My Butterfly

Chapter Twenty The Gig

“Okay, you guys ready for a sound check?” asked a stout man propped up against the side of the stage.

I glanced over at Chris plugging the last cord into an amplifier and hesitantly nodded my head. We were on a tiny platform in a room a little bigger than New Milford’s corner bar. But the ceilings were high and unfinished, and they gave the place a more modern look than the little bar from back home.

I watched the stout man take the three steps back down the stage and then make his way across the room again. He stayed as near as he could to the wall as he shuffled to his place in the far corner. There were people already sitting around tables and standing at the bar. They all seemed to be in their twenties and thirties mostly. Some were watching us, shielded behind their drinks and the darkness that filled the area below the stage. But most looked as if they didn’t even notice us. My eyes eventually fell again onto the stout man, squeezing behind a counter, lit up with knobs and buttons. He played with some of the knobs and then finally looked my way and gave me a thumbs-up. I turned then and found Matt.

Matt caught my glance and paused from digging through a container full of electrical tape and pliers and whatnot.

“You can go ahead,” he said. “I’ll go next.”

I faced forward again and stared at the microphone resting at the top of its stand. Then, I looked back up at the man behind the counter. His eyes were turned down; his fingers were busy dancing over the lights and the knobs. I caught a pair of eyes near the stage, and I smiled an awkward smile. She smiled back, and then I went back to the sound check that was evidentially already in progress. Suddenly, I felt as if I were seven all over again and playing rock star with the kids up the street. I shook off another uneasy smile and then tapped the top of the microphone. A dull sound bounced off the walls in the little room. It seemed to attract only a few more faces. I readjusted the guitar’s strap around my body. Then, not really sure what to do next, I brought my lips to the microphone, remembering a movie I had seen once.

“Test, test,” I said into the mic.

My words came out soft. I could barely hear them over the constant hum of voices in the room.

The guy behind the buttons and knobs pointed his finger in the air.

I nodded my head and waited.

“Test, test,” I said again into the mic after a moment.

This time, I could hear myself.

“That sounds good,” I heard Matt call out from behind me.

I gave the sound guy in the back of the room an okay gesture with my hand and nodded my head in approval.

“Song list,” Matt said, setting a sheet of paper onto the stage at my feet.

I glanced down at the floor. The paper had a list of titles scribbled down the page.

“Okay, thanks,” I said.

Then, I played with the strings on my guitar, acting as if I hadn’t just tuned it, while Daniel tapped around on his drums and pedals and Matt and Chris worked with the sound guy. These guys were old pros at this stuff. I felt like a tadpole out of pond water.

When the guys were finally satisfied with their sounds, several more lights appeared in rays from the ceiling. Some were white; the others were red. They were bright and caused me to squint until I got used to them, which took me about a minute.

“You ready, Will?” I heard Matt ask.

I turned and found Matt. Then, I glanced at the mic and then back at him as if to say, now?

“Yep,” he said. “We’re ready.”

I took a deep breath in and then felt it instinctively escape past my lips as a big smile edged its way across my face. I was pretty sure I thought the wider I smiled, the less my heart would race.

“Hello,” I said into the mic.

Suddenly, the hum of the small crowd hushed.

“Hello,” I said again, once the room was quiet. “How are ya?”

A few people clapped. One person whistled.

I swiveled around slightly, being careful to keep my lips near the mic, and glanced back at the band.

“We’re, uh, District 9,” I said.

Then, I turned back toward the crowd and the lights, trying my best not to squint my eyes.

“We’re really, uh, firefighters, so even if you don’t like our songs, feel free to clap anyway,” I said, softly laughing into the mic. “You’d be doing some goodwill for the St. Louis Fire Department that way.”

It took a second, but soon, a soft buzz, followed by enthusiastic applause, filled the little room. I let go of a wide smile then, and it instantly shot across my face. Then, I stepped back from the microphone and lowered my eyes to my guitar as Daniel started in on his drums. Immediately, I felt my hands fall into place on the guitar’s strings, and I brought my lips close to the microphone again. The old melody was already taking me back to when I was a kid in the back of my grandpa’s store singing my lungs out to the same song, and it helped to crush my nerves.

Soon after, I got the first words out, and the rest came easy. Then, the second song felt like a rush as this strange, adrenaline-like stuff shot through my spine. I had barely noticed that a line of people, mostly girls, were now pressed up against the side of the stage, dancing and singing. Every so often, I would look down to see if I could find Julia in one of their faces. I knew that she wasn’t there, but that didn’t stop me from trying anyway.

We finished the last song scribbled on the list before I knew it. And I let my guitar hang from its strap, as I grabbed the microphone’s stand with both hands.

“Thanks so much,” I said. “You guys were kind.”

There was a loud applause, and I paused and smiled.

“Again, we’re District 9, and remember to change those batteries in your smoke detectors,” I said into the mic.

I heard laughter in the crowd, then more applause. And then, the stage went dark again. I narrowed my eyes trying to get them to readjust faster. I could barely see a thing again.

Still squinting, I turned and caught Matt’s figure first. He was smiling. Then, I looked over at Chris and Daniel. They had wide grins planted on their faces too.

“Well done, boys,” Matt finally said. “Well done.”

Daniel, Chris and I were busy packing up the last of the gear into Chris’s SUV when Matt came over to us and leaned his head near ours.

“So, listen, guys, my buddy said that he’s got a friend who needs a band next week,” he said. “You guys in?”

Daniel and Chris looked at each other and then at me.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Sure,” I said.

“See, what did I tell you, Matt?” Daniel shouted. “I knew you’d find us another gig.”

“Can you guys be at my house on Sunday?” Matt asked. “We’ve got to practice. This place is bigger, and I think we should do Will’s song.”

We all looked at each other and nodded our heads.

“Sunday it is,” Chris shouted, as he let out an excited howl.