by Laura Miller
I watched as everyone’s eyes turned toward the floor. Then, after a moment, Chris’s head suddenly popped up.
“None of us have ever written a song, right?” he asked the room, but he was only looking at me.
And slowly, Daniel’s face and then Matt’s face turned up as well, and before I knew it, all three of their sets of eyes were on me.
I stared back at them. I felt strangely nervous, as my lips started to turn up.
“I might have written a song,” I confessed, hardly more audible than a mumble.
“What?” Matt asked.
There was a surprise in his voice.
“Let’s hear it,” Daniel shouted.
I shook my head.
“Nah, I don’t think it’s the kind of song you’re looking for,” I said.
“Will, we’re looking for whatever you’ve got,” Matt said.
“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s a slow song.”
“Perfect,” Daniel said. “I like slow songs. Girls like slow songs. Let’s hear it.”
There was silence then, as the three of them stared at me and I stared back at them. They were pleading with me out of pure desperation, I could tell. And suddenly, I realized I was just about to do what I would have been doing at home, except now, I had a live audience of my three, hopeless co-workers staring back at me.
“Damn it,” I mumbled under my breath, as I repositioned my guitar in front of my body again.
The three men cheered and then settled back into their spots behind their instruments.
I turned my back toward them and stepped up to the microphone. Then, I rested my fingers on the guitar’s strings and fiddled with a couple of the tuning pegs again. When I was sure I had her tuned, I planted my eyes on the garage door but then stopped. And the next thing I knew, I was shuffling around and twisting the microphone stand so that I was facing the guys again.
“Yeah, that’s better,” Chris said, chuckling.
I smiled.
“Yeah, I thought so,” I said.
I repositioned my guitar.
“If you hate it, just stop me,” I said.
Then, I cleared my throat as my fingers started a slow melody on the strings of my guitar. And seconds later, I parted my lips and started in:
“I’m famous in this small town
For a ghost I cannot shake
They all know I’m talkin’ to you
But of it—I don’t think they know what to make
But they don’t see what I see
They don’t see you dance on the river walk,
Underneath the street lamps
With those stars in your eyes
They don’t see you
Lying next to me
Tellin’ me your dreams,
Planted somewhere up in those big skies
No, they don’t see what I see
Because I see
A rainstorm in June
Just before the sun
The black of night
Just before the stars
And, girl, I see your ghost
Just before our dawn
And tonight I’ll see you again
Just like every night before
But they don’t see what I see
What I see is more
Because I see
A rainstorm in June
Just before the sun
The black of night
Just before the stars
And, girl, I see your ghost
Just before our dawn
And, girl, I see your ghost
Just before our dawn.”
The room turned silent when my fingers stopped dancing on the strings. My eyes were planted on the floor. The song meant something to me, but they didn’t need to know that.
Eventually, I heard a slow clap. I collected myself and slowly lifted my head. Another clap joined the first one, and then, the third set of hands started in.
“Will, man, that was amazing,” Matt said.
“That’s our song,” Chris blurted out, pointing at me. “We can use that song, right?”
His gaze fell on me, and I bashfully smiled.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have sung it otherwise,” I said, jokingly, all the while, trying to swallow the thought of the girl behind the song.
“The girls are going to love us,” Daniel yelled, throwing his fists into the air.
“Okay, okay,” Matt said. “Now, let’s get to work.”
...
Chris and Daniel were pulling out of Matt’s driveway as Matt and I waved from our place underneath a basketball goal. We watched their headlights eventually fade and then disappear.
“How did you know that I might be able to sing?” I asked, as I turned back toward Matt.
“Your buddy, Jeff, right?” he asked. “The one who hung out with us a couple of weekends ago…”
I nodded my head.
“Yeah, Jeff,” I confirmed.
“Yeah, I believe his exact words were that you have ‘the voice of an angel,’” he said. “Of course, he was a little, you know…”
He tipped back an imaginary glass in his hand.
“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “That sounds about right.”
“Anyway, I believed him nonetheless,” he said. “And I’m glad I did. What are you doing dressed in turnout gear anyway? Shouldn’t you be in Nashville or something, gettin’ all the pretty, country girls?”
I laughed once and shook my head. Then, I tipped my baseball cap and started out toward Lou on the street.
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow night then at seven?” he called out after me.
I nodded my head and raised my hand in the air.
“I’ll be there,” I said.
I got to the driver’s side door and pulled on the handle.
“Hey, Will,” Matt called out from the driveway.
I looked back up in his direction.
“It’ll be fun,” he said.
I smiled and nodded my head. Then, I opened the door, set my guitar onto the backseat and slid behind the wheel. I found the key next and then stuck it into the ignition.
“Fun,” I mumbled under my breath. “Yeah, I’ve heard that a couple of times before from someone else.”
A wide smile battled its way to my face and eventually won.
