Typhoon

As the multi-color lights cut across the black hole of the venue like bolts of lightning the crowd cheered in a thunderous chorus. Electro-Typhoon had attracted quite the tumultuous crowd, but Alejandro was only focused on finding one person. Alejandro’s brother, Miguel, had promised to show up.

When the song came to a close, Alejandro scanned the crowd one last time before giving up with a sigh. As his shoulders fell, he heard a throat clear behind him. Alice, the stage attendant, shifted uncomfortably from behind the curtain before motioning him over. Al set down his guitar and obliged, carefully navigating across the sea of wires covering the stage. Alice closed her eyes and inhaled sharply before releasing a shaky breeze. When her eyes finally opened, she began to speak. “While you were playing, you got a call. Your brother-”

“My brother,” Alejandro interrupted, “Is he here?”

“No.” said Alice. Her next words sent Alejandro’s heart plummeting to his stomach. “Miguel is in the hospital.”

“What?” he stuttered. “Why? What happened?”

“There was an accident,” Alice said carefully, “On his way here he was hit by a drunk driver.”

The tears swelling in Alejandro’s eyes blurred the lightning and thunder on the other side of the curtain. “I have to go,” He blurted, “tell the others to play on without me.”

Miguel smiled wearily as Al burst through the door. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it,” Miguel croaked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Al huffed, “please tell me you’re okay.” Miguel threw a hand dramatically over his forehead. “The doctor says I have only three days left,” he mused.

“Don’t joke about that! Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“Relax,” said Miguel, “it’s just a broken leg. It’ll heal.”

A wave of relief washed over Alejandro. “How long are you here for?”

“It should only be about two to three days.”

“Christ, Miguel– I- I just about had a heart attack. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

Miguel sighed before letting out a soft chuckle. “No promises,” he said.

Before too long, Miguel had encouraged Al to go home. Although he went through his routine like normal, Al knew it was nothing like normal. He had never lived alone; Even after their parents passed, he still had Miguel. Miguel was never gone for more than a day; At least, not until now. Either way, though, Al continued his day. He swiped the mail from their box and trudged up the stairs.

Once inside, he collapsed onto the sofa and began to look through the mail; Junk, junk, Miguel’s, junk, Berklee, Manhattan School of Music. Two colleges he’d applied for. Berklee was Alejandro’s first choice; the rest of Electro-Typhoon had already gotten their acceptance letters. Al was the only one still waiting on his. For one euphoric moment, Al could forget about his brother in the hospital and the band’s last show that could make or break their career forever. With trembling fingers, Al tore open the envelope frantically.

“April 25th, 2025

Dear Mr. Torres,

After reviewing your application to Berklee College of Music, we regret to inform you that we will not be able to grant you admission to–”

The blood drained from Alejandro’s face as fat teardrops streamed down his face, soaking the letter clenched in his fists. Alejandro was sure he’d be alone the rest of his life– just like he was in that moment and just like he would be when the band left him behind for college. Al gasped for breath as a titanic wave of emotion rolled over him. Al didn’t even bother to open the other letter. He didn’t think he could take another disaster.

That night, Al dreamt he saw Miguel in the audience from the stage. Before he could celebrate, a tidal wave swept into the auditorium. Miguel disappeared in the aftermath. Al tried to scream, but even when the water receded, his voice was drowned out by a phone ringing in the distance.

The phone was ringing. Al woke to a sore throat and his body drenched in sweat. He stumbled to the phone on his nightstand. Once he’d found his way to the phone, the ringing had stopped. The lockscreen displayed the time– 11:49 am– and several notifications; The most notable alert read, “7 missed calls from Tyler and more.” Al cursed under his breath. Today was Electro-Typhoon’s last show before everyone went out of state. The band was on in only 11 minutes. Al rushed out the door with only his bag and a bagel sticking out of his mouth.

Backstage, Alejandro hurriedly tuned his guitar. He was already 7 minutes late. Beatrice, the drummer, glared at Alejandro. “What is up with you,” she demanded. “You left without a word last night and now this?” Tyler, the lead singer– and Al’s best friend of 11 years– gave Bea a sharp look and motioned for her to drop it. “It doesn’t matter, we need to get out there,” Tyler interjected. “Al, are you tuned up?”

“Just about,” Al sputtered.

The crowd that day was vaster than Al had ever seen it. When Electro-Typhoon had first gained attraction Al had been more than elated. Now he found himself overwhelmed by the massive swells of bodies before him. Al played on distractedly as the knot in his gut tightened.

When intermission hit, Tyler approached Alejandro backstage.

“Hey, I heard about what happened with Miguel last night. Are you doing alright?”

“I’m fine,” Al responded. “I’m just a little distracted is all.”

Tyler’s brow furrowed. “Don’t give me that,” He scolded. “I know you better than that.”

Al turned away from Tyler. “It’s just–” he started. “It’s just everything, Ty. Everything goes wrong for me. It’s not just my brother; This has been my whole life. My parents, my education, I–” Al cut himself off to release a small sob. “–I couldn’t even get into Berklee,” he rasped. Al’s words sat heavily between them until Tyler finally spoke up. “What about Manhattan?” He asked.

“I don’t know,” Al admitted. “I haven’t opened the letter yet.”

“I get it.” Tyler sighed. “Life can suck. It really can. I know how excited you were about this show. It’s worse when things finally manage to get good. It makes it easier to forget that bad things happen all the time. Just don’t forget what you do have. Even when we leave for Berklee, we’ll still be a band. Think of it as a hiatus, not an end.”

Al looked up from his shoes to Tyler. “You’re right,” he managed shakily. “It’s just a lot to deal with right now.”

Tyler nodded before giving Al a reassuring smile. “Hey, after the show, we can open that letter together.”

For the first time that day, Al was able to relax. Once the show concluded, the band agreed to go out to celebrate. Before Al left the building, however, a familiar voice called out to him. Al could hardly believe his eyes when he turned to see Miguel. “Your leg–” Al began.

“Will heal,” Miguel cut in. He made a point to tap the brace around his leg with a crutch. “Besides,” he continued with a grin, “I did say I’d come to your show, didn’t I?”