They were an official band, and they were proud. Gigs were offered to them left and right, as if they were the greatest band to ever grace the audience's ears. Cherokee especially glowed with pride and she always left the stage with a huge, goofy grin. The few minutes before their curtain call was the most horrifying and possibly the most gratifying part of the gig. People would cheer and whoop and scream their names in anticipation. Adrenaline rushed through their veins and the Goat Guys would readily leap onto stage as if the stage was their natural habitat.
Raphael seemed like the calmest one of the four. He elegantly sat on the battered maroon couch, legs crossed and an unlit cigarette in his hand, waiting to be smoked. His haunches, ever shaggy, rested neatly. Witch Baby is in the farthest corner, wildly tapping a beat on her twiggy thighs. Angel Juan, on the floor, leans comfortably on the seat handle of the couch, thinking of everything and nothing in particular. Cherokee is restless, twitching and fidgeting.
It was always Raphael that started with deep conversations and spewed off half assed but somehow intelligent philosophical ramblings before gigs. Raphael, with a puff of cigarette smoke swirling out of his mouth, speaks of love as if as if it's some kind of rough, ragged thing. It's raw and it's jagged and it's all about being physical, limbs lovingly intertwined. He declares this loudly and proudly, with all the conviction he can muster.
Angel Juan happens to quietly disagree from his cross-legged position on the floor, his back gently leaning against the battered maroon couch. He felt differently of love, and waxed poetic about how love was what the heart told you in it's own oddly thumping code. It was that spark when two people saw each other and that spark intensified once you got down to deciphering what your heart's code meant.
Witch Baby begs to differ from her spot on the floor, not close enough to the rest of the kids. She bolts upright at the word 'love' and she squirms slightly. Love is tangible, you feel it in your bones and you can explain it, even if it isn't very logical. She can and will try every way to prove love in the most tangible of ways.
Cherokee doesn't know how to feel about love. It's an emotion, sure, but she is at a loss for words. She promises one thing though: she'll love fully and passionately (like she does with her family, her friends, her Raphael….)
Love can't be described by words.