“And she just might have been right, damn it.”
Chapter Twenty
The Gig
“Okay, you guys ready for a sound check?” asked a stout man propped up against the side of the stage.
I glanced over at Chris plugging the last cord into an amplifier and hesitantly nodded my head. We were on a tiny platform in a room a little bigger than New Milford’s corner bar. But the ceilings were high and unfinished, and they gave the place a more modern look than the little bar from back home.
I watched the stout man take the three steps back down the stage and then make his way across the room again. He stayed as near as he could to the wall as he shuffled to his place in the far corner. There were people already sitting around tables and standing at the bar. They all seemed to be in their twenties and thirties mostly. Some were watching us, shielded behind their drinks and the darkness that filled the area below the stage. But most looked as if they didn’t even notice us. My eyes eventually fell again onto the stout man, squeezing behind a counter, lit up with knobs and buttons. He played with some of the knobs and then finally looked my way and gave me a thumbs-up. I turned then and found Matt.
Matt caught my glance and paused from digging through a container full of electrical tape and pliers and whatnot.
“You can go ahead,” he said. “I’ll go next.”
I faced forward again and stared at the microphone resting at the top of its stand. Then, I looked back up at the man behind the counter. His eyes were turned down; his fingers were busy dancing over the lights and the knobs. I caught a pair of eyes near the stage, and I smiled an awkward smile. She smiled back, and then I went back to the sound ch
eck that was evidentially already in progress. Suddenly, I felt as if I were seven all over again and playing rock star with the kids up the street. I shook off another uneasy smile and then tapped the top of the microphone. A dull sound bounced off the walls in the little room. It seemed to attract only a few more faces. I readjusted the guitar’s strap around my body. Then, not really sure what to do next, I brought my lips to the microphone, remembering a movie I had seen once.
“Test, test,” I said into the mic.
My words came out soft. I could barely hear them over the constant hum of voices in the room.
The guy behind the buttons and knobs pointed his finger in the air.
I nodded my head and waited.
“Test, test,” I said again into the mic after a moment.
This time, I could hear myself.
“That sounds good,” I heard Matt call out from behind me.
I gave the sound guy in the back of the room an okay gesture with my hand and nodded my head in approval.
“Song list,” Matt said, setting a sheet of paper onto the stage at my feet.
I glanced down at the floor. The paper had a list of titles scribbled down the page.
“Okay, thanks,” I said.
Then, I played with the strings on my guitar, acting as if I hadn’t just tuned it, while Daniel tapped around on his drums and pedals and Matt and Chris worked with the sound guy. These guys were old pros at this stuff. I felt like a tadpole out of pond water.
When the guys were finally satisfied with their sounds, several more lights appeared in rays from the ceiling. Some were white; the others were red. They were bright and caused me to squint until I got used to them, which took me about a minute.
“You ready, Will?” I heard Matt ask.
I turned and found Matt. Then, I glanced at the mic and then back at him as if to say, now?
“Yep,” he said. “We’re ready.”
I took a deep breath in and then felt it instinctively escape past my lips as a big smile edged its way across my face. I was pretty sure I thought the wider I smiled, the less my heart would race.
“Hello,” I said into the mic.
Suddenly, the hum of the small crowd hushed.
“Hello,” I said again, once the room was quiet. “How are ya?”
A few people clapped. One person whistled.
I swiveled around slightly, being careful to keep my lips near the mic, and glanced back at the band.
“We’re, uh, District 9,” I said.
Then, I turned back toward the crowd and the lights, trying my best not to squint my eyes.
“We’re really, uh, firefighters, so even if you don’t like our songs, feel free to clap anyway,” I said, softly laughing into the mic. “You’d be doing some goodwill for the St. Louis Fire Department that way.”
It took a second, but soon, a soft buzz, followed by enthusiastic applause, filled the little room. I let go of a wide smile then, and it instantly shot across my face. Then, I stepped back from the microphone and lowered my eyes to my guitar as Daniel started in on his drums. Immediately, I felt my hands fall into place on the guitar’s strings, and I brought my lips close to the microphone again. The old melody was already taking me back to when I was a kid in the back of my grandpa’s store singing my lungs out to the same song, and it helped to crush my nerves.
Soon after, I got the first words out, and the rest came easy. Then, the second song felt like a rush as this strange, adrenaline-like stuff shot through my spine. I had barely noticed that a line of people, mostly girls, were now pressed up against the side of the stage, dancing and singing. Every so often, I would look down to see if I could find Julia in one of their faces. I knew that she wasn’t there, but that didn’t stop me from trying anyway.
We finished the last song scribbled on the list before I knew it. And I let my guitar hang from its strap, as I grabbed the microphone’s stand with both hands.
“Thanks so much,” I said. “You guys were kind.”
There was a loud applause, and I paused and smiled.
“Again, we’re District 9, and remember to change those batteries in your smoke detectors,” I said into the mic.
