Copyright 2016 by White Feather. All Rights Reserved.
Cover design by White Feather
Published by Wordgravy Press
I don’t know what I was doing there. I had no business being there.
I was in a large rehearsal hall filled with musicians in black tuxedos. They were randomly scattered about; each one either unpacking an instrument, fiddling with an instrument or tuning an instrument. The air was filled with the sound of chairs being dragged across the floor, instrument cases shutting, the tuning of instruments, coughing and the soft din of human whispering.
I was sitting in a folding metal chair against a wall at the far back end of the large room. I was wearing blue jeans, an old tattered light blue denim shirt and fairly worn white tennis shoes. It was an ensemble that I would wear while going for a walk around the ponds at the park or walking to the neighborhood store or just around the house. My clothes proved beyond a doubt that I was only there watching; that I had no part in the production of the concert that was apparently soon to begin. I certainly was not a musician and I had no idea how I got into the rehearsal hall in the first place to watch the musicians get ready for the concert.
Suddenly, a man in a tuxedo at the opposite end of the room from me clanked a drumstick against a cowbell to get everyone’s attention. The cacophony of sound in the room quickly diminished as all the musicians put down their instruments and quit talking to look at the man who was standing on a folding metal chair getting everyone’s attention. When the room was quiet the man quit clanking the cow bell and handed it and the drumstick down to someone standing on the floor next to him.