to at least two-thirds of the time.”
It hurt to admit it, but… “More like 90% of the days…”
Gemma laughed. “I did say AT LEAST two-thirds…”
I laughed too, which felt like a small concession to her. “The problem, though, is my phone. See, every time I get the feeling to call him, it suddenly feels heavier than I can pick up.”
I’m obviously deflecting, but that got a snort out of Gemma. “In that case, you could always do speakerphone. Though, maybe we should go to the store tomorrow and see if they can figure out what bug causes that to happen.”
Trying to keep the mood light, I said, “Probably some Chinese spyware…”
Gemma didn’t laugh at that. Silence permeated the room again…
“If the situation was reversed, I don’t know if he would call me!” I protested eventually as if that mattered.
Gemma quickly pulled herself up and grabbed my face. Oh, I had messed up…big time.
Sternly, she said, “You are absolutely 100% correct about that. And it doesn’t really matter. That’s why you two worked! You were the bleeding heart; he was the moody jerk. That was, like, Bloody Pages’ whole thing! Until the last time, every time you two fell out, it was always you that made the first move to reconcile. ‘It’s a grace you’ve shown before, and it’s a grace you can show again, because that’s who we are and that’s how we win’. Isn’t that the lyric?”
I looked at her, my beautiful, brilliant wife, and sighed. She was right, of course.
She was always right, which was both comforting and mildly irritating.
And she quoted my own lyrics back at me. Which was more than mildly irritating.
Ugh, why is this so hard?!
Charlie had been like my right hand since saving me from a bully on my first day at a new school. He was always either there to stop me from getting beat up or ready to avenge me if he was elsewhere when it happened. He was the one who stood by me when my parents split up, and the one who always knew how to turn a bad day around with his ridiculous sense of humor.
What was the line from the Bible? “If your right hand is causing you pain, cut it off.” Was that the Bible? Or was that Bloc Party? Both? Anyway…
My right hand WAS causing me pain, and I cut it off. Which caused more pain, and I was left without my right hand.
Not very practical.
Great.
And now my right hand’s body has cancer, with low chances of surviving…
Wait, this whole hand thing is getting confusing. If he’s my right hand, doesn’t that make me his body? And I don’t have cancer…he does.
Great…again…
Gemma was still holding my face. “Where’d you go, Desmond? I can tell I’ve lost you somewhere in there. Come back here, love.”
I had to say something… “I was just thinking about what you said…”
I mean, that was technically true. She didn’t need to know the details beyond that.
Gemma let go of my face but kept her eyes on me, waiting for me to say more.
When I didn’t, she tightened her eyes. She wasn’t waiting anymore, she was ordering.
Eventually, I managed “What if he got a new phone number? What if he’s blocked my number? What if he doesn’t answer?… What if he does?… What would I say?”
Gemma started rubbing my arm, a comforting gesture that did little to soothe my nerves. “I’d start with… ‘Hi.’ Or wait… you two always answered each other’s calls with ‘Ahoy-Hoy’ because you two losers thought it was hilarious…”
As a knee-jerk defense, I jumped in, “Hey, it’s because the guy who…”
Gemma cut me off, “Invented the telephone wanted people to answer their phones. I’ve heard you tell that story literally hundreds of times. Only you two find that funny; everyone else was just humoring you because you were a famous rock star…”
“Past tense? I still am!” I objected, with a slight smile.
I knew what Gemma was doing there. It was what she had been doing since she first showed up at the doorway. Make me laugh a bit, see that she was right, and get out of my head to do the right thing. The absolute audacity!
I also knew that bit was hilarious!
Having gotten her message across…again, Gemma got up, kissed me, and said, “Yes, you are my big, strong, handsome, rock star…”
As she walked out of the room, she yelled back, “Just call him…and then take out the trash.”
I hated how right she could be sometimes. It made it impossible to argue. And, if I’m being honest, I’m a guy who likes to win arguments.
I needed to make the first move. I hadn’t for six years now, instead digging in my heels hoping something would change this time. It hadn’t.
I had to find out my best friend had cancer from a journalist calling me. Thankfully, it was Anderson Thompson-Howell, who I at least could tolerate.
Still though, if something was going to change my former best friend shouldn’t a death sentence?
If Death couldn’t even change him, what chance did I have?
I had to try though, right?
Damn, my foolish heart.
I picked up my phone. I put it back down. I put it back down, feeling the familiar pang of guilt and regret. What if this was my last chance to make things right? What if this call could somehow heal the wounds between us? But the fear of facing anger, or worse, indifference, kept me paralyzed. I couldn’t bring myself to call.
The cowardice of that realization.
Instead, I walked over to my desk…
I may not be able to bring myself to call, but I could, however, bring myself to write this email to you. Maybe this is all just easier to say in writing for me. You always were better with speaking than me.
