Last Friday, while stopping for coffee with E, the wind blew over the sounds of music from the campus. Impulsively, we drove over. It looked like a haphazardly organized event; one band was still left, with only one oscillating and garish, colored lamp ornamenting the stage. It was late and the audience was petering out, clustering closely around and on the stage.

I remember an event similar to this one a few years back. It’s incredible that it’s been years now. As much as I was later touted as the experienced one, I still had to gather all my courage to walk up behind the stage, lean my arms over the cement barrier and to nudge someone obliviously wrapped up in music. His face then lighting up as he turned to me. 

I crossed my arms and rubbed them for heat. I shuffled a bit, looking at the circle of people surrounding the band on the cement stage. I mumbled, “It sucks to be the guitarist’s girlfriend.” E glance over at me. “You’ve heard the song fifteen odd times that you really don’t really like but you still come out to ‘support your man’. You just make yourself stand around alone in the cold.”

A group of few young students jumped around behind us, one of them in a puffed white jacket laughingly attempted to toot on a trumpet and gave up.


5 Responses to Years

  1. eatsbugs says:

    I’ve always dreaded becoming the guitarist though. While some songs never get old, these songs are about two in number. I’d feel bad for the girlfriend, but worse for myself thinking that I’ve got to keep playing the same damn song over and over just to get a descent meal or sometimes a lay. As they say, those that can, do; those that won’t, teach.

  2. negativeforty says:

    Perhaps you would like to audition for my upcoming band which will highlight the unusual and intriguing combination of bluegrass and new wave. I can promise that we will play ‘Here Comes the Rain Again’ on a banjo.

  3. firewings says:

    I’m already in your band. Love In a Soviet State will be an amazing band. It’ll be all interpretive dance strippers and confetti and special brownies.

    And I will never make my significant other come to my concerts. In fact, I won’t even tell them about it lest they think it’s some sort of power play of “Oh you don’t have to come” which means “Be there or prepare for days of surly attitude.”

  4. The Rebuker says:

    Bears. Years. What’s next? Tears? Fears?

  5. firewings says:

    E! We can cover Tears for Fears! Get on that!

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