2005-03-07 - 10:55 a.m.

What a beautiful way to end an era.

Friday morning came and I felt like it was Christmas. I'd slept restlessly the night before like a kid who knows the gifts will be there in the morning...how can I sleep, knowing all those beautiful shiny things are just hours from appearing...

The day was underway before the third round of my alarm clock went off. Usually a habitual snooze slapper, I was out of the shower and dressing for the day a good half-hour ahead of schedule. I had that queasiness in my stomach... not food-poisoning queasiness, more like first big hill of a rollercoaster queasiness. Days shy of 24 and still capable of feeling like a 5 year-old.

I'm not even sure I went to work. I could have just as easily manufacatured the interactions with co-workers, invented the emails and then replied to them, etc...

If not for crosswalks and stop signs, I no doubt would have been the hood ornament for any muber of cars that day. I floated across streets, up stairwells, through hallways. My mouth moved, words came out, my brain made no effort to record any of the information being passed back and forth.

The work day ended early, checked my watch, 2pm, diving out the 4th floor window instead of taking the stairs, I was in the parking lot by 2:01. Exile on Main Street trying its best to contend with the noise of an overexcited frontal lobe, the radio blasting, the windows down letting a perfect 66 degree day warm arms and face.

Stephen arrived home a few minutes after me, and like an atom gathering electrons we fused into a new element. It was obvious Stephen was wrestling with the excitment, the adrenaline leaking out of our pores as we fired up the van. The strong smell of ether causing our brains to malfunction, setting back our internal clocks from 24 years old to 19-20ish. A stop off at Tropical Liquors to procure frozen libatons and like a shiny pinball we're careening down the narrow campus alleys, windows down, terrific 80's cock-rock blasting.

For an hour or so we drove. Our arms getting nice and tan as they hung out the windows of that old dirty van. The Silver Bullet pleasing my brain with the warm tickle of alcohol. Not drunk, just buzzed to that point where you have complete control of your facilites, but you don't feel compelled to exercise that control. That tipsyness where you analyze every song on the radio, contemplate life lessons, stretch as far back as you can to grasp those childhood thoughts that make the world a much simpler, sunnier place.

We got to the venue somewhere after 3 and before 5pm. The pieces of the puzzle were spilled out of the van and placed haphazardly in front of the stage. Scratching our heads momentarily, trying not to give into the comforting siren song of drunkeness, we began the process of assembling keybaords and bass amps and drums and monitors and etc...

As if on cue, Richard the engineer shows up and like he's done so many times, he lays down a steady and driving beat for us to work to. The atom gathers another electron, a nice stable and dependable one to balance out the two excitable electrons spinning a little too fast...

The set-up begins to take shape, the framework coming together piece by piece. Another trip to Trop's to reawaken that warm feeling and then its almost time for the show. By now the excitment of our atomic nucleus is certainly contagious and more and more particles are being drawn into it. Neil shows up, then Pat, then Josh...

We dart home to change clothes. I'm matching a baby blue skinny tie to an navyblue pinstripe sportscoat. Blue jeans to off-set the whole outfit. I love this look. Everythng is in place.

Back at the venue and the crowd is filing in, one after another, paying their $6 to stand in a smoky room and enjoy cold(?) beer and the slurred conversation of fellow un-winders.

My parents are there, and my mind is dangerously close to overload as I try to mingle with friends, relate months of news to the parents, discuss work issues with the boss, etc... I'm carrying a ladder to aim an errant spotlight, grabbing beers for bandmates, mentally commanding my forehead not to produce sweat, a feat that almost works. Almost.

The opening band creates a nice bluesy backdrop as the guitar chunk-chunks through riff after tiff. It's nothing special, it's perfect for the equation. People mingle, the crowd swells and the anticipation is almost unbearable. My fellow particles have come together and the element is complete. It's a completely new atomic structure, scientists do their best to put a name to it. It looks like the Taxmen, but there's more to it this time. There's a light-heartedness, a love, a something more that makes it special...

