Tuning the old FM radio in the kitchen of the shack behind which her father lay buried, which sat atop 100 acres in a tiny town in the rural Texas Panhandle, Shayla Jones thought about the singer she was thinking of. He’d been making the rounds, and had played a one-off show in Lubbock recently. Alt rock was thought to be a Central Texas phenomenon, but these bands would visit the panhandle towns on occasion to test the waters of a new market.
The singer Shayla was looking to hear was a tall, thin, lanky goofball who couldn’t dance. He would bob his shaved head and dance with the microphone as his big-haired bass guitar player bounced recklessly around the stage behind him, contrasting with the static drummer and guitarist. The guitarist was amazing, though - always playing a really unique solo that drove the song home and layering in beautiful riffs throughout the track. A lot of guitarists lacked a unique sound, or would just sing songs off the radio, so it was always nice to have the true musicians come through town.
The track she’d tuned in to hear the end of, on her archaic radio left to her by her deceased family, was an upbeat new snigle from another popular Austin band, but she was in luck - one of the songs she’d heard her new friend sing came on next.
She cleaned her little house as she danced to the rhythm, nodding her head in time to the beat and singing along quietly to herself.
“If you love me, don’t forget me,” her lilting voice pronounced in time to the music.
“Don’t forget me, baby,” she concluded, along with her new favorite band.
Just then, a loud sound echoed up the driveway, in perfect time with the conclusion of the song. Shayla parted the curtains above the kitchen sink and looked out the window.
A battered 1979 Chevrolet van was pulled off the road in front of the dirty old shack. A tire had blown out on the highway, and the driver had stopped the vehicle to change the spare. A familiar puff of red hair appeared first, as the passenger exited the vehicle. The driver’s shiny baldness was visible next, as Shayla gazed through the window in disbelief. Before she knew it, she had opened the door and was running down the driveway, yelling at her barking dogs to hush.
“Is… Is everything… alright?” she asked, gasping for breath.
She hadn’t run that fast in a long time!
Shayla turned a bit red as the guitarist turned and smiled at her. The singer was still reaching into the back of the van for something. Cursing, he withdrew from his search and dropped to the ground, sliding on his back under the rear section of the full-size ancient van.
Shayla looked on in amazement as, presently, he slid the spare tire out to the waiting guitarist.
Giving her a little wave once he emerged from beneath the van, the singer was the first to recognize Shayla from their recent show.
“Oh my god, it’s you!” Shayla blurted out, turning even redder before the singer had a chance to reply. He was rummaging through the back of the van again.
“How’s your day going?” he sarcastically asked.
“I’m good! I was at your show two nights ago in Lubbock, what a great time!”
He took the jack out and walked around the van to the rear right tire, which had blown out, and handed the tire iron to the guitarist, who began to undo the lugnuts.
“We had a good time at that show too,” he chuckled, smiling again as the guitarist began to position the scissor jack beneath the chassis.
“How often do you come through West Texas?” Shayla asked, in her Texan drawl.
“Oh, this spot’s a first. We went out to the boonies down that way,” he informed her, pointing with his thumb down the road, “and drank 2 kegs of beer with a bunch of pretty girls in a lake house for a few days,” he finished.
Shayla’s heart sank. She wasn’t exactly the type to have a big, nice lake house. And her dingy little farm barely kept her alive while she worked in Lubbock to pay the property taxes at a daycare center.
“Do you want to come inside?” Shayla offered, pointing to her house. “It’s nice enough inside, but it ain’t no lake house,” she explained.
“Oh,” said the singer, as the flat tire rolled toward him in a disjointed motion. It stopped and fell over, shards of blown out rubber still stuck around the frame. He kicked it to the back of the van and grunted as he lifted it inside.“Well, I don’t think I have time,” he replied. “But if you want to see another show, we’re playing tonight in Amarillo. You seem super cool, want to come and then party with us after the show? Who knows, you might make some new friends.”
Shayla smiled and emphatically accepted the offer, giving him her phone number.
That night, pulling into the parking lot where the show was to be played, Shayla turned it up, singing along to the song again on the radio. Her open windows let her voice out as she drove, and she didn’t think anything of the people who were standing around, waiting to be let into the venue.
The singer tapped her on the shoulder as she waited in line, giving a little wave and a nice bright smile.
“There’s something about you, Shayla,” he said with a cool that made Shayla feel warm.
“I heard you singing our song just now and I feel like you could be the thing we’ve been missing,” he continued.
Shayla’s jaw dropped.
“Would it be cool if I pulled you up, at the end of the set, when we’re ready to finally give the crowd what they want?”
“Yeah. Yeah that would be SO cool,” Shayla heard herself mutter.
Walking into the bar a bit later, when the doors opened, Shayla made a bee line to get a drink. Downing it, she ordered another immediately and downed that, too. Then she went to the restroom and had a piss.
The show started a few hours later and Shayla was laughing with a few of the local kids as the band got set up and started to play the first song of the set. The crowd was a bit wild but this was just indie rock, so there were only about half the people who could have fit in the venue. Shayla had no trouble making her way to the front, now swaying a bit from the alcohol she had used to control her anxiety, by the end of the set. True to form, the singer introduced her and pulled her up on the stage. The second microphone was abdicated by the guitarist and as Shayla’s hand clasped it, she felt a rush of energy.
The crowd roared in response. Backstage, she shook hands with the band in a blur of excitement, and she had to do a double take as the singer asked her if she knew any more of their songs.
“Of course,” Shayla exclaimed. “I have both of your albums!”
“Would you like to join us for the encore?”
Ten minutes later, Shayla had performed three of the band’s biggest songs and drawn the crowd in close to the stage. Once the set was over, the singer asked her to join the band and she agreed.
That night, in the McMansion she'd been invited to stay in with the local kids, Shayla smiled to herself as she went to sleep. A dream had come true. She was going to be a singer now.
