Song for Jess

by Meg Buchanan

  God, I loved long delay reverb with distortion. It was the most amazing, distinctive sound. That day it made me yearn.

  The crowd didn’t dance. At first, they stood in stunned awe and then started to surge. The surge went from one side to the other, then forward and backwards.

  Go with it or fall, that was the choice. I started to worry about Jess. I could only just see her. I tried to get over to her but couldn’t push against the swell. If she fell no one would be able to stop moving. She’d get trampled.

  Then I saw Adam grab the girl he was with by the hand and yell at Jess. The girl reached over, and Jess linked hands with her. With Adam pushing through the crowd and pulling the girls behind him, the three of them moved away from the stage. Then others joined the chain, and it became four, five then ten, and they made their escape.

  played and played. The surging became even stronger and carried me further forward and back and then pushed me against the barrier and then away again like a tide.

  The corner of the barrier started to give way. I could see the top rail was loose. If it goes down, I go down. I dropped the nearly empty vodka bottle and went with the movement. After the next surge I stepped through the gap in the barrier, half expecting to be leapt on by security, but they’re so busy lifting girls over the broken fence, no one saw me.

  With all the confidence of vodka, I walked around to the side of the stage and went up the steps. It was gloomy and the couple of people there were busy, wearing earphones and talking into little microphones on headsets and carrying clipboards. There were a couple of men way up high balancing and looking after the spotlight. Nobody noticed me, and drunk as hell, I stood there and watched.

  The White Stripes started to play “Jolene”. It sounded nothing like Dolly Parton’s version. I walked on the stage and stood in the wings trying to look like crew. I guess I did. No one challenged me. I stood and watched and listened to the magic of Jack White.

  The final number finished, and the stage darkened.

  The applause and whistling went on and on. There wasn’t going to be an encore. As soon as the band left the stage, the crew started to dismantle the set. Everyone on stage knew their job, stacking things, carrying things.

  I needed to do something for camouflage, so I picked a guitar out of the rack, a National Guitar, a steel body resonator. The silver guitar picked up the colours around it in distorted rings like an oil slick.

  It took a while, but finally the crowd dispersed, went away, went home.

  I moved to the front of the stage behind some boxes, sat down beside a chair and start playing. It was a beautiful guitar I’d stolen.

  I tried a few chords, picked a few notes and then launched into “Leyenda”. At first my fingers fumbled, and I missed a few notes, then they picked up and soared and wept through the rest of the piece. The chords floated out and poured across the empty spaces.

  In the back of my mind, there was a little film running. In it, someone came over and said, “You’re good. We need another guitarist.” But it didn’t happen.

  I played on to the end, finished, stood and carefully leaned the guitar against the chair.

  I was still as drunk as hell. I went and sat on the edge of the stage again, legs dangling.

  I sat alone and watched the silence and the darkness and the mess on the ground. I watched the spider slowly deflate.

  I am the man who was the boy who wanted to be a rock star. It should have been me on that stage. I chose the right parents to want the unattainable. But nothing about my life was the way I wanted. I was as drunk as hell, but not so drunk I couldn’t sense the chance to escape. I could slide off the stage, start walking away from the spider, and never look back.

  The silver guitar glistened in the dimmed lights and picked up the colours. The stadium, filled with silent echoes, emptied of noise, reflected them into the darkness.

  A man’s shadow moved slowly. He cleared the last pieces of gear from the stage.

  He saw the guitar.

  “How the fuck did that get there? He picked it up then looked at me. “You shouldn’t be here, mate.” He moved away.

  The spider swayed, legs wobbled, head too heavy. It came closer to complete collapse. The crew guy from before came back on stage still holding the shining guitar.

  “Hurry up, man. The bus is about to leave.” He went again.

  My phone vibrated.

  I found it and glanced at the screen.

  ‘At barrier near spider. Where r u?’

  I sat for a while.

  Thought.

  And thought.

  And thought.

  Then hit reply and picked out an answer. On the stage. See you soon.

  I pressed send and pushed off the edge. I walked across the grass, through the mess and the silence and the darkness to find Jess with Adam and the girl standing by the spider in the gloom.

  Jess even looked pleased to see me.

  Noah, Cole and Luke were there too. Only a couple of other people, just some old guys with bags and those pincher things on sticks, picking up the rubbish.

  “What happened to you?” Adam asked.

  “The barrier went down in front of me. I stepped over it.”

  “How did you get on stage?” Jess asked.

  “Yeah, that had to be you playing,” said Cole.

  “Walked on and stole a guitar.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t get arrested.”

  “Too much going on for anyone to be interested in me. I’ve never seen a barrier collapse before.”

  “It looked impressive from the grandstand,” said Luke as we wandered off towards the exit.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  “Dad said you were coming. It seemed like a good idea.”

  I draped my arm over Jess’s shoulders, and we wandered off to the carpark with the others to find the car.

  Jess chatted away. “It got scary in there.”

  “I saw Adam get you out.”

  Jess giggled. “It was like being at school when you’re little, holding hands so you don’t get lost.” She leaned her head on my shoulder as we walked along. “I knew it was you on the guitar.”

  “How?”

  “It sounded like when you used to play for Isabelle.”

  I looked at her for a moment. She looked back. We don’t mention Isabelle anymore. It’s too hard. She turned away and rubbed her cheek on my shoulder. “It sounded beautiful. You should start playing again. And writing. You don’t do that anymore either.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Yeah,” said Luke. “And we need you.”

  We got to the car, and it and Luke’s were pretty much the only vehicles left in the carpark.

  “Catch you Monday,” said Luke. They were all probably headed for a party. Maybe in Hamilton. They’d be playing at the pub tomorrow night.

  “Do you want me to drive?” Jess asked.

  “Yeah.” I gave her the keys and went to the passenger side. I felt sober, more than sober. But I let her drive. I had drunk most of the vodka in the bottle.

  We headed home. Jess chattered away.

  “I’m working tomorrow? Are you?” she asked.

  “Nah.” Bloody lucky. I probably wouldn’t be up to swinging a hammer tomorrow.

  I shut my eyes and pretended I was asleep.

  Up on that stage, I’d made a decision. I still couldn’t leave Jess. Somewhere inside me knew I loved her and wanted to find my way back to her. I’d stay. And I’d have a talk to Luke and tell him I wanted to play with Stadium this year after all.

  I’d dust off the journals too.

 

 

 
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