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Dave was more than used to jumping from his drums. It was almost like a ritual for Kurt to throw himself into them. Only on two occasions, had Dave not moved in time, finding himself crumpled below the mass of metal and plastic and a symbol or two, with Kurt sprawled above him. He was a pro at moving quickly, knowing how to read Kurt’s movements if he had to ready himself to move in succession to the impending action that Kurt would more than likely pursue. It was different this time. Kurt hadn’t thrown himself into Dave’s drums.

Kurt hadn’t tried to kick the amplifiers or throw his guitar at Krist or anything else. Kurt had completed his usual behaviour of stage diving into the crowd. Something had gone wrong; he hadn’t made his way back, like usual. They continued to play – Krist and Dave could change the beat and rhythm of the song, no matter how long it took Kurt to come back. Kurt’s legs were in the air; his guitar rose, and then so did Kurt, his hair wildly out of place, his body twisting like he was struggling. Krist and Dave didn’t pay too much attention.

Kurt made his way back to the stage and seconds later, found himself falling to the ground – their bodyguard had punched him in the back of the head. Dave didn’t think about anything else – he flew over his drum kit like a mother protecting it’s young. His drumsticks went in two directions, but he stopped himself when he saw Kurt getting up, screaming that he was okay. Krist was already blocking the security guard. Another had already gone to Kurt’s side, insuring Kurt wouldn’t retaliate.

Dave stood in the middle, watching Krist use his weight and height to block any more advances. The crowd were screaming, threatening to kick the bodyguard and attack him. Kurt told the other bodyguard that he was okay, Dave turned back to him, and Kurt took his guitar off and put it down and walked off stage. Shortly after, Dave followed.


The night before, Kurt had refused to go to the hospital, despite his friends’ concern about damage or concussion. Krist was sleeping on the floor, his long limbs sprawled across the roller-foam, his sleeping bag barely covering his body. Dave had shared with Kurt on the one double bed in their hotel room.

Dave hadn’t slept very well; he was concerned about the injury to Kurt’s head, despite Kurt assuring him that he was okay. The following morning, Kurt’s laughter woke them both. The TV was on low and Krist looked to the bed, his eyes bleary and full of sleep. Dave jolted and saw the same thing. Kurt was watching the news – a clip of the fight was being shown and Kurt found it hilarious. “What’s so funny?” Dave asked, slowly, looking to his friend.

Kurt grinned. “We got coverage for that,” Kurt mused and then held up the daily paper. “I especially love the photo they got of you lunging over your drums – look at you!” Kurt laughed harder at the image of Dave in motion, flying over his drum kit, a blurred drumstick to the right and then the shadow of Krist moving to the left. Kurt had never laughed so hard in his life. Krist and Dave failed to see the humour. Of course, Kurt had been too preoccupied to see what his band-mates had done during the incident - although, at least Kurt seemed to be okay.

Dave finally gave in to Kurt’s laughter and grinned. “Look, I was just trying to help you!” he protested. “Dave! You flew over those drums with such dramatics… and then you just stand there in the middle not knowing what to do. Just scratching yourself and looking round!” Krist mentioned, smiling tiredly.

Dave sat up. “I’d like to see you do that – I’m Super Dave! Look at me, Krist. Can you do that?!” Kurt was almost pissing himself with laughter. Seeing Dave lunge over his drums was one thing. Calling himself Super Dave was another. Despite his throbbing head, and the headache he had acquired from the blow, this was something Kurt was nothing less than amused about. His band-mates were relieved he was okay.


Some years later, Krist and Dave were given a box of items, which Kurt had owned. Both had been offered to take what they wanted, in the memory of their friend. Looking through his items felt weird. They found notebooks, drawings, writings and scribblings. Krist sat up a little and pulled out a binded notebook. “Look at this,” he said, smiling sadly. Dave was reluctant to see; reluctant to allow himself to look into the possessions of someone he lost.

Thumbing through the pages, Krist suddenly stopped and laughed quietly. In the middle of the page was a picture, cut out from a paper. It was of Dave, caught in mid-motion, flying over his drums. The drumstick was blurred as it was caught flying to the right. Underneath, Kurt’s familiar writing had scrawled “Super Dave”, in large letters, with stars around the writing. Krist handed the book to Dave. “I think you should have this,” he grinned, as they both looked at the picture and remembered the event, which had kept Kurt so amused for almost a week.


The video: https://youtu.be/DqdxPRDC5x0?t=156

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