Here we are now eight years later in my hometown at Wasser Stadium playing hits from our two albums. Many of my classmates are present. Two of my friends from Dad’s church are here. My mom is here, and Dad is here due to Mom’s encouragement. I ask Dad to say a prayer for the performance before we head up on the stage. He stutters unintelligible syllables, but then accepts and prays.
Dad and Mom are sitting with Jill near the stage during our concert. We open with a Rock rendition of Gershwin’s Summertime, one of mother’s favorites. I learn later that she really didn’t care for the arrangement. We play a couple of covers from our first album: “Rocket 88” because the band believes it to be the first Rock & Roll song and “Up on the Roof” because I like the tune and especially the lyrics. We include in our concert the tune that gave us national attention, a few more covers and some songs that we’re working on for our next album.
I, then, surprise Jill with the song I sang in the auditorium at Perry High School. It is then that I publicly reveal that I wrote it especially with her in mind, “These Three Words.” She appears embarrassed throughout the whole song. Her body appears poised to dive under a front row seat to hide. Of course, this is not the reaction I wished to see.
This same reaction repeats from Dad when the band ends the concert with “Day by Day” from Godspell. I am humbled and hurt so much I cannot tell you how the audience responds. My bandmates and later my classmates tell me we were well received and successfully pleased the crowd.
Praying before we went on stage nor ending with a song based on a 13th Century prayer did not win my dad over. Nor did it bring him closer to accepting my calling to the music industry. At least, it didn’t seem to change his heart.
Even more disappointing and heartbreaking is that Jill is not moved by my playing “her” song. I take that back. She is not moved as I thought she should be moved. Backstage after the concert, she congratulates us, acts cordially and appreciative of the special treatment and friendly and personable. But remember, she is also a very good actress. I sense some distancing between us. I plan to speak to her alone about it sometime tonight or this weekend.
“Jill,” I pull her aside gently, “I am sorry about surprising you with that song. I had no intention of embarrassing you.”
“Please, Jack,” Jill responds, “there is no need to apologize. I am flattered. I will admit a tiny bit shocked but find it flattering.”
“Flattering?” I think to myself. My whole spirit tumbles down into near hopelessness, even lower than the after-prom moment. Mom tells me later that she observed and wanted to come wrap her arms around her little boy. I’m glad she didn’t and wish she had.
My emotions contradict what they should have been. The reaction of the bandmates and our special guests backstage seem so surreal, like I was in an alternate universe. When someone notices and inquires, I tell them I am exhausted.
Reunion
I wake up on Saturday morning much earlier than I should have from an extremely erratic night of inefficient slumber, bizarre dreams and irritating thoughts. I am staying at my parents’ house while the rest of the band stays at a hotel in the heart of the city.
I roll out of bed and consider calling Denny but remember that he likes to sleep late after a concert. I notice the clothes I wore for the concert draped over a chair pulled away from the desk. I spent a lot of time at this desk as this was my room growing up. It is at this desk I wrote a lot of stories, poems and would-be lyrics. It is at this desk where I wrote the love song to Jill over a decade ago.
Last night’s disappointment comes flooding to my mind. It is the reason for the restless sleep. My eyes again fall on the fold of clothes draped over the chair. I rustle through the layers of clothing until I reach the pants I wore for that concert. I replace the other articles of clothing back across the chair semi-unconsciously. I stare at the pants laying limply in my hand as the ache of last night revisits my heart.
I take a firm grip on these pants and search for a front pocket. My hand touches a small lump in the right pocket of the casual dress trousers. I retrieve a small, dark blue jewelry box and rest it carefully in the palm of my hand as I add the pants to the pile of clothes draped over the chair. I inhale deeply.
As I exhale a crackling breath of air, I slowly open the box. I gaze at the impressive diamond ring surrounded by the dark velvety interior of the box. The diamond ring catches even the almost nonexistent light in the room that manages to sneak through the nearly closed blinds of the small window beside the head of the bed across the room from where I stand.
I stare at the ring for several moments rehearsing the action that failed to occur when, where and how intended. I think I hear someone moving about in another part of the house. I snap shut the small box and anxiously try to figure out what I can do with this ring. I notice my suitcase leaning against the wall of the room. I grab it, toss it up on the bed and open it. I hear footsteps seemingly approaching the door to the room. I recklessly toss the ring inside and slam shut the lid of the suitcase immediately when I hear a tapping at the door.
“Are you up, dear?”
My suspicions that Mom was up and headed to the kitchen are confirmed. I acknowledge that I am awake and wishing to shower. Mom instructs me about where the bathroom and towels etc. are located and then suddenly as if she just realizes that her guest is her son that lived here for many years and is already aware of those things.
“What would you want for breakfast, Jack?”
“I’ll just have some coffee. I’m to join the band and crew for breakfast later this morning at the hotel.”
She fusses a little but then recoils graciously with an “if you change your mind….”
***
The previous is an excerpt of the first draft of my current WIP, a novel, You’re the One: The True Story of Jack and Jill. I have also self-published three other novels which can be purchased on Amazon and Kindle.
Categories: Sample writing
Douglas Knight
I have the rich life full of a sinner wounded by misunderstanding and punishment but blessed by mercy and forgiveness.
Knight Writer 