Melanie

 

 

 

 

We end up at a place called Velvet. It’s a bar, and I look at Jake questioningly. He’s a cop. And I’m not twenty-one.

“Don’t mention your age,” he says under his breath as a big bald guy approaches us and enfolds Jake in a hug.

“Jakey! Dude. So glad to see you, man.”

“Melanie, this is my buddy Saul. Saul, this is Melanie.”

Jake’s friend sticks out his hand and I take it, expecting a handshake, but instead he brings it to his mouth and kisses it.

“How is it, Jake, that you’re here with the most beautiful woman in the city?” he asks. “You’re not that much of a catch, dude. How do you do it?”

Jake laughs and pats Saul on the back. “It’s great to see you too.”

“Come on. I reserved a table for you in the fucking VIP section, man.” Saul leads us through the already crowded bar to a roped-off section with five small tables. He gestures at one. “I’ll send over someone to take your drink orders. Enjoy the show.”

“What show, Jake?” I lean over so he can hear me over the crowd.

He grins and shrugs mischievously.

“Just tell me! Please? I’m gonna ask someone else…” I push my chair out like I’m going to get up.

He grasps my hand. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

I lean forward over the table.

“We’re here to see a band.”

“What band?”

He shrugs. “Station Gray.”

My mouth falls open. “Wait. What? Are you serious?”

He nods.

“Holy crap, Jake! No. For real.”

“I am for real! You know how they don’t do big tours anymore and only play at local places? And it’s kind of on the down low? Saul owns a few bars in Chicago, so he knows when they’re going to be around sometimes.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god. I’ve never been to any concert ever, Jake! And this is my favorite band.”

“Yeah. I know.”

I seriously don’t believe it until the lights go down, and there’s a spotlight on the small makeshift stage, and Saul announces the band. And there they are: Hipbone Junior, with his blond dreads and beat-up jeans, and Linnea, ethereal and gorgeous, like a hippie fairy, and Rugged L, his bald black head shining under the lights.

I’ve never heard live music before, and this is amazing. They play so many of my favorite songs, even “Needlepoint” (and I laugh with Jake about his grandma during it). They’re this amazing mix of the Beastie Boys and Dido and Gorillaz, and I can’t get over that we’re here seeing them live.

“We have a new song tonight,” says Hipbone Junior after a while. “We just wrote it, uh, yesterday. So forgive me if it’s a little, uh… if we make some mistakes.”

The audience cheers, and I grab Jake’s hand. A new song, and we’re here for it.

“So, it’s called, uh, ‘Rough Around the Soul.’ It’s about a girl. Here it is.”

It’s beautiful, the kind of song that I know immediately is going to be one of my favorites ever. It’s got a strong beat, but a gorgeous melody on top of it, and the lyrics I remember are perfect.

Red lip cigarette

Eyes black coal

Delicate girl

So rough around the soul.

Jake surprises me by buying me a T-shirt. Apparently the band sells a small number of shirts at each venue, specific to that night only, so I have a new Station Gray shirt, with their usual old-fashioned station wagon logo on the front. On the back it’s got the bar name—Velvet—and the date.

In the car on the way back to Bells Park, I’m sleepy and happy and curled up in the seat next to Jake, clutching my new shirt like a favorite stuffed animal.

“You know,” he says. “I was wrong. At Baker’s Square? When I said you were just a little rough around the edges?”

“Yeah?” My eyes are closed but I’m listening. “You kind of pissed me off when you said that.”

He laughs. “You’re not rough around the edges, though. You’re rough around the soul.”

I laugh, loving that he’s comparing me to my new favorite song. “What does that even mean, Jake?”

“You’ve been through hard shit, Melanie. You’re stronger for it. And you’re beautiful not despite it, but because of it.”

“I like that.” My voice is quiet, and I’m fading off to sleep, and I’m happy, happier than I remember being in a long time. Maybe in forever.