11-6/Thank you Little Rock

While at the gym today I realized two things. First, I am going to try a triathlon. Second, I really want to be in a band.

On the treadmill, I use different tools to motivate me. Sometimes I just think of something that enrages me, and its enough fuel to get the job done. However, when coupled with music, I'm a regular Jackie Joyner-Kersey.

One of my oldest fantasies takes place at the show of one my favorite bands. I've disclosed this to only a select,very very very special few, but I decided why not spread the love around. It was something that I thought about back in probably the 8th grade, but over the years specifics have changed.

The setting of this motivational fantasy takes place in the St. Fidelis Elementary School's auditorium, capable of handling about 250 people. In the crowd of 250 is me and some friends, and also the girl that I like.

Background : I had run into the band earlier at some arbitrary neighborhood store, where I tell them that I was coming to the show, and a conversation ensues. We talk about music, what type of music I write, and I give them an insight about my motivations for writing it. We leave on great terms, with an invite to hang after the show.

The band in the daydream changes, depending on what song I'm 'training' to. At the show, they finish up a song, and then it goes something like this...

"Hey, I just wanted to say thanks to everyone that has come out tonight. I know we're in a small place, but we figured it would be cool to do something low key for you guys," the lead singer says, sparking a drunken roar from the crowd.

"But now, I figured we'd do something different, and invite a friend of ours to the stage to play xxxxx with us. Come on up here!" he says pointing to me.

I am shocked, but I love this song and I know how to play it. After 2 seconds of astonished silence, the crowd erupts, and the people that know me start chanting my name.

As I hit the stage, the lead singer gives me one of those high fives with the half hug and hands me his Les Paul. He then says,

"Guys, this is Chris!" evoking roars from the crowd. I glance at the girl for a moment and go to stage right, where a mic stand is set up.

We start the song, and I even start singing backup vocals. The lead singer turns his head while singing, keeping his torso facing forward, giving me a surprised glance. After a nod and a smile, he swivels his head back around to the front of the microphone to align it with his body, as his left hand grabs the mic stand.

As the chorus comes around, I start to get more comfortable. The initial fear and nervousness has subsided, as I realize the whole band is behind me, cheering me on with silent approval - only apparent in nods and gestures from their heads, and hands, when free from the instruments.

As the second verse comes up, the lead singer walks away from the mic. He picks up another guitar and starts playing rhythm. I realize that no one is near the mic to start singing. Then they all look at me, and I know what to do.

I start singing, eyes closed for parts of emphasis, then opened to lock into hers. I start singing the words as if I'm having a conversation with her alone in a city coffee shop on a December night. Within the daydream, I think of me speaking the words of the song, glancing at her black coat, the battlefield for resilient snowflakes to lose their fight with the warmth of the fire.

Back in the {fake} moment on stage, I close my eyes again as I come towards the end of the verse. Sucking in the emotion of the situation, I hit the note perfectly at the end of the verse, catapulting me into the guitar solo of the song. I step aside from my mic, and wander toward a smaller amp, where I throw my foot up on top of it, and stare at the girl while finishing the solo.

The song finishes up, and the crowd goes wild. The band all leave their positions and come over to me to congratulate me for 'rocking out.' I look at the girl once more- her head is cocked to the side with a half smile, hands clutching the scarf hanging around her neck like the straps of a backpack. She lowers her head and closes her eyes for a moment, only to glance up and return them back towards mine.

Usually the fading of the song enlightens my auditory senses to the fact that my hoofs have been thunderously pounding the treadmill. I realize that the whole gym is probably wondering why such a large gentleman has yet to break the machine.

I always thought this was funny, but it's good motivation. Usually, the right girl always is.

ck....biggs.