Seth
For the next week I split my time between the house and Amy. The more often I went to the house the easier it was, and after the fourth time I was actually looking forward to it. I organized my time there by room and turned each room upside down, digging for more memories of my mom’s childhood and of her family, the one I hadn’t known. It was strange seeing pictures of her, the life in her eyes, growing up so differently than I had imagined.
With John out of town, there wasn’t much I could do about having a conversation with him, a conversation to pick his brain on what else he knew and what he wasn’t telling me. At the beginning of the summer, a part of me had the smallest hope that we would be able to patch up our dysfunctional relationship and be a part of each other’s lives again. Now, with only four weeks left until I went back to Baltimore, it didn’t seem likely.
I had wrapped myself so much in what I was here for, my open mic nights, and Amy that jazz and the ensemble seemed like a lifetime ago. A lifetime I wasn’t sure I wanted anymore. I hadn’t heard anything from the ensemble about my audition yet, and a part of me was relieved. With each week I played at Conner’s, the views on my videos were increasing, and the video of the first night was featured on a blog promoting coastal town open mic music in the Carolinas. It wasn’t much and I didn’t think anything would come of it, but I could see myself making it something if I chose to focus on it.
After kissing Amy that night, it was all I wanted to do for the remainder of my time here. Sometimes I caught a glimpse of worry or sadness on her face, and I knew she was thinking that time was passing and wondering what would happen when we ran out of it. We’d sit on the beach for hours, now in the daylight, drinking smoothies and talking about our passions. I’d bring my guitar and fiddle with new songs I was working on, while she read her never-ending stack of classics or sketched. Sometimes she’d stop what she was doing and listen to me play, telling me her opinion. I enjoyed watching her ears perk up at the mention of a girl as I sang. She knew my songs were about her, and she hummed along when I came up with a good melody. Sitting there with her felt unreal at times, and I knew it was temporary. Soon, summer would fade and time would race toward the day of departure.
I was getting ready for my fourth week of playing. I had been working on two new songs, and I was excited to try them out. There were a few other artists scheduled to perform that night too, and I was making small talk with them when Will approached me backstage.
He was out of breath when he grabbed my arm. “Seth! Listen, man—a group of three guys in suits just walked in. Not our usual type of customer, so I asked if I could help them with anything and they asked about you.”
“Me?” I said, shocked. “What about me?”
“They wanted to know if this is where you were playing. I told them yeah, you’d be on in a couple of minutes, and that they could have a seat at any of the tables.”
I blinked at him.
He shook my shoulder, as if to get me out of a trance. “Do you think they are label guys?” He sounded excited.
“Label guys?!” I said, almost yelping. I swore under my breath. “Okay, it’s just a normal night. Nothing different,” I said to myself. I took a deep breath. “Man! Why did you have to tell me before the show?”
“Are you freaking out?” Will said, laughing. “Good luck, man.” He patted my shoulder again before heading back to the bar.
I swore under my breath again and took another deep breath. I closed my eyes. I could feel the other artists’ eyes on me, wondering what had just happened. I was third on the list, so I had time to calm my heart.
This is your shot.
“Hey, guys! How are we doing tonight?” I said loudly above the random claps and a few shouts. It was a good crowd, and I made a point not to look for the label guys.
I laughed a little in the microphone and decided to make a bold move.
“What should I start out with tonight?”
There were a few more cheers and a group yelled “‘Curly Hair, Knobby Knees!’”
“All right! Here we go!”
After playing my four songs, including two new ones that drew praise from the crowd, I finally had a minute to breathe. I had tried really hard to interact with the audience, and I could see it was one of my best performances. I left the stage really happy and went first to the bar to find Will.
“You were great.” He looked past me and raised his eyebrows. I turned around to see three guys in suits walking toward me.
“It’s Seth, right?” the guy in the middle said to me.
“Seth Collins,” I said, extending my hand.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m Charlie Smith, one of the producers at Vivid Records in Asheville. This is Phil Jones and Mark Stone, A&R at the label. They discovered your video on the internet.”
I nodded, dumbstruck.
“You gave quite a performance tonight,” Phil said, smiling at me. “How long have you been playing here?”
“I’ve played about four times.”
“Really? Wow, that’s pretty impressive.”
The other two nodded in agreement.
We took a seat at the bar, and Charlie explained to me his interest in my music. He talked to me about the label and what they were willing to offer. I tried to process what was happening. That this was actually, finally happening—all I’d ever wanted.
“Now, we are in Ashville, so we’d need you there for a while to get things going…” Charlie said to me. He continued on, telling me other details that I needed to know. After a few minutes, he handed me his business card and told me to give him a call. When they left, I knew I had a decision to make, and two things became very clear.
I had an offer, and potentially I could be leaving in five days.
And even as Will congratulated me and as happy as I was, I thought of Amy and of John, why I had come to this town, and what I could, unexpectedly, be leaving with.