No way you got rid of the email address you’ve had since creating it to play fantasy baseball when we were 12. You always thought it was so clever!
I can’t imagine what you’re going through. My number is still the same.
I love you, man.
Too Much Blood on the Page, Side B
I was drinking my morning coffee in the office of my studio when I opened my email, my heart pounding in my chest, and there it was: an email back from Charlie.
He’s going to tell me to get lost, right? Or send a “cease and desist letter” telling me to never contact him again.
I opened it. No text, just an embedded video. Typical Charlie, always finding a way to break the mold.
I assumed he wanted to tell me to “get lost” one more time in his own voice….
With a deep breath, I clicked play.
The screen flickered to life, and there he was. Thinner, paler, but unmistakably Charlie. He grinned weakly at the camera, and his familiar, sarcastic tone filled the room.
“Ahoy-Hoy Des! You know I really hate writing emails. Or texts. That’s why I recorded this. Just easier. Plus, the sympathy. Look at me already. I look terrible. It’s like I’m dying or something. So, you can’t be mad at me for never reaching out.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, a strangled sound that caught in my throat. There he was, making light of his condition, turning his impending death into a joke. It was so Charlie, so infuriatingly, heartbreakingly Charlie.
“First, let’s get this out of the way: you’re a self-righteous jerk. There, I said it.”
Charlie flashed a weak smile. Of course, he was still such a charmer.
“But you’re my favorite self-righteous jerk. And if I’m being honest, I’m pretty sure I deserve that title just as much as you do.”
Now I was smiling.
“Since we’ve established that, let’s dive into the good stuff. I’m dying, so a bit of reminiscing seems to be in order. Helps re-establish the bond, right?”
His words hit me like a freight train. My throat tightened, and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. He always had a way of cutting straight to the heart of things, no matter how painful.
“So, where do I begin? Do I start with the time you convinced me I could do a backflip on stage and land perfectly in front of our adoring fans? Reminder: I didn’t. The only thing that happened was me tripping on cables and getting a bruised ego. Which I probably deserved, to be fair. The audience loved it, though. Remember? They thought it was part of the show.”
I chuckled. It was a bittersweet sound.
I could still see it clearly, the flash of panic in his eyes as he fell, my sense of panic when I worried that he had seriously hurt himself, the roar of the crowd, and the way we laughed about it for days afterward.
“Or maybe I should bring up the ‘Great Pancake Incident’ of ’08? We were at that all-night diner in Flagstaff, and you bet me I couldn’t eat twenty pancakes in one sitting. I got to eighteen before I turned the color of those neon signs outside, but you were laughing so hard you nearly fell off your chair. And who could forget the aftermath? I’m just glad I made it outside before I puked every. There was fresh snow on the ground. Man, it was so cold out and I had left my jacket at our booth. And you still made me honor the bet…”
Charlie trailed off…
I shook my head, tears now streaming freely down my face. It was so like Charlie to turn every challenge into a spectacle, to make every moment larger than life. To get all the attention on him. It made him a good frontman, and foil to my introverted nature.
Charlie shifted in his chair and refocused.
“Ah, and then there was the night of the infamous ‘Rio Grande’ you mentioned. Honestly, the combination of Dr. Pepper and tequila was a stroke of genius—or insanity. I’m still not sure which. We must have told everyone within a ten-block radius about our masterpiece. I think we probably annoyed a lot of people in our dorm hall. But hey, it was worth it for the laughs, right? I still drink that from time to time. Silver tequila, of course.”
I laughed through my tears.
“But man, what comes to mind these days isn’t the crazy stuff. It’s the late nights we spent dreaming of being rockstars, all the times we wrote music together, when talked about life, all the heartbreaks…and the hangovers. Given what’s going on, I’ve been thinking of the night my dad passed away, and how you showed up, no words, just your presence. You sat with me in that unbearable silence, your presence was a fucking lifeline. You didn’t need to say anything; your being there was everything. That’s the kind of friend you’ve always been—the kind who turns up when it matters most, who understands that sometimes, the greatest comfort is simply knowing you’re not alone.”
Charlie paused again.
My heart ached at his words. I remembered all those nights as clear as yesterday, the unspoken bond between us, the way we could communicate without words. The love between two brothers.
Charlie rubbed his eyes and beard. He was looking gaunt already, but the fire he always carried in him was there in his eyes. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight, was he?
Charlie continued.
“Speaking of my dad, do you remember the day of my wedding? We awkwardly got trapped in the bathroom because we both had to piss and then Betty happened to be in the hallway heading to the women’s. It was like the first time you and I had been alone all day, and it was then that you chose to bring up my dad. I was absolutely terrified of messing things up, but there you were telling me that my dad would be proud of me and that while he wasn’t there in body, he was in spirit. It was all really comforting. And awkward as hell since we were in a dude’s bathroom.”
