Daddy's Little Rock Star

July 8, 2011
By Rhythmsgirl BRONZE, Palmdale, California
Rhythmsgirl BRONZE, Palmdale, California
2 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
"We can't all come and go by bubble." -Elphaba (Wicked)

The lights are so bright. I can't see anything more than three or four feet away from me. I shield my eyes and wave. A surge of applause and cheering from the pitch blackness in front of me nearly knocks me off my feet, literally.

I smile and make casual introductions. I walk stage right and pick up my dad's old DanElectr guitar. Reaching in my back pocket, I remove a pick and strike a G chord. I return to the microphone and begin to tell my story.

This next song is dedicated to my dad. My best friend. He was always supportive of me and if he could be here right now, I know he would be.

The keyboard begins to swell a sweet slow melody to which I add some chords after eight bars. Four more, and I'm in. My voice flows into the microphone and out the speakers with ease. In the first verse and chorus, it is just the piano, me, and my guitar. The drums come in for verse two and there are more people playing, more instruments through the room, more sounds bouncing across the stadium. At the bridge I really turn up the volume. I belt the words from my heart, the words I don't dare let anyone hear. My eyes begin to water. I fight tears, my hand slips, and the guitar screams an out of tune, incorrect note. I gasp and look down, losing my focus.
My beat up old tennis shoes stare back at me. I look around. My audience, made up of a "Back To The Future" posters and a few stuffed animals, is silent. I return the pick to my back pocket and put the guitar back in the case. As I flop onto my bed, my mother pokes her head in to ask about lunch.

None, please. I'm not hungry.

She leaves and I turn over to face my wall. Daydreaming again, like I always am.

My mind wanders to my dad. He would tell me to get out there, to share my music and play wherever I can. Since he's been gone I've been too scared to play anywhere. He was the only person who I'd let hear my music. All the music I wrote from my heart.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't want people to know the real me I expose with my guitar. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to take my father's advice and chase my dream. But most of my songs are written for him. They're all the things I never said while I actually could. They're meant for him only to hear. My music can stay where it started. It doesn't need to be anywhere else.

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