Billy McHydro had endured a severe bout withdehydration as he recovered at St. Agnes Hospital for three days. When hefinally spoke to me over the phone, I was relieved to hear gusto in his voice again.What restored that gusto should come as no surprise.
“WhenI woke up to feel the IV drip coursing through my veins, it put me back inhydration heaven,” Billy recalls. “I hate to sound like a rock cliché, but thatneedle was a real lifesaver.”
WithKim by his side, he convalesced. He was enlightened by a nurse who explained tohim the essence of hypotonic intravenous therapy.
“Yeah,she broke it down talking some fancy science shit. Turns out there’s dilutedwater in there, not authentic H₂O,” he says with a sigh. “That’s karma for you.I felt guilty for digging impure water all over again, and much to my chagrin,I realized Willy had been right all along.”
The younger McHydro was all too eager toremedy his lack of a drinking problem. He downed a total 18 pitchers on hissecond day in the hospital. Hours before his release, he became a hero in thechildren’s ward by telling the youngsters to never give up as he poured several“water bongs” for them to take down.
Upon departure from the hospital, Billy madeplans to write a full-length rock opera about a time-traveling Kramer from Seinfeld having himself a freak out forthe ages at Woodstock.
Thoseplans were scrapped a minute later when Willy implored him to rejoin H₂Bro.(Billy then sold me the rights to the intellectual property of “Kramer atWoodstock” for a twelve pack of Deja Blue.)
“Thiswhole fallout has taught me a lot,”Willy tells me. “First and foremost, I miss the hell out of my little brother.Second, our band sucks without him. I’m sick of my own smartass parents asking ifthe second ‘H’ in ‘H₂Broh’ stands for ‘Hagar.’ Finally, I’m only going to be anasshole to the people I don’t like.”
Whenquestioned if he therefore intends to call for a truce with his sibling’spolarizing girlfriend Kim, Willy snapped, “Of course it does, you scrawny jackass.
“Truthbe told,” he elaborates, “I was a bit intimidated by Kim’s junior collegeschooling—and maybe a little jealous. She’s actually inspired me to go to UW-Fonddu Lac. We got a contract to overhaul the plumbing there. Gonna solve me someequations left on the chalkboard like the genius from Good Willy Hunt! (sic)”
Icatch up with Kim next.
“PerhapsI’m imperfect,” she admits. “Only by withholding my lady flower from him Billydid he finally cave in and experiment with flavored water. And in regard to‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,’ I do still adore it, but I just learnedmy grandfather only knows a guy who knowsa guy who died aboard that tragic vessel. Thus my obsession may have beenslightly overstated.”
The mending trio agree to meet in Kim’sbasement for reconciliation. Following some nitpicky negotiations that by andby manifest in Willy and Kim murmuring apologies at the exact same time at thecount of three, we linger awkwardly. At last the perfect tension-breaker occursto Billy. He gestures to me.
“Isold this rube the rights to ‘Kramer at Woodstock.’”
That induces spasms of hysterical laughter from75% of the group. They celebrate my perceived folly by breaking out some of thebottles that set me back nine bucks.
“Atoast to Nate’s (sic) unquenchable dreams!” Willy declares.
I leave minutes later with a parched throat.Willy bellows an invite to their reunion show at Ziggy’s as I make my way upthe staircase. The story’s unfinished so I can’t say no.
###
As a rock and rollsentimentalist, it’s empowering to be greeted by the iconic riff of “Smoke onthe Water” when crossing the threshold into a crowded bar. I mingle and when Ispot Kim, I’m startled. Clad in a white band tee, she’s uncommonly bubbly. Shemust have a twin, I surmise, but I realize I’m mistaken when she opens hermouth.
“They’re going to play‘The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald!’” she rejoices. “Let’s party!”
It’sa strange combination of words from a strange girl. But I rarely have the heartto deny anyone a high-five.
Tothe crowd’s delight, aquatic classics by the likes of the Beach Boys, Creedence,and Zeppelin precede the funeral dirge of Kim’s desire. At the end of a roaringfirst set, the McHydros supply more commentary.