Charlie laughed and trailed off again.
I smiled. He was right, it was so terribly awkward. But I had been wanting to say something all day, but we hadn’t had a second alone. So, I took the opportunity, however weird, to let him know I loved him, and his dad did too.
Charlie kept talking.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about those times lately. Cancer has a way of making you reflect on life, and on what matters. And despite everything, our friendship still matters to me. I know we had a falling out, and there’s a lot of garbage under that bridge, but I’m glad you reached out man. I wanted to, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I think every day since the diagnosis Betty has been on me to do so. Women, man.”
He smiled again. Bigger than he small first one, with a hint of the same old mischievousness still there. It was a smile I hadn’t seen in so long, and it broke my heart all over again.
“She was right though…”
I nodded like I was talking to him live, swallowing hard. I wanted to reach through the screen, to bridge the gap in time and space that had grown between us, to tell him that I felt the same.
Because of the pandemic, it felt like I was just on Zoom with him, and we were talking back and forth. But we weren’t. I really wish he was.
Charlie had grabbed a pen and was absent-mindedly clicking it while thinking. ADHD stimming as usual. That made me smile. Some things never change…
“Things got messed up later on, sure. But what we had was something special. It was messy and beautiful and utterly ours. And yeah, we screwed up. We hurt each other. But that’s part of being human, isn’t it? We make mistakes. We fall down. But we get back up again. Like the song goes, right?”
Charlie smirked.
“Remember that time we got kicked out of Collin’s Pub for screaming along with that song and banging on the table? We knocked most of the glasses off the table and made a giant mess. Thankfully though, they let us back in the next night only banning us from ever singing that song again. I mean, we more than paid for those glasses though with as much as we drank there by the time we graduated.”
I laughed again, the sound mixing in with my sobs that were getting heavier. I had forgotten about that one, but the memory came back. I remembered the pure joy of my arm wrapped around his shoulder as we sat, laughed, screamed…and banged our fists on the table until the glasses fell off and security kicked us out.
Charlie sighed loudly on the video.
“I know you’ve got your reasons for not calling. Hell, I’ve got mine too. Pride, anger, fear—they’re all there in their bullshit glory. I should have been the first one to make a move to reach out and say sorry. You had made more than enough over the years…”
His voice softened, and I could see the sincerity in his eyes screaming at me through my screen. This was the heart of it, the message he wanted to convey. And it hit me harder than anything else.
“And now, with everything that’s happening, I realize how much time we wasted. How many laughs we missed out on, how many songs we didn’t write. But here’s the thing—I never stopped caring about you. Not for a single moment. And I know you felt the same, even if neither of us could admit it. Absolutely ridiculous.”
The tears flowed freely now, my vision blurring as I watched him speak. He was right. We had wasted so much time, but maybe, just maybe, we could find a way back.
“Life has a funny way of reminding us what’s important. Sometimes it takes a punch in the fucking face to make us see clearly. And yeah, cancer is a heck of a punch in the face…”
I felt a lump in my throat, the weight of his words pressing down on me. Charlie had paused again, but this time was longer. Like he was building up the courage to speak.
Charlie shifted in his seat again, looking directly at the camera. This was it, the moment of truth.
“So…uh…um…”
He paused again. I could see the uncertainty all over him.
What the heck is he going to say? I was hanging on to every sound, every breath, waiting for him to continue.
“If I can figure it out, I’m gonna set this email on delay.”
Why? That’s weird…
“By the time you read this, I’ll be dead…”
There it was. The gut punch. The bomb drop. The fatale blow. Oh god…
“…my diagnosis is pretty aggressive. We’re talking weeks, not months or years. I don’t want my kids’ last memories of me to be of a shriveled, husk, of a dad. I’m already looking bad enough…”
His voice wavered, and I could see the pain in his eyes. The reality of his situation hit me like a damn bomb, and I felt a deep, aching, brutal sorrow. I think I am going to be physically sick.
“I’ve gotten a second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth opinion. They all say the same thing. There is a minor chance, maybe. But when the ones who try to stress that talk, I can see in their eyes that they don’t believe themselves.”
He smiled sadly now, a ghost of his old self. “I like the doctors who have been honest with me the most. At least they have the guts to look a dying man in the eyes, tell him that he’s dying and there is absolutely no hope.”
I choked back a sob, my heart breaking for him, for his family, for us, for the friendship we had lost and the time we had wasted. God, this hurts.
“Betty and I have taken the kids on a lot of adventures and made good memories over the past few weeks. They all know, and understand, what I am doing and why.”
