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Day 87 - The Bear Necessities
Mar. 28th, 2009 01:33 amInspired by this post
It had started out as a joke. After the photo shoot, the photographer had asked them if they wanted the bear. Laughing, they'd said yes.
For lack of anything original they called him, and it was unanimous among them that the bear was a he, Mr. Bear. The bear, used to the workings of the human mind, made no complaint. Surprisingly enough, to the guys, not Mr. Bear, he quickly became the fifth member of the band.
He sat on the corner of Patrick’s desk, if he was at home, or was wedged in the corner of Patrick’s bunk if he was on the road, but always with a clear view of Patrick’s laptop. Patrick hummed snatches of songs to him, sometimes-old ones, but mostly new. He helped Patrick out with his lyrics a lot. And sometimes, Patrick would play his guitar for Mr. Bear. He liked that.
Andy and he practiced drums together. He was propped on a stool across from Andy’s drum set from where he watched Andy pound out the beat that carried their songs. When Andy was really into it, he could feel the vibrations right down to the tips of his fur. He liked Andy’s drumming a bit more than he liked Patrick’s guitar. It made him feel wild.
He and Joe discussed hair care. They both agreed curly hair was a bitch. Joe was very good about keeping his fur brushed. And in exchange he did his best to keep Joe away from the more disastrous hair experiments.
Pete told him things. Sometimes, it was little stories about Bronx with pictures included, when he was feeling particularly homesick. Other times it was stories about life on the road before he was a part of the group. And sometimes Pete would cling to him tight in the dark of the night as he whispered his tales. On those nights, he was glad for his stuffing that made him plump. It also made him a comfort to hold.
It had started out as a joke. After the photo shoot, the photographer had asked them if they wanted the bear. Laughing, they'd said yes.
For lack of anything original they called him, and it was unanimous among them that the bear was a he, Mr. Bear. The bear, used to the workings of the human mind, made no complaint. Surprisingly enough, to the guys, not Mr. Bear, he quickly became the fifth member of the band.
He sat on the corner of Patrick’s desk, if he was at home, or was wedged in the corner of Patrick’s bunk if he was on the road, but always with a clear view of Patrick’s laptop. Patrick hummed snatches of songs to him, sometimes-old ones, but mostly new. He helped Patrick out with his lyrics a lot. And sometimes, Patrick would play his guitar for Mr. Bear. He liked that.
Andy and he practiced drums together. He was propped on a stool across from Andy’s drum set from where he watched Andy pound out the beat that carried their songs. When Andy was really into it, he could feel the vibrations right down to the tips of his fur. He liked Andy’s drumming a bit more than he liked Patrick’s guitar. It made him feel wild.
He and Joe discussed hair care. They both agreed curly hair was a bitch. Joe was very good about keeping his fur brushed. And in exchange he did his best to keep Joe away from the more disastrous hair experiments.
Pete told him things. Sometimes, it was little stories about Bronx with pictures included, when he was feeling particularly homesick. Other times it was stories about life on the road before he was a part of the group. And sometimes Pete would cling to him tight in the dark of the night as he whispered his tales. On those nights, he was glad for his stuffing that made him plump. It also made him a comfort to hold.
