A Very Long Night
by Douglas Young
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 1
“Soon after the clock strikes one...” Dorsey Cullen shouted across the lawn at Waller Patton College.
“Planet Pax rocks the Straight Arrow,” his bandmate Jasper Wilcox replied with a grin.
“It’ll be balls to the wall,” Dorsey declared as they high-fived each other early that Friday afternoon. The 20-year old Mr. Cullen was elated their band would play that night in an old, long-abandoned church behind the campus after the local bars and clubs closed at 1:00 a.m.
Ever since playing the piano as a small child, music was Dorsey’s most cherished refuge. While at William J. Hardee High School, he played keyboards in a few bands with classmates, but was never really satisfied with any. While always fun to play, Dorsey was drained by squabbles over whether to perform his compositions or well-known hits, and band line-ups were ever-changing as members fell in love, had to study more, or moved away.
Dorsey remained in Hardeeville to accept a music scholarship at Waller Patton College where he hoped to meet better musicians and form a far stronger band amid the vibrant local music scene. If his rock star dreams were dashed — what his disapproving dad dismissed as “that tomfool fantasy” — he figured a music degree would enable him to teach music. Dorsey also preferred home with all its comforts to living in a cramped dorm or off-campus apartment requiring him to get a job that kept him from his music.
In his college freshman and sophomore years, Dorsey had played in a few bands that went nowhere. But he gained valuable experience performing in Hardeeville clubs and meeting many musicians. At the start of his junior year, Dorsey, along with Jasper and three other students, formed Planet Pax, a psychedelic pop-folk-rock group playing mostly tunes penned by Dorsey.
He craved their sound and was thrilled that, in just eight months, they had already filled local clubs and gotten glowing reviews and feature profiles in the downtown and campus newspapers as well as in two underground music papers. They had also recorded a few of Dorsey’s songs that were played on the campus radio station, WTP. Hearing the group on the radio had been one of Dorsey’s most treasured thrills.
In music, especially his own, Dorsey could escape his anxieties and feel completely free, relaxed and confident, unlike anywhere else. As uniquely satisfying as it was writing songs and hearing them come alive when played with his bandmates, performing them before an audience catapulted him to a realm approaching ecstasy. When the crowd was clearly enjoying music he had created, he felt a validation and communal connection like no other. So many endorphins were unleashed that he could not sleep for hours.
Further proof of Planet Pax’s momentum was that so many fans asked the group to play at the old Straight Arrow Church, where only the most popular bands in the area performed. Though no one knew who owned the run-down building, the place had long been a hang-out for students, particularly at night, to either make out with a sweetheart, get high, or exploit the building’s excellent acoustics.
While not very big, it was still much larger than Hardeeville’s clubs, and bands could levy a small cover charge at the door. Unlike clubs and bars, students under 21 could attend, too. Even some high-schoolers showed up. Playing the Straight Arrow earned a group major hip cachet and, with no club-owners taking a cut, much more cash than in clubs.
“See you at three in the barn,” Jasper said, and Dorsey gave a thumbs-up sign as each went to class in opposite directions. Storing their equipment and rehearsing in Jasper’s grandfather’s barn just beyond Hardeeville was another reason Planet Pax had been Dorsey’s most enjoyable band. On the farm, the group could play as loud as it wanted and with swell acoustics.
Deep into imagining a productive afternoon rehearsal preceding a triumphant performance that evening, Mr. Cullen was slightly startled by a high-pitched, lyrical voice: “Well, hey there, Mr. Dorsey.”
On the sidewalk lined by tulips of many colors beneath tall oak trees with hanging Spanish moss stood Giada Giordano. The attractive junior from Trieste, Italy wore a burgundy beret, paisley yellow shirt, old blue jeans and black ballerina-like shoes.
Dorsey had got to know her the previous semester, when they sat next to each other in class. They clicked so well that they went to class early just to chat. She struck him as extraordinarily kind and so grateful for many aspects of American culture that most students took for granted. She was friendly, playful and cute to boot, and Dorsey also loved her Italian accent, which struck him as charming and sexy. The only reason he did not ask her out was that she had a boyfriend, but he had recently heard that they broke up.
“Hey there, Miss Giada,” he replied. “What’s up in joyful Giadaville on this mighty marvelously melodic May afternoon?”
“Giadaville hasn’t been too joyful lately,” she remarked, “but it is a pretty day, and it’s nice to see you.”
“Oh, I’m right sorry if anything’s been troubling you,” Dorsey said with concern.
“Well, Brad and I are now — how would you Americans say? — ‘splitsville.’” She sighed with a pronounced pout.
“Aw. I’m real sorry,” Dorsey lied. When she blinked and said nothing, he quickly sought to comfort her. “Well, it’s his loss, and big time,” he declared. “And, as sweet and pretty as you are, you got nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, thank you, sweetie,” she replied with an uninhibited smile that he adored.
“Hey,” he announced, “I gotta run to class, but why don’t you come see my band play at the Straight Arrow tonight? You know, the old church on Alfred Cumming Road behind the campus? We’ll start playing just after the clubs close at one. The cover is just a few bucks. Oh! I’ll put you on the guest list.” He smiled.
