Perfect. As much as I hate that word, it’s what describes me. Oh, I would never describe myself. God, I would be put in hell for that. It’s the word that my crew and fans call me. Perfect. Perfect Casanova. My stage name is Casanova; it’s a pleasure to meet you.
I would be having a conversation with you all, but that’s past me. The present me is a fast-paced fellow who doesn’t seem to have time for fun or anything that’s not business related. I’m quick, but I never leave without being polite first. My mother is the person who will have a heart attack if she finds out that I have been a rude performer and gentleman. She’s such a sweet lady. I could never do that to her. She’s my mother!
I have just got out of a show, the fifth one this week, and I’m a sweating, nervous wreck. My next show is on Monday, and we got a few hours to travel from here in Denver to Phoenix. It’s gonna be an overnight trip, and as much as I love making my fans happy, I’m not looking forward to the bumpy bus ride.
The only people who share the bus with me are my guitarist, Nico Chance, and my keyboard player, Bilal Madonn. Between the two of them, Nico reminds you of that chill best friend who loves to do stupid things because he thinks it can change the world. Bilal, on the other hand, is the guy who is passionate about his work, but when pushed too hard, he’s that nerdy kid in gym class. He’s also the person who doesn’t help me sleep that much either. I decided to have the arrangement like that because too many people in one space gives me high anxiety. Well, I haven’t had this problem before, but this is the present me. I have been more terrified of the world than before, and with good reason.
Bilal falls into the beanbag as the bus goes on its way to our next destination and says, “What a show. I thought I was gonna pass out.”
“You always feel that way,” mocks Nico, hopping into his bottom bunk of the bed.
I have the top bunk, and I decide to hang out on the ladder to join into the conversation. “You gotta stop taking those sleeping pills, Bilal. Those will kill you one day.”
“I don’t have a choice. I’m a bad sleeper,” Bilal whines.
“The show is not until Monday. We’ll be at a hotel soon enough.”
Bilal leans up against the ceiling of the bus and snickers. “Wow, Cas, you seem to know everything.”
“I don’t know everything,” I respond nonchalantly.
Nico laughs hysterically and manages to answer with, “Sure you do,” after a moment of trying to breathe. “For someone who’s in his thirties, you do.”
That’s the thing. I’m not in my thirties. If I could relive my thirties, I would, believe you me.
“Tell us one thing that you don’t know about.”
“Simple,” I say, “What my future has in store for me. What happens after one dies. Is there such thing as an afterlife? Will we know about our past lives when reincarnated into a new one?”
“Great, Nico,” groans Bilal, “You’re making Casanova think again. He has a show to do. What’s the matter with you?”
I toss a pillow at him and watch him flail around for a second or two before scolding him for disrespecting the thinking process. “Hey, it’s better than getting rid of them with drugs or liquor.”
“Don’t let Phil hear that,” warns Nico, tossing a pillow at me this time. “If he doesn’t, he’ll think you’re a waste of talent.”
Phil is my strict manager. What I mean by strict is that he is kinda like your overprotective parent who makes sure you don’t even get a shiver from the winter’s cold that’s how crazy he or she is. He’s the one who controls my medical prescriptions. He’ll even cancel a show if I cough in front of him. It’s happened once, and I don’t want it to happen again because if I miss a show, I can’t support myself. He’s also pretty strict against my other staff. He’s constantly checking for anything that could put me in harm’s way. I know he means well, but there are times when I can’t even stand the jerk. I have tried to search for another manager behind his back, but what time do I have with all the rehearsing and crap. “I don’t drink nor do I take drugs for nonmedical purposes. Phil has nothing to worry about here.”
Nico takes his fedora and puts it over his face. “Whatever, man. I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna travel to Snoozeville soon as I get under the covers.”
“Good, Nico,” I reply, “You should.” I turn to my keyboard player, and that gives him a signal to get to the bed that’s near the window. “Goodnight, boys.”
“Night, Cas,” the both of them yawn as they cover themselves up with fluffy blankets that used to overflow my bed until I brought these two into my career. For once this time, they pass out as if they were drunk.
That gives me some time to stare out the window and take my notepad out from under my pillow. I get some of my best ideas at night strangely enough. There are times where I have dreams while sleeping and wake up searching for my book and pen, but night is when I can truly get a grasp on reality. Unlike other nights, I can’t seem to put a word down on paper. That frustrates me really, so I end up writing down my frustrations. Blank-minded, writer’s block.
Somehow, I might as well put it in a song, but as far as now is concerned, I just wanna sleep. For those of you who want to live the life I am, traveling from place to place just so you can reach and sing at the destination on set schedule, I’m just going to warn you now to think about it. Would you risk normality and sleep just so you can make money doing what you love to do? All I can say to you is that if you are strong and passionate enough to take the challenge, you’ll find it again somehow. As for me, I’m still on the journey.
