WAGON WHEEL→ A. MATTHEWS

Stevie

Raleigh, North Carolina.
18 February

Saturday nights were always my favorite. The music was always the loudest, drinks the strongest, and people the friendliest. Beads of sweat already dripped from my forehead as I quickly wiped them off my face and onto the sleeve of my jacket; the lights from the front of the bar almost blinding me before my eyes quickly adjusted themselves.

"How're y'all doing tonight?" I asked as I took the microphone off the stand, a smile dawning onto my face. The cheers adjourning from the crowd proved I was a regular performer there.

"Since we're coming off a fantastic Valentine's Day, tonight we're taking it a bit slower than usual, so be with me folks." I stated, laughing as the sigh response from the crowd. "But first— but first, I'll start with something I know Mr. Greenwich can get into."

Mr. Greenwich was the owner and founder of the small Greenwich bar tucked away in a corner of Raleigh, North Carolina. He also had lived next door to my family for twenty-odd years and somehow found out I had a set of lungs on me. Problem was I was only eighteen when he first offered me the weekend job of singing at the bar, unless another band was visiting for a gig, which only happened once in a blue moon.

If you're not familiar with American law, eighteen-year-olds can only work until two in morning in bars, at least in Raleigh. Mr. Greenwich wanted a band who at least stayed until the biggest crowd cleared out, which was around three or four in the morning.

Since he didn't want to get into trouble with the law, he helped formed a new alias under the name Jamie Greenwich, the 21-year-old daughter of the owner of Greenwich, Nicholas Greenwich. I don't know where the fake papers and IDs came from and I didn't dare question it. Therefore, many of the regulars at the bar knew me as Jamie, and running into them randomly on the streets proved a very awkward situation for me.

The beginning cords of Take It Easy by the Eagles rang out from the guitarist behind me and I relaxed as I began singing along with the music. I danced around the stage, really putting on the whole 'Jamie Greenwich' act. It was hilariously comparable to that old Hannah Montana T.V. show that aired back when I was in grade school.

At the end of the song, we immediately transitioned into Only The Good Die Young by Billy Joel, one of the only faster tunes that'd be on the set list for tonight.

I took a sip of water while my band mates hurried to tune their guitars for the next song they'd be playing, which was Maybe I'm Amazed by Wings, a personal favorite of mine to sing. In attempts to engage the audience, I made small talk with them, encouraging couples to come down to the make shift dance floor right in front of the small wooden stage.

Around that time, a large group of guys, all probably my age or at least somewhere around it, came into the bar, causing a sudden shift in nerves. Butterflies quickly found their way into my stomach at the sight of them, for no good reason other than the general population at the bar were older people. Only sometimes would young, drunk stragglers come in after a night of parties from the nearby colleges.

The song started and I was determined to be on my A-Game for the remainder of the night. Something  behind the childish psychology of wanting to impress your peers kicked me into overdrive.

I started the song and the night kept going, the band and I running down the set list just as planned. I held my head a little higher and sang a little louder.

Around mid-way through the set, I announced I was taking a short break and would let the guitarist, Nate, take over for a few minutes while I went to grab something to drink. I hopped off of the stage and made my way to the bar, where Mr. Greenwich was finishing up the large order of drinks and snacks, presumably for the group of boys who walked in earlier.

"You're doing great tonight, Stevie. Best I've heard outta you yet." He nodded, filling another empty glass with beer from the nozzle.

"Really?" I asked, wiping sweat from my brow once again and taking a large gulp of water.

He nodded, "Mhm. You're really in your element tonight. When you go back up, do me a favor and sing that song—"

I stared blankly at him for a few moments as he fumbled with his words, until he finally spit it out.

"Wagon Wheel, the one by that Old Crowe Medicine band or whatever their name is. It'll be a good last song tonight."

I shrugged at his request, "We can do that. We practiced it a few days ago."

"Good, I'm glad. It was my wife and I's song, y'know— she loved it." He replied, sighing through his words.

Mrs. Greenwich had died a few years after I was born, of ovarian cancer. I was four or five when it happened; I had vague memories of her babysitting me when my parents would go out on a date night.

"Oh, and, Stevie? Another favor, take over this tray of drinks to table thirteen over there, would you?"

"Yessir, you got it."

I steadied the tray in my hands and carefully walked over to the table of boys before sliding the tray down in front of them.

"I hope y'all are enjoying your night, just call us over if you need anything." I said as I cracked a smile and almost started to walk back to the stage, before one of them spoke up.

"Hey, you're the singer chick, aren't you?" One of them asked, pointing towards the stage.

"Mhm, that's me." I replied with a nod.

The same boy started clapping, "You're absolutely fantastic! Are you, like, famous or something?"

I laughed at the complement, "No, no, nothing like that. I'm just a student out at University of North Carolina."

"Oh, yeah? What are you studying?"

"I'm a journalism and public relations student. I'm on their hockey team." I replied, nodding.

"That's great, we're all—"

I cut him off before he could finish. "Hey, I'd love to stay and chat, but I really gotta get back up to the stage. Maybe if you're around after the next few songs I'll have more time to talk, if not, I'll catch y'all later!"

I started off towards the stage with a wave before he could even squeeze in a response, hoping and praying I wouldn't get my ass chewed out for being gone longer than the designated five-minute-break.

To my disappointment, the boys left shortly after they finished their drinks. I never got to go back and talk with them.