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Friday, September 9, 2011


Vibrations of voices from bar flies quickly replace the reverberations of the guitars and basses and the droning of the symbols. The once pink and green and blue strobe lights are dramatically replaced by the yellow iridescent lights; momentarily I am blinded from the shift from darkness to lightness.
                Standin on your mama's porch, I hear from around the bar area, the volume of the radio now turned up for the intermission, You told me that you'd wait forever. From the corner of my eye, now used to the light, I spot my one best friend’s mother’s friend and her husband sitting at a table a few steps away.
                “Hi—“ Those were the best days of my life—Bryan Adam’s clear, yet somehow raspy voice drowns my meek voice out as I stand in front of their table. Yet it doesn’t surprise me, music somehow mutes me and I was never one to be loud—I let my music do my talking as I have always been a shy girl. However, to get their attention, I speak a little louder and more forceful: “HI!”
                “Hey, Charlotte! It’s nice to see you!” Jasmine and her husband both smile at me and I sit down.
                “How have you been?” I scream at Jasmine, although it sounds like I am speaking a normal pitch as my ears buzz. “All of my friends loved their Bear Basics Cooking orders.”
                “I’ve been alright. And I’m so glad to hear that.” She responds, though I believe at this point my ears have reached the threshold of pain[1].
                Oh when I look back now, that summer seemed to last forever, plays loudly in my mind—watching Eddie and Paul walk past me to set up the stage for the second set. And if I had the choice
Ya - I'd always wanna be there—to the strums of the guitar vibrating and reverberating from the bar, I follow Eddie and Paul or was it Russell; in a trance to Lenny beating away at his drums—momentarily—I know I definitely follow Eddie to the stage.
                “Hi, Eddie,” the Jagermeister from a few songs ago give me liquid courage. Now the second guitarist is in the picture and is playing Paul’s Strat Paul’s Fender sounds so clean and much better than my guitar. I shouldn’t say I was intimidated by Eddie, no, he is a sweet and friendly guy, but talking to cute guys intimidates me. Eddie is headbanging.
                “Hey, Charlotte.” He replies. Paul’s Strat gives off a happy buzz that matches the smile that becomes painted on my face that he heard me and knows who I am. I never followed a band—famous or cover (like Old School) who acknowledged their fans and the fan base.
                I always feel like goddamned paparazzi, but as a scrapbook artist, I love taking pictures. The droning of the guitars get louder—“Eddie, can I get a picture with you, then the rest of the band?”
                “Sure! Let me get some of them. Is it okay if it’s just Terry—“ Eddie trails off in the riffs of the second guitarist.
                “Hey guys, come here! Jess wants a picture!” The second guitarist stops his riff—Terry walks over, but Russell and Paul are at the bar imbibing and quenching their thirst.


[1] The threshold of pain is the point at which pain begins to be felt. It is an entirely subjective phenomenon. The intensity at which a stimulus (e.g., heat, pressure) begins to evoke pain is the threshold intensity. The pressure at which sound becomes painful for a listener is the pain threshold pressure for that person at that time. The threshold pressure for sound varies only slightly with frequency and can be age-dependent. Additionally, people who have been exposed to more noise/music usually have a higher threshold pressure.

I am thinking about changing things around a bit. I definitely want to keep the music and bar feel to it, but I want to add more to it, more umph and drama. I think I know where I want to go. :)

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