“In high school, whenwe were told there wasn’t enough money to fund the Super Soaker Club, it wasBilly who said, ‘We’ll just fund it ourselves by putting on a carwash, so fuckyou, Principal Jones.’ ‘Cause my brother’s got character.”
“At the carwash waswhere we had our first ever wet T-shirt contest,” Billy notes. “You won.”
“Dammit,that’s some great insight. And here you are, all these years later, refreshingmy memory.”
Top: “Visit your local library to learn more about the Edmund Fitzgerald!” –Billy McHydro Bottom: “Enjoy your last FREE autograph, Nate!” –Willy McHydro |
“Yeah,not drinking is a serious problem.”
“Somedangerous shit.”
“Almostkilled you,” Willy says. “It’s a lot worse than flavored water.”
“WhichI only got into because my girlfriend pressured me.”
“Well,many others are in the same boat as you.”
“Yeah,it’s a pretty common story I’ve been hearing, at group meetings.”
“Soundsrough.”
“Nah, we make themost of it. Sharing stories. Did I tell you I’m bringing back the Super SoakerClub?”
“Gnarly!Get those fuckers hydrated, bro!”
H2Brotrumpeter Tootie Dribbles nudges the McHydros and gestures at the stage. Theboys swat each other on the back in lieu of the hug they were building toward.
Anticipationaccumulates in Kim as the second set passes. She dances in big, mistimed jumpsfrom side to side with a swollen bladder and aching kidneys, oftentimes outsidethe bathroom door, waiting for relief, both physical and spiritual. Of coursethe latter is always more elusive. Every few minutes she snatches the playlistfrom me and assuages her worried mind by pointing to the title second from thebottom.
Theseptet is so immersed in music that they don’t dare stray from the stage at theend of their second set. Instead they guzzle copious amounts of Mother Nature’sWet Dream (aside from the newly disciplined Swinkle, who refuses a jug from BoVan Dam, points to his own crotch, and then taps a finger against the skullthat encases his wizened mind).
BoVan Dam turns down to practice a sharp, mournful twang in C major and Kim’sfingernails dig excitedly into my forearm. When Willy sets his drink aside andapproaches the mic, a Drippie capitalizes on the magnitude of the reunion andscreams: “Speech!”
Thisrequest is parroted and again and Willy is taken aback a few steps. I don’tknow this man well but for once I can read his mind. He doesn’t want to give aspeech. He thinks it’s cheap to analyze. The bored look on someone’s face whenyou describe to them a profound dream you had, the surge of life that comesfrom being inside a lover, or the horror of showing your ugliest humanityalways to those you love most and the redemption of being welcomed back… it’s aburden to explain these moments, but Willy is up to the task.
“Loveis a compromise,” he says.
Withthat the lead guitarist grits his teeth and plucks the sharp, mournful twangKim has been waiting for. Her fingernails scrape against my forearm as sherushes toward the stage, maneuvering and shoving past less-enthused Drippies.Willy defers vocal duty to his younger brother, strums his part, and stares ata clock on the wall for the next seven minutes. Many Drippies follow suit. Fewleave. Kim is enamored. Billy sings.
“Thatship was the pride of the American side/ Coming back from some mill inWisconsin…”
Noteven mention of our home state can rile the crowd from their befuddled torpor.But this unnerving, ongoing dirge has made Kim maniacally happy. Surprisingly,when the song ends, her first response is not to applaud.
“Playit again!” she begs.
ButWilly is quick to win back the crowd and he calls for the last song. Kim poutsbut soon recovers—realizing, I should hope, that love is indeed a compromise.
Wavesof approval rise from the Drippies as Willy picks the jagged from “The Ocean.”Zeppelin was another band known for excess… I’m able to sing along and mimicguitar riffs like a huge dork with the greatest of ease because this all feels sofamiliar, as though I’m reliving the whole experience.
It’slike Deja Blue all over again.
