Won’t you please take me home tonight…
Her face rapturous. Her smile looks satisfied; her eyes close while her shoulders sway. I know all she wants is for him to look at her. To connect. To feel her passion. For him to know how much his music has moved her.
Saved by zero
I’ll be more together
Stretched by fewer thoughts that leave me chasing after
My dreams disown me Loaded with danger
So maybe I’ll win
Saved by zero
Maybe I’ll win
Saved by zero
I sing along, although I don’t know what I’m singing. What the words mean. I don’t know
what I have been singing since high school and when I danced outside, at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley in the early 80s’ – the Fixx were on the same ticket as Berlin and Flock of Seagulls. I still remember what I wore – a green wool skirt, a man’s short sleeve dress shirt and a leather belt, all purchased from the Thrift Store on East 14th Street.
Saved by Zero. What the hell does that mean, anyway?
Monica’s favorite pumps are ruined that night long ago. I was afraid of falling, so scraped them back and forth against the back of the concrete steps, assuring myself that I wasn’t close to the edge. My hair is shaved on the sides, spiked on top. It isn’t a mullet. No way. Think of Belinda Carlisle of the Go Go’s.
Looking at the rapturous woman, I absolutely know what she is thinking, looking at the singer Cy, who reminds me of a younger Billy Mac from the movie “Love Actually.” I’m distracted by the guitar player who is wearing really weird pants that look like they were purchased at a British teen clothing store, his hair like Herman’s Hermits.
She is at the first table closest to the stage, we are almost as close, but the only thing I feel is her desperation.
He sings a newer song “Beautiful Friction.” Now I have no idea what he is singing about, but she does.
She’s trying to telepathically connect. “Just look at me. If I use all the power of my mind, you must feel me. You must feel how turned on I am. Why don’t you look at me? I know the power of the mind. Why isn’t this working? I’m a true fan, I believe in you. Your voice, your lyrics, your talent … no one knows just how talented you are, but I do. Why don’t you look at me? Won’t you please take me home tonight?”
I know how she feels, I don’t know how many musicians I have tried to do a mind meld with and, sadly, it has never worked. I’ve never been grabbed after the concert to come and meet the performer.
Tonight, however, I’m not obsessed, which is somewhat of a relief, I realize. I’m not willing him to look at me. I think it is because I don’t know enough of the Fixx’ songs. Cy, the lead singer has presence, the band is tight, I can’t believe how old they are. I am not old of course.
It’s somewhat of a relief. Not to be that bothered. I have accepted the fact the people with talent turn me on. Musicians turn me on. Maybe because I am not talented, these people seem blessed to me.
I feel her need more than I feel the connection with any of the band members. Interesting.
For the first time I’m not thinking “take me home tonight”; instead I’m rooting for her. I know her.