MidReal Story
band performing in a small pub
Scenario: band performing in a small pub
Create my version of this story
The smell of stale beer and sweat hangs heavy in the air, but I don’t care.
I take a deep breath, trying to ignore it, but it clings to my throat, making me gag.
I swallow, blinking rapidly to keep my eyes from watering.
We’re on stage.
We’re playing another gig.
And no one gives a fuck.
I glance around the room, hoping to see some sign of life in the crowd, but I don’t.
It’s the same as always: a bunch of people who came for the cheap drinks, not the entertainment.
Not us and the songs we’re playing.
The songs we love, that we’ve worked so hard to get just right.
More importantly, the songs that we’ve worked so hard for other people to hear.
My heart sinks as I watch a group of middle-aged businessmen walk in through the door and head straight for the bar.
They don’t even glance at us, and they certainly don’t care that they’re missing out on one hell of a performance.
I shake my head, determined not to let their indifference break me.
Not this time.
But it gets harder and harder with each song we play, each chord Alex shreds on his guitar, each beat Lily hits on her drums.
And me?
All I can do is stand here and sing my heart out, hoping for someone—anyone—to care even half as much as I do.
But they never do, so why should tonight be any different?
My feet start to ache in my killer heels, and I wish more than anything that I were wearing sneakers instead, even though they wouldn’t look nearly as good with my tight leather pants and crop top.
The thought makes me smile, but it fades quickly when I catch sight of him at the bar in the corner of the room.
My ex-boyfriend is back from his business trip.
He’s here, and he’s watching us play, and I’m not even a little bit surprised when I realize I don’t care.
I mean, I did.
I used to, before.
But now?
Now I can barely even remember what it was like to be with him, to feel his hands all over me, to kiss him until I could barely breathe.
Those memories are starting to blur, and I can almost pretend they never existed.
We finish our song, and I glance at Alex.
He gives a small smile before turning on his heel and walking back over to his microphone.
“Oh, come on!”
a voice from the bar yells.
“Play something good!”
I roll my eyes and turn back to the crowd—such as it is—as Alex starts to strum another chord.
“Ignore him,” Alex says into his microphone before cutting off his amplifier.
“He’s just bitter because his wife won’t fuck him anymore.”
Some of the people in the crowd laugh, while others ignore him completely.
"where is Toby?"
“Who cares?”
I mutter under my breath as Alex gives me a quick wink before we launch into another song, and I start to sing, putting everything I have into it.
Every last bit of passion, of energy, of love for what we’re doing.
Not that anyone notices.
Because they don’t.
They still don’t.
But I do, and that has to be enough… right?
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost don’t notice when a man at the front of the bar pulls out his phone and starts recording us on stage.
I can tell it’s a phone because it’s small and sleek, and it’s so close that I can see his screen and know for sure that he’s not just taking pictures.
My blood starts to boil, but I force myself to keep smiling, to keep singing, as Alex shoots me a quick look from across the stage.
He nods his head at the guy, and I shake mine back, even though I want nothing more than to run up to him and snatch that damn phone right out of his hands.
Alex catches my eye again and holds up two fingers, mouthing, “Two more songs?”
I nod, and he smiles before he starts to play again.
But the guy doesn’t stop.
He just keeps on recording, and my head starts to pound as I fight to keep singing, to keep pretending that everything is fine, that it doesn’t bother me at all.
But it does, and Alex can tell, and he glares at the man before he raises his hand and points down at him.
A few people in the bar look up, and the man does, too, but he doesn’t put his phone away.
Instead, a slow smile spreads across his face, and he raises his beer in a mock salute before he takes another sip.
Alex scowls and turns off his amplifier.
“Hey!”
the man yells from the front of the crowd.
“What the hell?”
“No recording,” Alex says, his voice cold.
We’ve been over this a million times before: the pub has a strict no-recording policy because they don’t want anyone stealing our music or our act.
The man keeps on recording, and by now, almost everyone in the bar has turned to watch us, including Lily.
She gives me a quick nod and starts to play faster, which is my cue to do the same, so I do.
I press my lips together and sing louder, even though all I really want to do is scream at this guy until he gives up and puts his damn phone away.
But I don’t, because that wouldn’t be professional.
Instead, I just keep singing and playing, and I can feel my throat start to ache as we finish the song and Alex walks off stage without even waving goodbye.
Lily gives me a quick look before she follows him, and I take a deep breath before I turn to wave at the crowd and quickly walk away from the microphone in the hopes that no one will notice that I’m almost in tears.
I’m not, but my eyes are definitely starting to sting, so I blink rapidly as I grab my water before heading outside for some fresh air.
The night is hot and sticky, and my heart is pounding as I try to catch my breath while I stand on the sidewalk with my eyes closed, listening to the sound of the music coming from inside and trying not to think about anything at all.
