The dB’s, long ago

by admin

Stand­ing on the left side of the Ritz, away from the stage, loosely attached to every­thing around me, a lit­tle drunk, wan­der­ing in my mind.  The wall vibrates, the heavy bass thump run­ning up my spine, giv­ing me the sen­sa­tion of mov­ing inches with every down beat.  But I’m sta­ble, I’m rooted.  I’m sad, you know.  That I can say, then, just sad and con­fused.  The incli­na­tion was to be upbeat and pos­i­tive, and all the infor­ma­tion around me was con­torted and confused.  

That sounds like an exag­ger­a­tion, doesn’t it.  It’s not.  But it’s really hard to gab the nuance and keep the sense of urgency.
Hol­sap­ple is at the mic.  Throaty, raw, hair flop­ping, call­ing out:  Dan went home and killed him­self last night.  She’d taken everything.
And now, the years have passed, and life has gained it’s lit­tle rewards.  The voice has deep­ened, soft­ened:  She was the one.  How could I tell?  I took a guess and she did the rest.…
Right.  That was my life too.  The arc, the con­clu­sion, the place, the feeling.
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