Rock-And-Roll Eyes

Chapter Eleven

Once again, The Makers Men were on stage. We had found a steady gig at the very same dance hall where Vincent and I had played our first gig with the band. Turns out, the regulars really liked us and requested us back. The patrons were slowly getting younger and we appealed to that audience.

I sat in the back on the drums. Oscar had realized that nearly every single song needed drums, but not piano. Those that needed piano could be short a guitar, so one of the boys played when necessary. I was left to be the designated drum player. We played several songs, all leading up to what Oscar called 'The Finale'.

We finished a cover of Elvis' Heartbreak Hotel, which I thought to be the end of the show. Sweat completely drenched me as well as my bandmates. Droplets of sweat hit the ground, forming tiny puddles just big enough for fleas to have a bath. Oscar seemed to be the sweatiest, which wasn't surprising, he put the most emotion into his playing.

Benedict and I both thought the show was over, but that proved to be wrong. Just as we were preparing to leave the stage, Vincent pushed me back onto the seat and grabbed Benedict's shoulder.

"One more," he said.

I lifted an eyebrow. Benedict, glancing at me, was just as confused. Vincent winked at us before stepping closer to the front of the stage. Oscar handed him a piece of paper.

"This next song is dedicated to the two blokes that wrote it," Oscar turned and winked at Benedict and me.

Both of us were completely confused. Benedict took a step closer to me and lifted an eyebrow, asking if I knew anything. I shrugged. Neither of us had the music for this song. Turns out, we didn't need it.

"The birds are singing, maybe weeping," Oscar and Vincent began to harmonize.

I audibly gasped. That was our song, they were playing our song! Benedict and I had written it, and they played it! I expected Oscar to dismiss it, but no, he surprised us.

Benedict laughed out loud and began to strum his guitar. I followed suit on the drums, playing the memorized song with the ease of practice. For the first time, I heard the song I had helped write played by a full band. Each chord was perfect, and each lyric came out beautifully. By the time we had finished, my smile was bigger than my face.

It was one thing to write a song, but it was something completely different to hear it being played live. The harmony made the song sound even better. Oscar and Vincent sang it perfectly, glancing back at Benedict and I every so often.

The crowd clapped as soon as we finished. We all stood, bowed, and left. On the way out, Benedict elbowed me playfully, "We wrote a song."

"We wrote and played a song," I corrected giddily.

Oscar and Vincent both smiled at us. We went into the back room, all of us smiling brightly. All of us except for Jack Clint. He looked upset, neither angry nor sad, just upset. Somewhere in between them, or on either side.

"That show was bloody amazing!" Vincent exclaimed.

I smiled, "You think every show is bloody amazing."

"They all are!"

"Don't get your knickers in a bunch," Oscar chuckled, "It doesn't do one good to get so excited."

"Who said?"

Nobody had noticed Jack sulking in the corner. I happened to glance back at him, and I saw the deciding look on his face. His eyebrows were knitted and his jaw was set. Inside, his brain was working at a thousand Milo per hour. He had a decision to make, it was by no means an easy one.