And I was on that night, my guitar slung low, fingers moving at the speed of sound, just smiling and singing and jumping around the stage, looking out at the faces of thousands and thousands of my closest friends just partying our butts off. This was back when people actually brought lighters to concerts and they were all lit up, just to hear us play.
We played for hours, in our own little world. That guitar felt good that night, not missing a note, my solos were just out of this world, they were yelling and crying for more……and then I heard it. Knocking was coming from somewhere, and it wasn’t from the double bass of the drum kit. Where is that noise coming from and why is it messing up this perfect night…..?
Oh…..I took the head phones off and opened the door to my bedroom to see my mom standing there shaking her head.
“Go to bed Mark, you have school tomorrow!”
I nodded in understanding and took my guitar, a Louisville Slugger that was given to me by a member of the Oakland A’s (another story for another time), and set it back in the corner and smiled.
“What a great concert!”