The opening bands takes a bow and hands are shook, beers are hurridely downed, the liquid still glistening on lips as we scramble to the stage, anxious to strike our respective instruments. The humming of amps being switched on is like a therapuetic massage to the center of my brain. Like actors in a play, we slide into the comfortable clothes of our characters. 9-5 jobs, faltering love-lifes, health issues, general malaise...it's all shoved into a dusty corner of our minds. For the next hour and a half we will be Gods. We will transcend our mortal shells, bursting out of our own skin to shine like a Supernova.

Neil gives me a 4-click with his sticks and I turn the key in the band's engine. Bass notes pounding, a beautiful e7 chord to set the whole thing in motion. I feel hundreds of pairs of eyes suddenly shift from each other to stare in one direction. A split second before the rest of the band jumps in, I take a mental photgraph.

Everything is in super slow motion. My hands are strained, poised like talons above scrambling prey. They refuse to hit wrong notes, they are almost mechanical. Neil's sticks are inches away from the snare, the muscles in his forearm squeezed impoossibly tight. Josh is the epitome of the musician's musician. He looks completely at ease, lost in his own world, a world where mind-numbing solos of incalcuable diffciulty are man-handled as he dips into a palaette of disorder and paints a masterpiece without breaking a sweat. Richard is milliseconds from delivering the songs first syllable, his bass slung comfortably over his shoulder. His musicality genius is like a nice warm blanket for the rest of us. We know he will produce absolute brillance and that in turn allows us all to reach a little higher...try a little harder...the fear of failure much less when we have his talent to fall back on.

I look all the way across the stage and see Steve litterally shedding his skin. Kicking down mental barriers, throwing a imaginary middle finger into the air, telling work, relationship woes, etc to "fuck-off" for an hour and a half. The smile on his face is set at a dangerous angle spreading from ear to ear. He looks frenzied enough to kill, and it makes my heart beat even faster.

The potential energy on the stage rivals a semi-truck barreling down a mountain out of control. Time and space beg me to release my hold on the moment before we tear a black hole in the fabric of reality. I'm holding that moment as long as I can, the room is starting to vibrate, my eyeballs feel like their going to be sucked clean out of my head.

And then I let it all go. The vacumn of sound is instantly filled with a loud bang as the bars slam over our laps and the ride is underway. Hands hanging out of the cars, we ascend and descend hill after hill. The machine is working at 100% efficiency. The songs are fast, messy when needed, sharp and crisp when they have to be.

Mid-way I stop the show. I give thanks to my parents who are clebrating their 25th anniversary. I'm 6 years old and my voice is squeaky as I tell them I love them very much. The champagne is brought out and like an elixir, it sucks the gray out of my dad's hair, it pulls back the wrinkles from my mother's forehead. I watch in complete awe as the entire room raises their glasses in tribute. They don't know my parents, don't know the sacrifices, the hardships, the pain they endured to make 25 years work. They don't know the infinite amount of love and appreciation I'm feeling...but they do me the honor of trying. Every glass in the room is levitating and I am loving my parents with every ounce of my body. The shots on stage are slammed, the liquor curses through our veins and we're right back to business.

The final two songs pull into view and we pack the stage with all of our friends. Old bandmates fill the stage now, a virtual Who's Who of the Columbia music scene from years ago. We're all 19-21 again and the feeling of joy on the stage is unreal. 6 guitars across the front of the stage. I'm strumming away, my fingers have begun to bleed but my brain mistakes the pain as happiness and I strum harder. I feel like I was born with a gutiar attached to my arm, it's a totally natural, totally comforting feeling. The crowd is dancing out of control, the room is shaking, and our element is swelling.

The show ends and hundreds of hands applaude. 9 young men, entangled in hugs and high-fives come together on the stage to congratulate each other and give thanks. It's the best kind of ending, a warm one comprised of grins and wordless affirmations. It's like finding out the religion you held stock in all your life was the right one and the kingdom is yours to inherit.

In a few minutes, the crowd will forget us and go back to their drinking and romancing. But for now, we are heroes. I will be unable to get equipment packed up thanks to the unyielding stream of people who congratulate me. Palm after palm will smack my back or shake my hand and the smiles will all be genunie, the congratulations all heart felt and true.

This moment is mine forever. My friends will share this space in my mind until they shake my ashes into the wind.

I am the fortunate one.

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