I heard laughter in the crowd, then more applause. And then, the stage went dark again. I narrowed my eyes trying to get them to readjust faster. I could barely see a thing again.
Still squinting, I turned and caught Matt’s figure first. He was smiling. Then, I looked over at Chris and Daniel. They had wide grins planted on their faces too.
“Well done, boys,” Matt finally said. “Well done.”
...
Daniel, Chris and I were busy packing up the last of the gear into Chris’s SUV when Matt came over to us and leaned his head near ours.
“So, listen, guys, my buddy said that he’s got a friend who needs a band next week,” he said. “You guys in?”
Daniel and Chris looked at each other and then at me.
I shrugged my shoulders.
“Sure,” I said.
“See, what did I tell you, Matt?” Daniel shouted. “I knew you’d find us another gig.”
“Can you guys be at my house on Sunday?” Matt asked. “We’ve got to practice. This place is bigger, and I think we should do Will’s song.”
We all looked at each other and nodded our heads.
“Sunday it is,” Chris shouted, as he let out an excited howl.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Card
Weekly gigs kind of became a usual occurrence. I wasn’t quite sure even how it had all unfolded exactly. One day, I woke up, and it just was. I was a firefighter most days, and I played in a band on the others. It made me laugh to think about it because it all seemed as if it were a dream—not like a career dream but like a real dream, as if I were actually sleeping while we were playing on some small stage in some other part of town. I was always waiting for a big, pink elephant to fly across the room or for a squirrel in the crowd to ask me why I was naked on stage or something. It felt like that kind of dream. I enjoyed it though. I seldom admitted it, even to myself. But when I was sitting alone on my little bed in the station, I thought about it. And I thought about if maybe sometime we got a gig in Columbia that I might see Julia. I always pictured her in the front row, with a happy smile on her face. I thought about that sometimes.
I picked up a cord leading to the stage and started wrapping it around my arm. I hardly got it wrapped around my elbow twice when a voice stopped me.
“Hi, Jesse Sovine,” a man said, extending his hand.
I glanced at the man’s outstretched arm and followed it up to his face.
“Will Stephens,” I said, eventually meeting his handshake.
“You’ve got a great voice,” the man said.
I smiled an awkward smile and went back to wrapping the cord around my arm.
“Thanks,” I said.
“I’ve seen these guys play a couple of times, but I’ve never seen you before,” he said.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a side thing,” I said.
“So, you’re a firefighter?” he asked.
I glanced back up at him, and then my gaze fell onto the cord again.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
“Well, have you ever thought about a career in music?” he asked.
I stopped and looked at him sideways.
“A career in music? Us?” I asked.
He nodded his head and smiled.
“Your band. Yourself,” the man said.
I raised one eyebrow.
“Did a little blonde put you up to this?” I asked.
The man’s smile faded, and his face twisted into a puzzled look.
“I’m kidding,” I said, chuckling. “No, really, it’s just a side thing.”
He seemed to pause before he continued.
“Okay,” he said. “Well, talk to your band. I’d love a chance to represent you guys.”
“Represent?” I repeated.
“Yeah,” he said, pu
lling out a clean, white business card from the inside pocket of his tailored jacket.
“If you change your mind, my number’s on the card,” he said, handing it to me.
I took the card.
“It’s nice to meet you, Will Stephens,” he said, extending his hand to me again. “I hope you change your mind.”
I shook his hand again, and then I watched him disappear back into the crowd.
It was dark all around me, except for the neon light that flashed in my direction every once in a while. My eyes strained to see the bold lettering on the small business card as they searched each word:
Jesse Sovine, Talent Agent
Premiere Entertainment Management
I stared at the card for a second, then stuffed it into my pocket and continued again wrapping the electric cord around my arm.
“A career in music,” I mumbled under my breath, while chuckling to myself.
...
I made my way into Matt’s garage Monday evening. The guys were already there.
“Water, Will?” I heard Matt ask.
I turned toward him and held out my hands.
He tossed the bottle across the room. I caught it, opened it up and took a swig. Then, I set it onto the concrete floor and started to play with the strings on my guitar.
“Oh, guys, by the way, this guy gave me this the other night,” I said, pulling the business card from my jeans pocket and tossing it onto Matt’s keys.
“What is it?” Chris asked, snatching up the card.
His eyes scanned the words and then turned up.
“This is an agent,” he eventually said.
His words were straight and to the point.
“What?” Matt asked, looking up.
“Where did you get this?” Chris asked me.
“The guy,” I said, pointing to the card. “His name is on it.”
“Dude, this is Premiere Entertainment,” he exclaimed. “They’re a big deal.”
“What did you tell him?” Matt asked me.
“I didn’t tell him anything, really,” I said. “I just took the card.”
“Guys, do you realize what this could mean?” Chris asked. “We could be famous.”
