From: cffitzge@IASTATE.EDU (Charles F Fitzgerald)
Subject: jazz, part 1.
Reply-To: cffitzge@IASTATE.EDU (Charles F Fitzgerald)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 07:18:51 GMT

Name is Jazz.  This is my story.

Story starts at the Chat'.  Good place as any to start a story, so why
not?  My band was up to play that night, on the little stage to the
side of the bar.  I'd known Ratz since the war, and when he heard I
was gettin' a band together, he was always harpin', "Why do you not
come and play for me? Hm?"  And I'd always say "'Cuz we ain't that
good yet."  And that was that.

It had taken awhile for it all to come together, though.  I hadn't
picked up an axe in maybe twenty years when I fell in with Sandra.
Man, what an ass.  It just kind a'...well never mind, you get the
picture, don't ya?  But like they say, all things got to end, and she
was just a kid, anyway.  Full of ideas, dreams, and shit, and me, I'm
just a crusty old son-of-a-bitch who's seen to much death to care
about life.  Well, maybe not _that_ old.

Anyway, I hooked up with Sandra, and it somehow got mentioned that I
used to do a little rockin' now and then, and she said how it was
always her dream to be a big star, the next Madonna, or somethin'.
She was a doll, at any rate, and had a bod that made a guy cream his
jeans, well, almost cream 'em, and she could carry a tune well enough,
so I thought, what the hell? my life ain't goin' nowhere, and it might
be a few laughs.  Or maybe it was relivin' my childhood or somethin'.
I don't know.

We picked up a keyboard junky called Crazy Eddie who was hangin'
around the Chat' a lot, and Sandra knew this guy, Bloody, who played
bass, which left only a drummer to find.  Ol' Man Rhythm was about
half my age when he joined our band, but he was good, and so what if
Sandra jumped his bed as soon as we split; they were both kids, and
kids should play together.  Leave us old guys alone.

Bein' so much more experienced than the rest, and havin' twice the
connections around town, I nat'rally got drafted in as leader and
spokesman for the group, and that's how it all sat...that night...
backstage...at the Chat'.

I was tuning my stick, and Sandy leans down to give Rhythm somethin'
to remember on stage, and her skirt was way too short for her to be
leanin' like that.  But then, I didn't mind--that's what God gave
little boys eyes for, ain't it? 

"Ya know we have a gig sometime this _year_, don't ya guys?" Bloody
jokes, and she straightens up.  "Why'd ya have to go ruin the view," I
yell at Blood, and we all laugh.  Sandy comes and gives me a peck on
the cheek, and I pinch hers.  She squeals a little, and runs back to
Ol' Man Rhythm, giggling.  You can see the Blue Magic at work in her
attitude and cheeks.  Whatever gets you through the day, I figure.

Me, I pull out cig, and stick it my mouth.  "Anyone got a light," I
ask, and Crazy Eddie brings me one.  "Thanks," I say.  "Want one?"  
"Na," he says, "I'm not into that tobbacco shit.  Fucks
up your lungs they say."  "What don't," I answer, but I don't press
it.  I knew they were bad when I started thirty years ago, and it
hasn't stopped me yet.  Maybe, they're my ticket out of here.

We get the go light and start towards the stage.  I get that giddy
feeling I used to get back when both my arms were flesh and bone, and
me and my buddies were lyin' and waiting for it all to start again,
and I wonder if we're really any good, do we really have what it takes
to survive tonight.

When I got on stage that night, and Ol' Man Rhythm started to lay it
down, slow and steady, and then Bloody joined in, and Eddie, and me,
and finally, Sandy started to pour her soul out to the poor shmucks
lined up at the bar and in the booths along the back, I no longer had
any question about our ability; I wondered what had taken us so long
to get here.

---

Copyright 1992 Charles F. FitzGerald.  Jazz and the Band be mine. 
Keep away from them, there's a good net.head, at least for now.
Comments, criticisms, accepted and encouraged.

--
Charles F. Fitzgerald | '....Life's but a walking shadow,
Iowa State University | a poor player, that struts, and frets
cffitzge@iastate.edu  | his hour upon the stage,
                      | and then is heard from no more....'
                      | _MacBeth_, by W. Shakespeare.
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo