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.