I’m on stage again, and everything else has faded away—the people who are talking too loud or not paying attention or making fun of us, the man at the bar who won’t stop recording or my ex-boyfriend who took up too much of my time—and all that’s left is the music and my voice and my heart.
It’s pounding so hard that I can feel it in my ears as I start to sing again, and this time when I open my eyes, I see that he’s watching me, his eyes dark and hungry as he looks at me like he can barely stand it.
Like he has to touch me or kiss me or take me up against the nearest wall right now or else he’s going to explode.
And then he stops looking at me, and I stop looking at him, and I wonder what happened between us—what went wrong—because something definitely did.
But it doesn’t matter, because he’s here again, and he’s watching, and my eyes start to sting as I look away and try to concentrate on the song and the lyrics and the melody.
I pour myself into them, hoping that they’ll take me somewhere else, somewhere far away from here and now and him, that they’ll take me somewhere where someone cares about what I have to say and what I have to give, even if it’s just for a few minutes, even if it’s just a little bit of my heart.
And then Alex starts playing his guitar solo, and his fingers fly across the neck of his guitar, and he loses himself, too, and for one brief moment, it’s like we’re connected by the music in a way that we’re not connected anywhere else.
The way we used to be when we were little kids and we’d make up songs about our lives or our friends or our families or anything at all, really, and we’d sing them for hours as we jumped on his bed with my hairbrush microphone and pretended that we were stars.
Stars who were going to be famous someday and take the world by storm with our amazing songs and our incredible voices and our incredible selves.
Stars who were going to shine so bright that no one was ever going to be able to stop us or slow us down because we were unstoppable and unbreakable and unbeatable.
But maybe we’re not.
Maybe we’re just kids who are still playing pretend with our little rock band and our little dreams and our little songs that we hope are going to change everything even though they probably won’t.
I go grab another drink from the bar
and try not to think about anything at all as I listen to the sound of the music coming from inside and try not to think about how hot and sticky and crowded it is in here or how loud the people are or how dark and smelly or how much I’d rather be somewhere else or how much I don’t want to be here at all.
I don’t want to think about how many more gigs like this we’re going to have or how many more songs we’re going to have to learn or how many more months or years it’s going to be before we finally make it or break up or give up or get real jobs.
I don’t want to think about any of that.
I don’t want to think about anything.
I don’t want to think.
I don’t want.
I don’t.
I feel a wave of discomfort as my eyes flicker open and then closed again when I see him watching me again as he holds his phone in front of his face and films me as he leans against the bar and takes a sip of his drink as if he’s not doing anything wrong as if he has a right.
As if he has a right, even though he doesn’t, because he doesn’t know me anymore and he definitely doesn’t know my heart, and this is not okay with me.
This is not fine with me.
This is not cool with me.
This is not nice with me, and I try not to look at him again so that he won’t look at me, either, because this is my song and my stage and my show, and this is my heart and my soul and my dreams that I’m giving away right now, and this is my life that you’re recording right now, and this is my heart that you’re keeping right now, and this is not what I want at all.
This is not what I ever wanted at all.
This is not what I signed up for at all.
So please, please stop recording right now, before I lose it completely.
I sing the final notes of the final verse, and then the band kicks in, and we’re off again, riding the wave of the chorus, and this time, the crowd comes with us, too, as they start to sing along with me, their voices filling the room and drowning out the sound of everything else, even the man at the bar who’s still recording or my ex-boyfriend who’s stopped watching me or caring or my thoughts or my feelings or my heart that’s finally stopped pounding so hard against my ears that I can finally hear myself think.
And then we’re on to the guitar solo, and there’s no more singing for me, but that’s fine, because this is where I can let my hair down and lose myself in the music, as Alex starts to play his guitar with just his fingers at first, teasing out a melody that sounds like it’s made just for me, and then he switches to his pick, strumming a chord that sounds like it’s made for everyone else, too.
And the lights are flashing and the smoke is swirling, and the crowd is swaying in time to Alex’s rhythm, and I can see Lily’s smile from where I am, her eyes fixed on Alex’s fingers as she keeps the beat with her drumsticks, and we’re all lost in a world where there’s no more room for emotions or memories or thoughts or feelings, just music.
Just music, just music, just music.
And so we play on.
The song comes to an end, but not really, because we keep playing anyway, our instruments blending together as a seamless wall of sound that threatens to swallow us whole if we let it, and we do let it, because by now, there’s no more room for anything else but music.
Just music, just music, just music that fills our ears and our minds and our very soul, until there’s nothing left but us.
The song starts to build again, coming up to its climax, just like it should.And then it crashes down again, because that’s how ends are supposed to be.And then there’s nothing left but silence that’s filled with a thousand words unsaid, a thousand emotions unfelt, a thousand memories unmade.
