I’m so excited to be here! I won a random concert ticket. It was going to have bands of all genres. Rap, pop, techno, country, etc.
But I felt strange without my gang. Micah, my oldest son at eight years old. Stephen at six years. And Sarah at four years. Also my husband, he’s my rock. But surprisingly this outing was encouraged by my husband the most. He said that I deserved a breather. But here I am; getting a breather and feeling alone.
The music playing has a nice rhythm; I just have no idea what they are saying; I just sway along with the large crowd surrounding the stage.
But now the ear plugs are needed. The music started blasting. The subs were making my ears throb. Then I heard it. The unnecessary language; that most artists fill their songs with. Definitely not my scene. I weaved through the crowd to find some silence. My ears are throbbing more from the music, than from my kids.
I just wanted to get away from the language. I wanted a breather from that whole scene. I followed the path before me. It was beautiful; cobblestone path lined with all the flowers. My daughter Sarah would have loved this. Oh how I miss her.
The path arched up as a bridge over a pool. But the bridge was wide enough, and there were benches on one side. It was quiet here. Peaceful. The breeze was warm too; I think this is where I should be. I took up residence on a bench overlooking the pool. I could see for miles. Green grass, purple hills, vibrant skies. There was a guitar playing in the distance. That was what was missing, music. This breather was more my speed.
The ambiance was perfect. I brought out my notepad. I’ve always carried it with me, hoping for a chance to jot down some song lyrics, but life happened and my kids now keep me busy. It’s been almost twenty years since the last time I tried this.
“They say we have patience. They say we are always calm.”
“They say I’m perfect. They say I’m kind. They say I’m a great mom.”
“But I don’t feel like it. I have barely any, and if I do, it fizzles gone.”
“Perfection should never be my description.”
“I am kind, but maybe too kind. They seem to walk all over me. I don’t feel like a good mom.”
Of course my lyrics sounds like a poem instead. It’s been too long. This song is probably too negative. It’s honest though. The last chorus would probably shift.
“I don’t feel it but it’s okay. I must be doing something right, because my days always end in hugs and loves.”
“I’m their mama. Not perfect, but the right one. Instead of perfect mama, call me wild mama, loud mama, crazy mama, loving mama. I’m everything rolled into one.”
“Look at that! A more realistic mama song. Truthful,” I murmur to myself.
A shadow came up behind me. I panicked, wondering if I’m somewhere I’m not supposed to be. Turning to see a cowboy dressed man. I gather up my notepad and purse, apologizing, and I begin to head back down the bridge.
“Hold on a second, miss.”
I paused and looked back at the cowboy before me. He was maybe in his late fifties. I could see the gray hair under the brim of his hat. He looked harmless, I still was wary just in case.
“Why are you all the way over here. The concert is still going on. Did you get lost or something?”
I relaxed a little. I hadn’t gone somewhere off limits. I was worried I would get in trouble, here without my husband to back me up. “No. I’m good. I just needed a break from the last artist. Rap is really not in my wheelhouse. I’m probably going to just head out. I don’t know if my ears can take anymore thumping.”
“I agree with you. I’m not a huge fan of the rap music either. I like the more classic rock or country. If you can’t tell from my wardrobe,” he gestured to his clothes, “But I think you should stay for the last artist. It’s going to be country music. I think you will like it better.”
Country. I do like country. And I should take advantage of this concert. I didn’t know if I would ever be doing this again “okay. I’ll go to the last artist’s show. I should enjoy my last bit of freedom before heading back to the loving chaos. Thank you,” I stretched my hand out to the cowboy.
He accepted. As I turned to leave, “Excuse me miss, but can I have what you were writing before all this.”
I didn’t hesitate and I handed it to him. Instead of having my song/poem be buried back into my notebook in my purse, I passed it on. Maybe it could be inspiration for someone. I turned away again and waved over my head. I felt rejuvenated and ready for one more band.
The music began, and it did have a great rhythm. Some songs I recognized and sang along too. The best part was the new songs , that I had never heard. They were clean, good message, and no language. I jotted down some of the song titles, so that I could add them to my playlist, appropriate for little ears. But suddenly the cowboy man stepped out onto the stage. He was an artist!! How did I not realize.
“Could the woman who met me just moments ago, please make her way to the front of the stage.”
‘That was me!?!’ I began to weave through the bodies surrounding me. I could feel the stares but I kept walking forward.
“This woman gave me inspiration. She and I wrote a song together. She has potential, but I changed it up some. Because of one of her comments on the song sheet read: ‘Needs to be peppy to be country song hit.’ So true. The hits are always more upbeat. Hope you enjoy it, “Honest Mom.”
He did change it. But he left the first chorus almost the same. Just made words rhyme and flow better. But he added in lines like “her eyes sparkle when she talks about her babies.” And “Her husband is a lucky man.” Also, “Admist the quiet peace, she wrote this song to fill the void.”
He was good. I felt so proud. That a song I had scribbled down was actually used. The song ended and the audience erupted with clapping and hollering of approval. Someone from his crew came up to me and got my info. I gave it, but I was still so memorized that people enjoyed it.
…
Weeks later I got a check in the mail for $250K for co-writing a song with Henry Brown. Obviously now one of my favorite artists.
I couldn’t believe what had happened that day. Henry Brown changed my life that day. I completed something. One dream; even if I wasn’t the one singing on stage; I was up there too.
The End
05-25-22
emily2jane 