Rock and a Hard Place

chapter 5

Peter waited backstage with his brothers. His mind wandered to his afternoon with Libby. He loved the time they spent together at Parfrey’s Glen and hoped she’d be there Saturday. He didn’t know why he felt this way; maybe because she didn’t care who he was.

But, she didn’t realy know who he was either. The thought made him smile. It also might be that Libby was his friend and no one else’s. She had nothing to do with the band, the CD or the tour.

“Helo, earth to Peter.” Garrett interrupted his thoughts. “You want to get your head in the game here?”

“What?” Peter scowled.

“You might want your earpiece.”

Peter reached for his sound pack, and found it absent. “Aw, man. I’l be right back.” He rushed off stage to get it and was met half way by a panicked sound tech who quickly hooked him up.

“You’ve got it bad, man!” Garrett yeled after him. “Real bad!”

Once back in place and ready, Peter waited for their intro.

The crowd in the arena went wild. The combined energy built to epic levels. Garrett waited stage left, guitar in hand. Adam mirrored him on stage right with Peter anchored the center. His blood rushed in anticipation as their moment grew near. God he loved this.

The music built in a huge crescendo, spotlights roamed the arena and fog roled onto the stage. The trio of brothers nodded to each other, in sync and ready to rock. Garrett went first, a spotlight iluminated him; he hit the opening chord on his bass guitar and the crowd cheered. Moments later Adam appeared, guitar in hand. His young grin sent the audience into a frenzy as he joined Garrett in musical power. Finaly Peter stepped into the lights and the crowd went balistic.

Peter loved this part of the night. After a long afternoon of rehearsal, sound checks, and final warm ups, it was time for the payoff. This was nirvana. He gave his signature welcome to the audience nodding in several directions, each time eliciting more cheers. He stepped up to his mic stand and held it in anticipation.

His body pulsed to the beat as he waited for his entrance. He gazed out over the vast crowd, filed with confidence and power.

The audience rocked to the music. Eager and excited, they became putty in his hands. The moment came. The guitars hit his key, the drum and cymbals crashed and the lights exploded in color.

In that same instant, Peter swung the mic stand and nailed his opening note, his body taut with strength and energy. His pure voice rose above the instruments; his lyrics hit the back wal. He owned the stage. Al eyes were on him. The night was young and he was ready to rock.

Song after song the three moved with a synchronicity only possible between blood brothers. They worked off each other’s signals, and moved from individual highlights and solos to unison movement. At times they delivered their carefuly crafted harmonies, singing together at one mic, their heads inches apart. They exchanged silent communication. When they were on stage, they displayed complete and utter harmony of movement, thought and talent. They hummed with energy.

While Garrett and Adam awed with their expert guitar stylings, Peter ramped things up with smoking stage moves and vocals. He entertained the audience with his high energy. He leapt off side stages, performed mic tricks, spins and slides. His stage performance mesmerized the crowd.

Perspiration glistened over his body. His mop of hair dripped with sweat. He whipped it to the side as he belted each note. He left every ounce of energy on stage, he held nothing back and the audience knew it. Peter peered out over the thousands of fans and watched as the lights iluminated different areas of the audience, revealing the enormous mass of humanity that the three brothers, Jamieson, held in a spel. The experience of sharing the personal music he created, never failed to intoxicate him.



# # #

Libby slunk low in her folding chair and buried her head in a copy of “The Great Gatsby”. What a dumb story. Why was it considered a classic? At least the book helped her appear a little less obvious as she sold tickets among the riotous noise of the commons area.

True to her word, Miss Orman expected her to sel bus tickets to the away footbal game that night. Some cheerleader should be stuck at the table, not her. Footbal sucked.

Nearby, the lunch ladies served up cardboard tasting pizza and watered down turkey soup. For the granola heads, limp lettuce awaited.

She’d sold a dozen or so tickets, but most of the students ignored her. Libby became invisible to them months earlier. Of course, she didn’t help the situation any by ever trying to fit in.

When she started school in Rockvile, her heart overflowed with grief and thoughts of the family she lost. Her withdrawn personality mistakenly convinced the kids she was emo, but even the emo kids found her eerily withdrawn. Libby’s only problem, she suffered grief. But everything changed the day Peter walked into her life.

Now al she could concentrate on was him and how unbelievable it was that he actualy wanted to see her again.

Since checking Peter out on the internet, she thought of nothing else. When they talked at Parfrey’s Glen, she thought he exaggerated the popularity of their band. In reality, he’d understated it.

She couldn’t imagine why he wanted to see her again on Saturday, but she wasn’t going to second guess his sanity. She could barely wait to lay eyes on him again and make sure she didn’t dream the whole thing up. The hours crept by so slowly, she wanted to scream. If only she could figure out a way to get his CD, then she could hear his voice and pretend he was near. She needed a connection to him, some way to get a little closer. But she had no money and no way to go to a store outside of school hours to buy it.

Aunt Marge insisted she spend al her time studying or at Parfrey’s Glen for the fresh air. She was paranoid Libby might do something remotely normal like get a job, have friends over, or god forbid have a date. Libby suspected her aunt possessed other motives, but it never bothered her until now. She was used to it.

Libby never questioned authority, she always gave in. She didn’t even care about not having a drivers license. It wasn’t worth the hassle.

A group of freshman girls walked up and bought tickets. They didn’t make any snide comments. They probably didn’t know her background.

“Thanks,” their chirpy little voices said.

“Yup,” Libby mumbled as they walked away.

Libby picked up the crinkled bils and smoothed them. Out of boredom she arranged them in the same direction. As she flipped the bils around, it dawned on her she held enough money to buy Peter’s CD. Her heart stopped for just a moment as she contemplated the thought.

Stealing is wrong.

She placed the bils in the metal cash box and closed it. She would not do it. She’d find another way.

Her determination wavered. The money would solve her problem so fast. No one would miss a few dolars. In the grand scheme of things seventeen dolars was nothing.

Never in her life had Libby taken anything from anyone, but this was different. Her aunt only gave her enough money for lunch, nothing more. If Libby needed clothing, her aunt drove her to the thrift store to pick out a couple items. It humiliated Libby to buy other people’s castoffs, but she couldn’t get a job and she didn’t have access to money. Now that she thought about it, she realized how much Aunt Marge controled her life and she didn’t like the taste of it.

The only way she could get Peter’s CD was to be creative.

Taking this money qualified.

She peered around the crowded commons area. No one seemed to notice her, or the tempting cash box. She chewed on her lip and tapped her toe against the table leg. After a minute or so, she reached forward and opened the lid. Her pulse raced. She grabbed a couple five dolar bils and a handful of ones.

She puled her hand out, folded the bils over a couple times and slid them into her back pocket. She kept her head down. If she didn’t look at anyone, they wouldn’t look at her. She sat rocking her foot back and forth counting the final minutes until the bel. At last it rang and her ticket-seling session ended.

Libby grabbed her books and the cash box and walked to the front office. She was unaware of the eyes that folowed her.

The old secretary resembled a fossil. She took the box from Libby. “Thank you, dear.”

Libby nodded and left, her head held low in shame. The stolen money burned in her back pocket like a hot coal.

Without hesitating, she went straight to her locker, stuffed her books inside and grabbed her coat. She swalowed down her guilt.

She would not let her rule abiding conscious get in the way. As the remaining students straggled to their next class, Libby strode out the school doors.