He took a deep breath, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know you won’t agree. Ever the optimist. I can’t beat the cancer, but I can take it out before it does me. I know it’s basically a tie, and you know how much I hate ties. They’re why I could never get into soccer despite your best efforts. I get to go out on my terms though, and not a frail and broken zombie, soiling myself as I slowly fade away. I’m going to die with my boots on. Literally. I’ve got on the last pair of Doc Martens my dad bought me before he died. I hadn’t put them on until tonight. Seems fitting.”
He had said that last sentence with a bit of a shrug like it was something obvious to do.
I could feel the weight of his words, the finality of his decision. He was choosing to face Death with the same defiant spirit that he had lived his life with. I both loved him and hated him for what he was doing, but I understood.
The son of a bitch was breaking my heart one last time though. And I loved him for it.
“Betty and the kids are going to need someone when I’m gone. Ashley, or Asher, as she…he…uh…they, whatever, wants to be called now is really going to need someone. I’ve tried and failed, I just don’t get it.”
Charlie shook his head and sighed, this disappointment seemingly placed more on himself than on his kid.
“You always had a better way of dealing with people outside of the norm than I did. For having such a ridiculously analytical mind, you can easily just shrug your shoulders and say ‘fair enough.’ I can’t. Either way, my kid is going to need someone like you. I hope it is you. Betty and Autumn are going to need you as well. Gemma too. Oh, Gemma…tell her hi for me. Tell your kids the same. I’m sorry I never got to meet them. I hope you haven’t raised them to hate me. I don’t think you did, but if so…could you maybe tell them some of the stories of the times I wasn’t an asshole? There’s not very many, I know.”
His plea hung in the air, a heavy, unspoken request. I nodded, and smiled, even though he couldn’t see me. This was such a weird way to find out I was never going to see my friend again.
“I’ve told Betty to call you in a day to share the funeral plans. I want you there, and for whatever comes next.”
My heart ached at the thought of saying goodbye, or not really saying goodbye, I guess. But the finality of it all.
This is so fucking cruel. I try not to cuss, at least that word, but I have no other way to put it. It hurts that much.
I knew I would be there though. I had to be.
And I would be there for Betty and the kids after that…forever. I owed my friend that much.
“Lastly, I’m going to say something I could never say to you while I was alive. It was my fault things got so broken between us. You put up with me as long as you could, longer than most could. When you finally told me you were done with the band, I got defensive because I think deep down, I knew I was to blame.”
His voice cracked, and I could see the regret in his eyes. “I couldn’t see it at the time. All I could see was my rage and my pride.”
I swallowed hard, my guilt and regret welling up inside me. We had both been stubborn, both held on to our pride for too long.
“And then the fucking pandemic happened. What the fuck was that? I saw you did a bunch of virtual fundraisers for venues and your touring group. I was impressed, and I fucking hated you for that.”
Charlie paused again like he was figuring out how to end the conversation.
“You had to email me tonight, man. Like a sixth sense. Knowing you, you probably think that was something God guided you to do. I’d normally fight you on that, but I won’t tonight. Maybe it’s the whole dying thing. If he did, cool. Either way, I’m glad you did though. Even if you did make me cry…”
He smiled a sad, rueful smile at his joke, and wiped the tears from his eyes. He knew full well I would be crying too.
“Adios. I love you too. See you on the other side, brother. I’ll be waiting.”
With that Charlie leaned forward, quietly saying “How the fuck do I stop this thing…”
Click. The video ended, and the screen went dark.
I sat there, the silence of the room pressing down on me, my heart heavy with sorrow and regret.
I wanted to be able to yell back that it wasn’t his fault. That we both played a part in it.
I wanted to tell him to fight, that no matter how bad the odds are, there was always a chance.
I wanted to shake him.
To hold him.
To comfort him.
To tell him I loved him in person one more time.
“How the fuck do I stop this thing…” I repeated the unintentional final words of my friend out loud.
I wondered the same. I couldn’t stop him. This video was eight hours old now and Charlie was not the type to mess up his own death.
I wiped my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering, breath. There was so much I wanted to say, so much I needed to do. But for now, all I could do was sit with the memories, the pain, and the love that I had.
The only problem was that I couldn’t breathe. I was shaking. Was I having a panic attack? Is this what a panic attack feels like?
Then I heard a gentle knock on the door…
That snapped me back to reality a bit. I wiped my face and hoped whoever it was wouldn’t come in. Whether it was Gemma or the kids, I didn’t want anyone to see me like this.
I said “Yeah?” Trying not to sound like I had just been bawling my eyes out…
“Daddy, can you get me cereal? I’m hungry!”
I wiped my face again. Took a deep breath, thankful for the distraction.
“Sure thing. I’m just finishing something up and then I’ll be right there, Charli.”
