If I close my eyes right now, I fade into some dark corner of a basement restaurant. A dimly lit stage is across the room, and Ella Fitzgerald is reincarnated on it. Janis Joplin is warming up to come on next, and the members of Yellowcard are patiently waiting their turn. With my head resting against the unfinished cement wall behind me, I can relax. My napkins are soaking with ink; my Coca-Cola sweats on the wooden table. The music touches my soul. There is no inside because there is no outside; nothing exists beyond the hazy light of the single room. My world is made of carbonated beverages, cheap cocktail napkins, black ball-point pens, mismatching stage lights, a side of fries, and music.
A crash in the art studio upstairs ruins the effect. Hammers on frames drone out the silence that was once brushes on canvas. The class next door lets out, and every sorority gossip decides to sit outside the Writing Lab door. I glare at the big blue slab of metal and will it to literally growl at anyone who thinks they need writing help this afternoon. I should put up a sign reading “Out for Lunch” or maybe one that says, “Don’t bother. You won’t pass anyway.”I need the music, not the money. I crank up my iPod, turn the computer speakers up a little higher, and drown out the ruckus upstairs.
The crowd snaps appreciatively as Janis kicks butt on stage. My Coca-Cola tastes more like lukewarm Zephyr Hills. I go back to writing on my napkins that feel strangely like computer keys. Oh well. At least I’ve got the music.
2 comments
John says:
February 26, 2007 at 9:21 pm (UTC -5)
Sounds kinda familiar.
JTF
Mike says:
March 18, 2007 at 11:56 am (UTC -5)
Tori had it posted on one of her other sites. I think it was http://www.blue-stockings.com