4
Alina
Two years later
I can confirm what many great musicians before me have said: being on the stage feels like home. Standing onstage, I, too, feel at home in front of the masses, be it thirty or three hundred people, the rush is the same. Knowing people are there for your music is a powerful thing. And tonight’s no different.
As the house lights remain dimmed suggesting we’ll be coming back out for an encore, I can’t keep a smile from playing across my lips as I walk off the stage behind Paisley, Siobhán, and Roxie, the other members of Happenstance. I know they loved us.
“Happen-stance!”
“Happen-stance!”
“Do you hear that?” Paisley asks, standing beside me offstage.
“It’s one of my favourite sounds,” I tell her truthfully.
“You’re not wrong about that,” she says, smiling.
Music is a kind of therapy that gets me every time. Strap my guitar over my shoulder and I’m a goner, getting myself so lost in the power of the rhythm and lyrics of so many stories and memories, it’s impossible not to get a little lost sometimes.
Performing on stage doesn’t scare me like you’d think it might frighten a person in my shoes. Actually, it’s the opposite.
There’s a sweet juxtaposition to me, being in a band. There’s that feeling I get when I’m up on stage strumming my electric guitar to the music I feel to my core, with the lyrics about not giving in, never allowing others to drag you down, songs depicting the woman I wish I could be, but never will. I want to be the lyrics I write, and not simply a shadow of what they represent. I want to live each and every line, yet when I walk off that stage I lose that woman, once again becoming just her shadow, her opposite. So for me, playing onstage is everything, the only time I allow myself to shine a little. There’s a rush of power being in front of an audience that accepts you, comes out to see you, and most of all listens to you. Seeing them hanging onto each lick of the guitar, kick of the drum, and line of a song I’ve written is surreal. Knowing people are into it gives me such an incredible high, one I desperately need the memories of to help fuel me when I’m not this version of myself once the night is done. And if I’m being honest, whether they love or hate my music doesn’t bother me. I play to play, and best of all, I play for me. Performing is the one instance in my life where I really try not to care what anyone’s opinion is. And for me, that’s huge. I’ve always been the one who cares too much about every aspect of myself because I’ve never been enough. So, week after week, I happily stand onstage, strumming my guitar, singing background on the songs I’ve written, while Paisley Walker expels the words that my fucked-up psyche can’t otherwise get out.
“That was such an amazing set, ladies. You’ve brought the house down, once again,” Mo—the owner of the bar, Fyst, where we’ve just played for the last hour—shouts, as the crowd continues to chant for an encore while whistling and clapping.
“Thanks, Mo,” we collectively nod, as we pass by him.
“I’ll give ’em five, then you’re back out. Listen to that! They’re greedy tonight, girls. I think the word about you guys is getting out,” he smiles, rubbing his hands together, “and you know what that means, eh?”
Siobhán, our drummer, is quick to reply, “Yeah, free drinks for the performers.” We all laugh, and she rubs Mo’s balding head in jest.
“It means raises,” Mo deadpans. “Keep packing the house like this and I’ll be forced to pay you ladies a lot more.” He beams as he yells, “Four minutes!” then walks away to give us a little huddle time. Happenstance has been playing regular gigs here at Fyst for the last six months. It’s been our first regular paying gig; Mo saw something in us and took a chance, so to hear the crowd wanting more makes me damn proud.
“Jesus, Alina…that solo on ‘Walk of Shame’ was incredible tonight. And did you hear that guy in the back yelling at you to marry him?” Roxie—who plays bass guitar—asks, a beautiful smile lighting up her face. Instead of recoiling at Roxie’s praise, I smile, knowing my playing did that. For once, I’m happy to have been noticed.
“It’s true, Ali,” Paisley adds, her green eyes shining. “You kicked that song’s ass. You made it your bitch, no lie. I’m almost wondering if you should do the whole thing solo next time?” She tilts her head, gauging my reaction.
“Oh no, I’m happiest on backup. Besides, you kill those lyrics. Your falsetto is perfect for it. I wrote it with your voice in mind.” I’m quick to dismiss the thought of performing solo, although hearing my friends think I could pull it off makes me feel amazing. Sure, I love being on stage, but centre stage? That’s a different story. I’m happy to blend into the background and maybe take on a few solo bits here and there, but being a main focal point isn’t something I’m sure I’ll ever be ready for.
“Two minutes!” we hear Mo’s baritone voice shout.
“Okay, what should we play for our finale?” Rox asks, picking her Rickenbacker bass back up and slinging it over her shoulder.
“Think we could pull the new one off?” Paisley asks, as we huddle in a small circle, like we do every time before we perform.
“Can we do ‘Burden’?” Siobhán asks, grinning ear-to-ear about the song we’ve only rehearsed a handful of times.
“Now, please welcome back to the stage, the outrageously talented foursome known as Happenstance!” We hear the familiar introduction as though it’s off in the distance as we try to finalize what we’re going to play.
“I know we can do it,” I assure my bandmates, not a wave of doubt crossing my mind.
“You’re right, Al. We can, and if not? There’s always next week,” Rox shrugs, giving a nervous giggle and we all follow suit.
I stand corrected. Not only is being onstage “home”, home is also standing right here in this circle with my girls, even if I haven’t ever let them know the real me.