“Wow. How exciting. I remember you telling me all about Planet Pax and your playing piano. Your whole face lights up when you talk about it. Though I still haven’t seen you guys, I love hearing you sing on WPC. I shout to my friends, ‘I know that guy.’”
Mildly hypnotized, Dorsey repeated his invitation.
“How sweet of you, Dorsey. I will try to be there, but I’ll be with a few girlfriends, and I don’t have a car—”
“They’re invited, too,” Dorsey offered eagerly. “Give me their names, and I’ll put them on the guest list, too.”
“Oh, you’re way too generous.” She laughed. “I promise I’ll try to come, but don’t let me make you late for class.”
“Okay, and I really think you’d enjoy the show. This is the finest band I’ve ever been in, and by far.”
“I believe you.” She grinned.
He was quite taken by how intently she gazed at him. Usually nervous in the presence of a good-looking girl, he relished feeling so relaxed and carefree.
“Well. All right,” he said. “Hope to see you tonight... and I sure hope you feel better.”
“Aw, thank you, Dorsey. Ciao.” she replied and touched his shoulder.
His entire being tingled, as if infused with a slightly drugged, dreamy feeling. Gosh, how super splendid if she shows up tonight, he thought. Imagining her staring at him longingly from the side of the stage consumed him as he ran to class, where it proved to be a struggle to focus on the lecture.
After class, Dorsey headed to Jasper’s granddaddy’s barn where the band had a productive rehearsal. Besides playing music together, he still did not know his bandmates well. Though they got along, he had not socialized much with them, perhaps since Dorsey was the only one who neither drank alcohol nor smoked marijuana. But the group was gelling better than ever; they had finally nailed down the new songs, and Dorsey was getting more comfortable singing them.
At 6:15 he ran into his family’s home to join his parents and younger brother, Dixon, at the dinner table. He was 15 minutes late — again — and apologized.
“I reckon it’s six o’clock, rock star time,” his father remarked with raised eyebrows.
“All right.” His mother smiled at her husband before passing Dorsey some sweet potato pie, one of his favorite foods.
“Sorry, Dad.... The band was working on some new songs, and I just couldn’t get away.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Mr. Cullen asked lowering his head.
“Dawson, please,” his wife said in a hushed tone as Dorsey looked at his plate, and Dixon kicked him under the table with a grin.
“Did y’all’s practice go well?” his mother asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I truly believe we’ve got major potential.”
“Got any groupies yet?” Dixon smiled as their mother looked at Dorsey while suppressing a chuckle. Their father looked up from his plate with a “Hmpf.”
“Not for me,” Dorsey answered. “Likely a few for the lead guitarist.”
“How much money you making from that outfit?” his father inquired. “Anywhere remotely as much as you’d earn from a decent part-time job?”
“So far, everything we’ve gotten from shows has gone into instruments, amplifiers and renting studio time,” Dorsey answered with growing irritation.
“Uh-huh,” his father replied.
His mother gently tapped his father’s leg with her foot.
“Okay, I’ll change the subject,” the senior Cullen announced shifting in his seat and still looking at his elder son. “How’d your dental appointment go this morning?”
Dorsey paused as his mother and brother looked at him. “Ah... I accidentally missed it.”
“Slept through the dang thing,” his father declared.
After a silence, his mother spoke up. “Well, I’m sure you can reschedule it, dear.”
“You’re paying for any cancellation fee,” his father pronounced.
Quickly changing the topic, Mrs. Cullen smiled at her younger son. “Dixon, is Zara excited about her birthday next weekend?”
“Yeah—” her younger son replied.
His father cleared his throat.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dixon corrected himself.
“Has she hinted at what kind of gift she’d like?” his mother inquired.
“Well,” Dixon paused with a smile glancing at his dad, “She says she’d like a ring.”
“You listen to me, boy.” Mr. Cullen pointed at his younger son. “Marriage is the most important financial decision of your life, and you are in absolutely no position to get hitched. And your mother and I ain’t paying for so much as another dog.”
“All right,” Mrs. Cullen remarked with a smile as the boys laughed. “I think it’s quite a compliment that Zara thinks you’re Mr. Right. How long have y’all been courting, honey?
“Hmm,” Dixon paused. “Since the spring of our junior year in high school. So about two years now. I’m sure Zara can tell you the exact date.”
Dawson liked his brother’s girlfriend, but it bugged him that his sibling had had far more success dating than he had. How he hoped being in a band with lots of buzz could right that.
“Ever think of getting a haircut, Dorsey?” his father asked.
Dorsey dropped his fork on his plate and glared at his father. “Why are you so on my case today?”
“Now, dear, please don’t get angry,” his mother pleaded with her older son.
“Dad,” Dorsey added in a far calmer tone, “if I cut it like you want, I wouldn’t fit in with the band at all. I’d stick out like... a choir boy... in a rock band.”
“Oh, and we can’t have that,” his father replied. “Well, at some point reality’s gon’ kick in and you’ll find it’s a whole heap a lot easier getting a job with a choir boy’s haircut than a rock star’s.”
“Maybe so, Dad.” Dorsey looked at his plate and picked up a forkful of spinach. As much as he appreciated his mother and brother’s support for his musical ambitions, it grated and hurt that his father had not joined them.
Copyright © 2026 by Douglas Young
