HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIKEA!!!
In the tradition of ALL my other birthday gifts (and the ones I have STARTED and never FINISHED.. there are many.. many many many), here's yours *G*
The sweat was dripping off his brow and every other part of his body as he waved one last time and took his leave off the stage. He looked back at the screaming crowd and shook his head.
“Sorry folks, 5 encores are my limit” he thought. Still they’d take all he could give. You’d think after 30 years on the rock circuit things would have calmed down, but still the band seemed to grow more and more popular day by day and his own popularity was never higher and seemed to have no limit. He was an oddity. There weren’t a lot of rock stars who’d watched their friends go there and back with drugs and alcohol, and still he’d come out the other side happily married to the same woman and with two well adjusted kids and grand children so wonderful, he’d give it all up in a heart beat just for them. A lot of it had to do with his wife, Verna. She had the body of a super model. Not one of those stick women, over botoxed and surgically altered till they don’t look human any more. No, she was round and soft and curvy in all the right places, and smart! Well, she had to be since she’d been his manager for the last 20 years. She was the reason he was straight and clean, she was the reason their kids were so real and down to earth, she was the reason he was here and so dearly loved.
A firm hand gripped his shoulder.
“Wicked set, Dad. That last riff was inspired. Man, I don’t know where you pull it from, but I hope it never runs dry!”
Zach had taken over as second bass and drummer when Geddy Lee left to join RUSH and then Ozzy stole Tommy right out from under him. There were still some issues there, but Zach had really showed his worth then and he could play better then both of them anyway. He pulled a cloth from his shoulder thinking one of the roadies had handed him a towel and shied away when he pulled off another bra. The women had always been crazy at their concerts, but they were nearly out of control tonight. He stopped a young roadie walking by and traded him the bra for the towel he was holding. The young man seemed to the very happy about the trade. The guitar tech came to take his LP but he shook his head. “I’ll take it back with me.” The tech nodded and headed to the stage to pack away the other 10 or 12 guitars he’d used that night. He ran his hands down the neck of the sunburst in his hands. He and that old Gibson had been through a lot together, and it made him feel better having it close, like an old friend.
“There you are!” a beautiful woman wrapped her arms around him and kissed him softly and deeply. “I was wondering where you’d gone. Don’t tell me, you HAD to do 5 encores?” Her voice was like melted chocolate warming him all over. After 20 years together, she was still the only woman who could move him like this and the only woman who could make him take the LP off from around his neck. One hand wrapped around his guitar and the other around a beautiful woman who happened to be his wife, he moved toward the dressing room.
“Grampa!” a small voice shrilled through the base sound of the roaring crowd still stomping and yelling close by. A small body jumped up and into his arms.
“Hey Buddy! Didja like the show?”
Miles jumped down and roared, “YEAH!” he air guitared some power chords and shouted some unintelligible lyrics, something about rock and roll.
He sat down and lifted Miles onto his lap. “Here buddy, lemme show ya.” He picked up his old LP and placed it on Mile’s lap. Verna handed him a cold beer and shut the door cutting out all the noise of the crowds adoration above him. He took a long pull on his cold drink, smiled up at his beautiful wife and watched his grandson puck away at his old guitar. It was then it struck him. He was, indeed, the luckiest man on earth.
Happy Birthday, Mike!
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