chord.
“I’ll be in the bedroom. Need to get some stuff together.”
She heard him move towards the bedroom door. With him gone she felt a little better. She picked out a song, an old Scottish ballad. One of the first songs she’d ever learned to play. She sang, softly, not wanting him to hear. Bangs and rustling noises came from the bedroom. He wasn’t listening, she realized, and instantly felt her voice and playing grow stronger. She closed her eyes. She was alone in the bathroom where she usually recorded herself. Door locked. Great acoustics. She lost herself in the song. Almost. The sound of the bedroom door opening made her instantly forget the words and screech to a halt.
“Sounding good, Lou. Keep going.” His voice was soft and sweet in the darkness.
“I...I...can’t.”
“When did this start? Did anything in particular happen?”
Lou took a deep breath. She knew exactly when it had started. She’d been in the school choir and band with no performance problems. She’d been studying music education at university and had no problems with her exam recitals. No, the problem had started with “Strathglennan Miners’ Club.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “Mum had only been in the ground a couple of weeks. I got a phone call, asking if I’d be interested in opening up for a local band. The original act had cancelled for some reason and they needed someone in a hurry. That night. I needed the money, so I said I’d do it.” Lou swallowed nervously, listening to the patient silence. “I was kept late at work, so I got myself and my gear into a taxi. Too expensive, but it was only a couple of towns over. I got there a bit later than I should. Found out I was opening for some kind of speedcore heavy metal outfit and that the audience was not happy about having to wait.”
He was out there, behind the bright lights. She closed her eyes again. If only she hadn’t been able to see the audience that night. Maybe… She stroked Beloved, feeling the smooth heavy gloss beneath her fingertips. “I didn’t get more than a few words into my first song when they started to boo. Then they started to shout. Soon they were all chanting the same thing, the same words, louder and louder.” She dropped her gaze to the floor.
“What were they yelling?”
“Tits out or get off. Over and over and over.”
“Bastards.”
“And then…then…” She heard him move behind the lights, a soft shuffle of feet. As if he was backing off. As if he didn’t want to know how bad it had been.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice firm. “I can’t help you get over it if I don’t know how traumatic it was.”
Lou sucked in a deep breath. She had to get this out, had to lay it out there on the table. “They threw something at me. At first, I thought it was a pint of lager. That’s what it looked like. But the smell told me what it really was. Urine. They threw a pint of piss on me.” Lou realized her teeth were bared, the fury and humiliation of that night coming back to her. “I put my guitar away, dragged my amp off the stage while they jeered and cheered. I didn’t have enough money for a taxi, so I had to wait for a bus. All the way home, crying, and reeking of someone else’s piss.” She strummed her favorite chord—B7th—its plangent tone too sad to voice her anger, but perfect for the grief she’d felt that night. “I’ve never been able to get on stage since. I freeze up. I forget the music. I forget the words. I remember those jeering faces. I remember feeling stripped naked. Humiliated. I was only nineteen.” She dropped the guitar and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t do it, Chris. I’ll never be able to do it.”
He was there, kneeling in front of her, his arms going around her. “I’ll kill them. Every single one of them. Slowly. Painfully. How could they do such a shitty thing?”
“Drunk. Impatient. Bored. A young girl on the stage in front of them, obviously nervous.” She
“I’ll be in the bedroom. Need to get some stuff together.”
She heard him move towards the bedroom door. With him gone she felt a little better. She picked out a song, an old Scottish ballad. One of the first songs she’d ever learned to play. She sang, softly, not wanting him to hear. Bangs and rustling noises came from the bedroom. He wasn’t listening, she realized, and instantly felt her voice and playing grow stronger. She closed her eyes. She was alone in the bathroom where she usually recorded herself. Door locked. Great acoustics. She lost herself in the song. Almost. The sound of the bedroom door opening made her instantly forget the words and screech to a halt.
“Sounding good, Lou. Keep going.” His voice was soft and sweet in the darkness.
“I...I...can’t.”
“When did this start? Did anything in particular happen?”
Lou took a deep breath. She knew exactly when it had started. She’d been in the school choir and band with no performance problems. She’d been studying music education at university and had no problems with her exam recitals. No, the problem had started with “Strathglennan Miners’ Club.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “Mum had only been in the ground a couple of weeks. I got a phone call, asking if I’d be interested in opening up for a local band. The original act had cancelled for some reason and they needed someone in a hurry. That night. I needed the money, so I said I’d do it.” Lou swallowed nervously, listening to the patient silence. “I was kept late at work, so I got myself and my gear into a taxi. Too expensive, but it was only a couple of towns over. I got there a bit later than I should. Found out I was opening for some kind of speedcore heavy metal outfit and that the audience was not happy about having to wait.”
He was out there, behind the bright lights. She closed her eyes again. If only she hadn’t been able to see the audience that night. Maybe… She stroked Beloved, feeling the smooth heavy gloss beneath her fingertips. “I didn’t get more than a few words into my first song when they started to boo. Then they started to shout. Soon they were all chanting the same thing, the same words, louder and louder.” She dropped her gaze to the floor.
“What were they yelling?”
“Tits out or get off. Over and over and over.”
“Bastards.”
“And then…then…” She heard him move behind the lights, a soft shuffle of feet. As if he was backing off. As if he didn’t want to know how bad it had been.
“Tell me,” he said, his voice firm. “I can’t help you get over it if I don’t know how traumatic it was.”
Lou sucked in a deep breath. She had to get this out, had to lay it out there on the table. “They threw something at me. At first, I thought it was a pint of lager. That’s what it looked like. But the smell told me what it really was. Urine. They threw a pint of piss on me.” Lou realized her teeth were bared, the fury and humiliation of that night coming back to her. “I put my guitar away, dragged my amp off the stage while they jeered and cheered. I didn’t have enough money for a taxi, so I had to wait for a bus. All the way home, crying, and reeking of someone else’s piss.” She strummed her favorite chord—B7th—its plangent tone too sad to voice her anger, but perfect for the grief she’d felt that night. “I’ve never been able to get on stage since. I freeze up. I forget the music. I forget the words. I remember those jeering faces. I remember feeling stripped naked. Humiliated. I was only nineteen.” She dropped the guitar and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t do it, Chris. I’ll never be able to do it.”
He was there, kneeling in front of her, his arms going around her. “I’ll kill them. Every single one of them. Slowly. Painfully. How could they do such a shitty thing?”
“Drunk. Impatient. Bored. A young girl on the stage in front of them, obviously nervous.” She
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