Read Online Her Wild Oats by Kathi Kamen Goldmark - Free Book Online Page B

make mine burst
    ’Cause before you skipped town you said, “See you around”
    But not if I see you first
    If I see you first you’re gonna stay with your man forever
    Together underneath the grass
    You better hide your ass, ’cause if I see you first—
    I’m gonna see you last
    Oats walked up to his microphone and waited for the cue, and when he heard Bobby Lee say, “And on blues harp, ‘Wild Oats’ Pixlie,” he happened to spot a glittery marching-band hat in the first row and big brown eyes smiling up, and that made him want to nail it to the wall.
    Oats wailed on that solo and the crowd, such as it was, went wild. People love to hear a kick-ass song and see a kid kicking ass. They even kept stomping and yelling while Bobby Lee sang the next part.
    I wanna see you bleed, I wanna see you need
    Me to call off my Gypsy curse
    You wanna see me cry—you wanna see July?
    Well, not if I see you first
    If I see you first, you better run like a burnin’ dog
    Who set the fire station up in flames
    You better change your name ’cause if I see you first
    You’ll have yourself to blame
    The audience stomped and yelled until the song ended. It was clear that Oats’ moment had been the highlight of the set.
    Except for “Not if I See You First” the band never really hit a groove before it was time to make way for the next act, who would make way for Gretchen Wilson, who Oats imagined was still sitting in the Jacuzzi in her hotel room. Oats could have gone on playing for another two hours. As they left the stage to polite applause, Bobby Lee walked down the rickety wooden steps right behind Oats.
    “Great solo,” he said, as he lifted his hand in a fist-bump. The other guys echoed his congratulations with nods and smiles and pats on the back, but Dickie Jaspers stood smirking, a few feet away. As they walked toward their tent Oats blushed as he heard Melody, in the front row, whistle and scream and clap long after everyone else had stopped.
    *
    Oats had heard his parents and their friends talk about “road fever” but never really understood what they meant until he tried to wind down after getting all wound up for a set that turned out to be six songs long. They’d traveled all day to get there, had the sound check and the band fight and then went onstage to play for a half-empty stadium and before anyone could say “boo” (or “yay”) it was over. What to do with all that pent-up energy has been the biggest problem for musicians on the road ever since they invented roads.
    While everyone else cleaned off their fret boards and packed up their gear, Dickie leaned his guitar against the back of the stage and went off to find a drink. Oats was surprised that no one seemed all that interested in sticking around to see Gretchen Wilson, the headliner. But apparently there were still many miles to go before they stopped for the night and Bobby Lee was anxious to get on the road.
    Pete Rawley went off to look for Dickie, while Oats sat in the grass behind the dressing-room tent to wait. He started playing a soft little riff to pass the time, when suddenly he heard someone clapping and looked up to see Melody, the girl in the marching band uniform. She plunked herself down on the grass.
    “Keep going,” she said. “That was nice.”
    He felt himself blush again, but he kept playing.
    “What do you call that song?” she asked.
    “I don’t know, I just made it up right now.”
    “Well, I think you should call it something.”
    “OK, how about if I call it ‘Melody’ after you?”
    She smiled so big and wide that it looked like her face was going to crack open.
    Oats knew he was supposed to do something next, maybe kiss her, but he had no idea where to start so they sat there on the grass smiling goofy smiles at each other.
    “Yo, Oats!” Pete ran over from the direction of the bus. “We’re ready to roll.”
    “I gotta go,” Oats told Melody.
    “Hey, here’s my number.” She thrust a little piece of