I never knew who that man was. He was no doubt gone now, but his words had gotten me through rough times in the next ten years. Maybe this bar was good luck.
I eased my rump onto the tall wooden stool. Couldn’t be the same one, but even the seat felt familiar. The mic needed a bit of adjusting for height, then I played a quick run of chords. The bar quieted, almost unnaturally, and it was clear folks were here for the show, not as a side benefit of a night out.
I leaned toward the mic. “Thanks for coming, folks. It means a lot. Sometimes life delivers a punch to the gut and all you can do is roll with it, dust yourself off, and make amends. That’s easier said than done, but knowing you all still want to hear my music? That’s a gift.”
That got a wave of applause and I started them off easy with “Don’t Look Back,” then moved to harder rock with “Wipeout.” The notes leaped from my fingers, showered off the strings, as good as I’d played in years. My voice cracked twice, earlyon, when it hit me how fuckinggoodit felt to have a piece of myself back, but I covered the breaks and charged on into my most popular songs, pushing to my feet after a couple because I couldn’t sit still. By the time I ended with the fun of “Catastrophe,” sweat beaded my forehead and dampened my shirt and my exhaustion felt fantastic, earned, paid for, familiar.
The claps and cheers rocked me, filling that small, creaky, echoing space. People shouted and called my name. Phones were out, no doubt loading copies to YouTube and that was fine with me. Show the world Griffin Marsh could still rock, wasn’t hiding.
They wouldn’t let me go without an encore, and I did “Bite This,” the song that had taken me to the top of the charts a decade back. The whole bar sang it with me and the place shook on its foundations, despite being just me, two big speakers, and one guitar. And, of course, a hundred folks singing and stomping. I finished with a screaming cascade of notes, and a dissonant chord.
The stage lights, such as they were, dimmed and I could see the crowd properly. Standing room, hell, they were probably breaking fire code tonight. Off to the left, motion caught my eye and I saw Kashira from Wellhaven, a couple of the other nurses I knew in passing, and Lee.
Lee! He came to hear me.Knowing Kashira, she’d put pressure on Lee to join them, but he wasn’t some shy twink now. If he’d agreed to come, he hadn’t hated the idea. I leaned into the mic one more time. “Thank you, folks, for that awesome Iowa welcome. And thanks to the man who inspired a lot of my songs for not kicking my ass when he should’ve. Goodnight everyone. You rock!”
I kept my eyes on Lee and tilted my head toward the back, an invitation to come talk. But folks were rushing the front withpens and napkins and hats and all. Lee gave me a twisted smile, drained his glass, and turned for the door.
Nooo.I wanted to talk to him. Surely him staying through the whole set was a reason to hope. But the folks crowding me were loyal fans, my bread and butter and the wind under my battered wings. They deserved my attention. I took the first ball cap thrust at me and dug out my Sharpie. “What’s your name, dude? Thanks for coming.”
Two hours later, I met up with the bar owner before heading out. He paid me what he’d promised and grimaced. “Still seems cheap. Best night I’ve had in a couple of years, and that counts when the Hawkeyes made the playoffs. You want to come on back?”
“For sure.” I folded the bills into my pocket. Old fashioned cash and another thing that brought memories cascading. Back then I’d made gas money and been glad of it. This was a few weeks of groceries. “Two weeks or so?”
“I’ll pick some dates and email you.” The owner held out his hand and I felt the calluses on his fingers as we shook.
“You play?” I asked him.
“I mess around some. Never was that good.”
“You want to join me onstage next time? Cover a song with me? You know any of mine?”
His lined face lit up like the sun rising. “Hell, yeah. You mean it? Dream come true. I know most of yours, but I’m probably best at ‘Chasing Sunrise.’”
“I’ll put it on the set list next time. In fact, I’ll have you come practice with me ahead of time. We’ll rock their asses off.”
“Fuck, yeah.” For a moment he looked young, grinning ear to ear. “You’re a good man, Griffin Marsh.”
“Dunno about that, but I try.”
He nodded. “Come on, I’ll show you the side way out, if you want to avoid the paps. There’s probably some waiting in the crowd.”
Maybe so. There’d been enough advance promotion for word to get out. Maybe the crowd would just be a few straggling fans, though. Maybe no one cared enough to bother at all. I was wiped and would be as happy not to find out, either way. “Thanks. Side way sounds good.”
I called for a Lyft, since Midwest buses mostly packed it in after rush-hour and didn’t accommodate the folks working late. Standing on the sidewalk one block over, my guitar slung on my shoulder, the soft breeze cooling the sweat on my forehead, I felt a moment of peace I hadn’t known in a long time. Yeah, I’d crashed and burned my life, but maybe I really could dust myself off and go on.
My phone dinged a text message. I almost didn’t bother to check, but in the end pulled it out.
Lee:~You sounded good tonight. Congrats.
I fumbled to text back.~I’m glad you came. I was surprised.I realized too late I maybe shouldn’t have said that, if this was meant as an olive branch.
But I got back a grin emoji and,~Kashira twisted my arm. But I let her.
What could I say to keep him texting? I hadn’t originally planned on reconnecting with Lee. Even that first conversation, my focus had been more on finally saying sorry than the future.But since then, I hadn’t been able to keep the man from sneaking into my thoughts, and even my dreams— sometimes as the lanky, passionate young man he’d been, but more often the solid, caring, competent guy he was now.~Kashira is a force of nature.
~My best friend. Yeah. Not sorry I went, though. See you tomorrow.
That seemed to be a deliberate disengagement, so I just said,~See you.
