PRACTICE THAT NIGHT WAS strange. We sounded good, maybe better than ever. Still, Relly's attic felt like a tomb. It was colder than it ever had been. The sounds of Scorpio Bone banged around in the high reaches of the roof like a swarm of bats. The bare light bulbs hanging down flickered, almost dying a few times. And the amps cut in and out too, as though our power was being stolen, enemy hands grabbing at the wires far away.
We did a new song. It had no words yet, just three chords and a jagged Orion Hedd kind of riff. I kept thinking, Here's our power, here's something they'll never have. Why would I join up with disgusting old men when I can make this awesome, fearsome noise?
We kept going over and over the song, till Jerod complained. "Maybe you guys can do this after I go? How 'bout something where I actually sing?"
We agreed. And when he drove home to Pittsford in his Acura, we came back to the tune.
"So what are we going to call it?" Relly asked. He looked to me for the words now. I had taken over that job in the band.
"How about a person's name? Like this was their theme song?" I asked.
I collected names too, not just gravestone poetry. I mean, spending my whole life explaining about "Zee," the olden-day names from the graveyard made me feel almost normal.
There were the Greek and Roman names in Mount Hope: Socrates Good, Electra Wheeler, Parthenon Bradford, Livi Lee, and Julius Jones.
There were a few of the old Puritan names too. These were much stranger. Fearing Swift, Resolved Stevens, Pardon Davies, Thankful Pratt, Return Wilson. "How about 'Silence Loud?'" I said. That was my favorite. After seeing her stone, I kept thinking what it would be like to go around my whole life with a name like that.
"Silence Loud. Perfect," Relly said.
"Silence Loud," Butt repeated, slamming the kick drum and setting us off again.