I’m still lost in a world where there’s no more room for anything else but music when Alex turns around to face me at last with a quick smile that’s full of relief and relief that makes me remember all over again why I love being on stage with him.
We play so well together that sometimes, I forget how hard we fight together when we’re off stage.
Lily looks between us with a smile that’s just as big, just as wide, just as bright as Alex’s.
And then she leans over the drums to press a button that makes the lights go dim all around us.
And then she leans over the drums to press a button that makes the fog machine go off all around us.
And then she leans over the drums to press a button that makes the crowd go wild all around us.
And then she leans over the drums to press a button that makes the crowd go wild all around us.
And then she leans over the drums to press a button that makes the crowd go wild all around us.
it's time to head back to the dormitories
I can’t help but smile at the sudden shift, though I try to keep my eyes trained on Alex’s.I can’t help but smile at the sudden shift, though I try to keep my eyes trained on Alex’s.Somehow they keep drifting away from him to steal glances of the crowd instead.
Their interest is a stark contrast from their previous indifference earlier tonight.
The pub we’re playing is small enough that there are barely ten feet between the stage and the closest table—small enough for me to reach out and touch them if I tried.
But the challenge of performing in such close quarters has become one of our appeals.
We’ve played in pubs far more spacious than this one where no one cared whether they heard us or not.
Here we have people leaning forward in their seats and watching us with bright eyes and big smiles.
Their attention focuses on each of us in turn: to me and Alex and Lily and back again.
The way it should be, because this is a band, not just a girl and her guitar player and her drummer.
My eyes lock with Alex’s, and suddenly, he smiles, and it feels like he’s laughing up there on stage with me.
His smile fades before long, but mine doesn’t, because I know that as long as we have each other up there, we can face anyone down here.
It might just be the last few notes of our final song, but it doesn’t matter, because it sounds like heaven anyway.
And then it all explodes into music one last time,
Lily giving us her most infectious grin as she laughs and laughs and laughs over her drums.
She picks up her sticks to start tapping out a rhythm, but then she fumbles in her excitement.
Last night, while I was trying to write all of my thoughts from this week into lyrics, I thought about how nice it would be to finally be able to sing them aloud for someone to hear them.
But now that I’m on stage, I don’t want to sing them anymore.
I don’t want to think about them anymore.
I want to leave them behind me and just be me.
And I can only be me when I’m here.
I can only be me when I’m with this band, with these friends, with these people who are my family, even when I don’t want them to be my family.
They might not be blood, but they’re still family all the same, bound by dreams and music that have seeped into my very soul over years and years of shared memories that we’ve made together, and there are still so many more memories to make.
The song’s building up to its climax once more, just like it should, and I’m not going to think about it anymore, because I’m just going to enjoy it instead.
It’s a song that’s meant for enjoying, after all, and it’s a song that’s meant for dancing, after all, and it’s a song that’s meant for living, after all.
And if you can’t live on stage, then where can you?
at home after a long night
A few minutes later, we finished our set with “Even If We Don’t,” and I was breathing hard as Alex started to play out the last few notes of his guitar solo.
He was blending it into “It’s Our Time” already.
Alex Thompson could do that, he could read Lily’s drumming and my singing and he could adjust his playing on the fly so smoothly that no one would even notice unless they were looking for it.
He was one of the best guitarists I’d ever met.
He was one of the best guitarists in New York City.
And he was only going to get better from here.
When Lily’s drumming lined up with him, he gave us a nod, and we took off into the next song together.
Lily and I were both breathing hard by now as we played out the last few notes of “It’s Our Time” like we were one single person and not three different ones.
That was something that I loved about being on stage.
We were all working together so seamlessly that we sounded like a single piece of music.
We’d been playing together for long enough that we could do that now.
I loved it so much.
I didn’t know how anyone could not love it.
I’d thought that everyone loved it.
A few faces in the crowd had turned to watch us now.
The Rusty Nail wasn’t a great place to play music—it was loud and a little grimy and not at all like you’d expect a music venue to be—but it was still a place to play music.
Maybe they were just glad that our set was over.
We’d played “The Stars Align” four weeks in a row now.
They hadn’t asked us to play anything new yet.
Maybe next week.
Lily was laughing again, but then she stopped when she saw my face.
I hadn’t realized I’d been scowling at her.
She had her drumsticks in hand, and she was still tapping out a rhythm on her drum set even though she’d finished the last song.
She must have been doing it without even realizing it, because it was hard not to tap out a rhythm when you had drumsticks in your hands and a drum set right in front of you and all of your best friends were standing right behind you on stage, and you just wanted to make some noise for the pure joy of making noise, even if it wasn’t any particular rhythm at all.
But then she caught my eye, and she stopped smirking and brought the drumsticks down to her side.
She didn’t say anything, but I mouthed a thank-you at her, and she grinned at me before she slipped behind her drum set once more, this time with a pair of brushes instead of drumsticks.
