Kick Drum

By Richard Bontkowski

In the colorful and vibrant world of the 80s, where music ruled and friendships were the ultimate currency, David, a slightly awkward teenage boy, discovers the transformative power of music in "Kick Drum". With an unwavering passion for rocking out behind the drum set, David embarks on a thrilling coming-of-age journey filled with teenage angst

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mod Target Books
• Release date: Feb 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869173621

Book preview

Kick Drum

Richard Bontkowski

Copyright © 2024 Richard Bontkowski

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without permission in writing from the publisher.

Mod Target Books—Merrillville, IN

ISBN: 979-8-8691-7359-1

Title: Kick Drum

Author: Richard Bontkowski

Digital distribution | 2024

Paperback | 2024

This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

Dedication

To my parents, Rich and Penny Bontkowski, your unwavering belief in my passion for music, relentless encouragement, and unending patience sculpted the rhythm of my life. Your home wasn't just a sanctuary; it was a stage where melodies bloomed, harmonies intertwined, and creativity soared.

Amidst my endless rehearsals and thunderous beats, your enduring support stood as a steady rhythm, guiding me through the crescendos and decrescendos of pursuing my dreams.

To my siblings, Dan and Renee, whose shared love for music formed a symphony of beautiful experiences and harmonious melodies that echoed the cadence of our family's bond.

Without my entire family, and your boundless love and enduring dedication, the pages of Kick Drum would remain silent, void of the pulsating beats and vibrant tunes that define its essence.

With deepest appreciation,

Rick Bontkowski

Let’s face it, being a teenager can be an adventure. The world seems within reach and we live with our hearts on our sleeves. Our teenage years set the stage for decades to come, forming dreams, values, and the trajectory of our existence. My adolescence was no different: I learned lessons through victories and crushing disappointments, but there was always music, drums, friends… extraordinary friends. The forward movement in my life was created by a passion for music, drumming, and friendships I enjoyed along the way. I look back now at the wonder of it all, the remarkable adventure I was on and the fact that I didn’t even know it. It took me half a lifetime to realize that these moments were truly epic. Those seemingly everyday occurrences would shape my most precious memories. The laughter I shared with friends would echo in my mind for years to come. I can’t deny it, my teen years were a roller coaster of emotions and experiences. Kick Drum is a personal soundtrack made from these incredible snapshots of my glorious teen years - a time of youthful freedom and reckless abandon!

Contents

Kick Drum

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

About the Author

Chapter 1

1985

A

 deafening song echoed from Terry’s bedroom. Heavy metal roared through the house. It was Judas Priest, You’ve Got Another Thing Coming booming from the speakers of a boom box, as he lay on his bed, headbanging to the beat. Kit sat near the center table, comfortably nestled among the piles of dirty clothes and crumpled fast food bags, banging his knuckles nervously on the littered table, hinting at Terry to light up the bong. Terry didn’t seem bothered by the sound or his lack of cleanliness. His room resembled that of any high school student: plaid blankets thrown over hardwood floorboards, posters scattered across each wall—a collage of heavy metal bands like Motley Crue, Iron Maiden, Dokken and Def Leppard. Terry and Kit had been friends for a fairly long time. Apart from the fact that they both enjoyed and experimented with drugs, they also shared pretty similar interests: surfing, music, and well... girls. They often spent several hours in Terry’s bedroom talking about their favorite bands—covering everything from lyrics to guitar riffs to bass lines—and all the while watching bikini models jumping rope on television.

Distracted by the unrelenting, pulsating thud of the bass beat from the stereo speakers, Terry forced himself to sit up and reached for the Ziploc baggie with marijuana. A sly grin curled up Kit’s face. The bass guitar was pummeling away at the verses, as Rob Halford sang in his True Metal glory.

Terry breathed in a whiff of the weed.

Hold on a sec, man, he said, directing his finger at Kit.

C’mon, man, hurry up! Kit said, his eyes wide with all the excitement and impatience.

As Terry struggled to light up the homemade contraption before handing it off to Kit, Kit turned his gaze towards the posters of Cindy Crawford and Farrah Fawcett on the wall, his brown eyes complementing the petite nose and silky blond hair.

This thing sucks balls! Terry grunted and shook his head, then furiously concentrated on lighting the primitive bong. Hair tousled and falling into his eyes, after a few clumsy attempts, he finally was able to light his creation. He inhaled a short puff of smoke and held it in his lungs for about five seconds before exhaling. With an air of superiority, he handed it over to Kit.

Righteous fuck yeah! exclaimed Terry as he lit the bong again and proceeded to take another hit by himself. The weed was like thin, rough rope: harsh and compacted together tightly but with a noticeable potent flavor when one was accustomed to smoking cheap shit that tasted like burnt oregano flakes. Having smoked heavily throughout the year had also made him less sensitive to the drug: this weed was as mellow as sleeping pills compared to what he could handle without any sort of adverse reaction.

Alright, my man. Be prepared to be baked.

Sure the shit’s legit? questioned Kit.

Yeah, I’m sure it's legit. I got it from that Jamaican dude, ya know, ugh, that guy at Pizza Hut.

Confused at the information that had just been revealed to him, Kit tilted his head, stopped banging his knuckles, and said, Who, Brian? The guy’s from Milwaukee.

Kit took one slow rip before responding to his best friend's storytelling. He removed his glasses from his eyes and laid them down on the table after setting the bong next to them.; As they sat anxiously waiting for their respective adrenaline rushes induced by cannabis so hard that it could be used for car parts, both men leaned forward on their chairs.

Kit recently had a paranoid meltdown the last time he was high.  Basically, Kit created a delusion that suggested he was the only real human on the planet and everyone else was just part of a simulation organized by aliens from another galaxy.

Whatever, man, Kit scoffed, rolling his eyes not feeling a thing.

Terry walked over to an enormous blue bean bag chair, resting against the wall in shorts, flip flops, and an Ocean Pacific T Shirt among candy wrappers on the floor. He withdrew another hit from the bong, one last time, before handing it over to his friend, who was now extremely unimpressed.

Kit put his lips on the mouth of the bong and picked up the lighter that was tossed over to him on the cardboard pizza box by Terry. Just as he was about to take a hit, a loud banging combined with yelling intruded his peace.

Terry! Terry!

Startled, Kit started violently coughing and sending smoke billowing out his mouth with every foul exhalation. Terry held onto the aerosol deodorant with both hands as he feverishly scooted across the floor, holding it up in front of his face in a last-ditch attempt to cover up the smell. His mother continued yelling at him from the door.

Why is this door locked? And turn that music down… now!

Okay, Mom! Terry answered back angrily, slamming his fist on the boom box and turning it off. The two of them began scrambling everything under his bed and waved their arms frantically in the air, attempting to dissolve the smokey smell of weed.

Her voice trailed off as she announced, David's here, and the Hamburger Helper will be ready in twenty minutes.

Terry's face twisted into a scowl and he clapped his hand against the bean bag chair. I hate Hamburger Helper, you know that, he spat, his words like bullets.

Kit rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Why? he asked, emphasizing the sarcastic edge in his voice.

Because it tastes like shit, Terry said as he shuffled back into the soft, worn-in bean bag chair that had welcomed him on many previous occasions.

Terry let out a big breath of air and nodded at Kit who was standing with his hand on the doorknob, just waiting for the signal to open up. Careful as to not face an angry mother, he turned the knob and opened the door just enough to