Anthology 2015
Please Step Up to the Cross Mike Johnson
How it all started wasn’t a big surprise to anyone, really. Wendell had been unhappy and was enough of an ass to make sure that everyone knew it. If he was unhappy, then not only was he going to bitch about it, but he would complain until everyone else was either unhappy because he was or they were pissed off because of his constant whining. He seemed to almost get a sort of satisfaction from a successful unhappiness. Of course it wasn’t a complete success unless everyone was affected. Wendell was a star after all and the universe was centered around him, or at least very close to him. “If that asshole says one smart-ass word to me today,” Connie hissed, “I swear I’ll scream.” Eddie chuckled and took another sip of his watery coffee. “I mean it,” she said. “He may have the ratings on the air, but he’s dragging this place down from the inside.” “Well,” Eddie said through a mouthful of stale bagel, “now might be a good time to powder your nose, ‘cause here’s the throne now.” “Damn, I need a new job,” Connie mumbled under her breath as she watched the most highly rated deejay in Houston swagger up to the glass front of the highest rated Classic Rock station in Texas. While he was many clichés rolled into one, one that he wasn’t was the big voice in a small body. Wendell Taylor, AKA Stone, stood an impressive six-seven and tipped the scales at around two-eighty. Although he had the body of a defensive lineman, what he didn’t have was the desire or patience for sports. As a six-foot-two freshman in high school, he frustrated all of the coaches by having no willingness to even try out for sports. His interests lay else where. After watching the Partridge Family at the age of ten, he knew that music had to play a part in his life. The trumpet was the first 250
of many musical instruments to find their way back to the music store after a brief stint at the Taylor home. His father, a city alderman and professional small time entrepreneur in their hometown of Columbus, encouraged his young son in his musical endeavors, being a second rate but enthusiastic trumpet player himself. His mother on the other hand, usually only came downstairs to ask Wendell if he could please keep down that damned racket, she had one of her headaches and he wasn’t helping it any. At the age of eleven, he finally discovered the drums, much to his mother’s dismay and protest. While he would never become another John Bonham or Mick Fleetwood, he was reasonably talented, with a good ear for rhythms. He played in several bands throughout his scholastic years, but found that after high school graduation, his grades weren’t good enough for him to expand his education, except for maybe community college. Studying wasn’t something he enjoyed, so he tried his hand at music as a career. By the time he was nineteen, he had lost all of his savings, ten thousand dollars his dad had given him, his Chevy van, his drums and most important of all, his self esteem after a short lived cross country tour with the Flaming Jesus Twins. Beginning as a fairly successful tour, their longtime friend and manager used the band equipment to buy into a drug deal that turned out to be sponsored by the New Orleans Police Department. He returned to Columbus the shell of his former self, demoralized and penniless. His father gladly took him back after a long discussion with his ever-weakening mother that nearly ended a twenty-two year marriage. However, Wendell was allowed to return until he got himself back on his feet. His father, Wendell’s biggest supporter, called in a favor and got him a job at a small jazz radio station. He worked twenty hours a week and did essentially gopher work, but Wendell truly loved the job. Here, he was surrounded by music. Granted, not the style of music he would have preferred, but it was music none the less. 251