Had I been alive, I would have jammed so hard with them... we would have rocked OUT!
You hear me?
I would have -
What do I play? That's a good question Internet..predictable, but appropriate. No, no, I don't 'play' anything. I really meant more along the lines of getting really drunk and dancing around them with a long flowy skirt and maybe a flower in my hair..something like that. But, not here:
That's definitely not my scene, I have something a little different in mind... I'm thinking a bonfire,..in the middle of a pasture, dirt road leading in, cars parked right up on one another, like a little thrown together, in-a-hurry junkyard. Excitement. Tailgates down. Ice chest hopping. Some place like Mindenhall's. Remember that? Who was Mindenhall? I never knew. But answer me this: How many people can fit into the cab of an early nineties model S-10?
SEVEN. That's how many. Yes, Seven. Get yourselves a good mental picture of that for a minute. Now picture six of those seven trying not to mess up their hair...and smoking cigarettes. And talking all at once. And now I want you to consider the fact that it was a standard..meaning someone who wasn't actually driving had to shift on command by said driver...who was probably drunk..I don't remember, maybe he wasn't drunk on the way there. Anyway, seven..seven can fit in the cab of an old school S-10. But only spur of the moment. Only after getting an invite at nearly midnight. Only after rushing in the house to change out of pajamas and into 'out' clothes, only after GiGi puking in the driveway real quick, wiping her mouth and saying "okay" (she did that sometimes when she got too excited) only after Keri's boyfriend went home unsuspecting...and Hannah's boyfriend promising not to tell..Only with the right amount of thrilling, teenage anticipation - adolescence's own version of fairy dust y'all.
Thank goodness for the junk-yard effect of all the cars. Because lord forbid we had had to endure the embarrassment of piling out of that truck like a fucking circus clown car. Lord forbid.
And you were there. All night. Stolen glances. Wasn't that the bulk of us? Poorly hidden adoration..Wasn't it? Stolen glances. Mine. Did you steal glances at me? I can't imagine you needing to. What with my bigger than life, pride reducing, all-consuming crush. But maybe. I like to think, maybe that night. Maybe you watched me across the fire - watched me feign interest in conversations. Watched me swish around in the Arctic waters of the ice chest, watched me stumble into the darkness on my way to the outdoor ladies room..giggling, leaning on friends. Maybe.
Maybe now we sit there..together? Me and you and those Allman boys too? Lounging in pastel green lawn chairs..their criss-crossed seats battered and worn. Maybe they play us a tune that makes us feel young and old all at once? Maybe I'm their muse..just call me Penny Lane - without all the casual blow-jobs. Just call me sweet, and desirable. Call me irresistable. Call me innocent. Let me dance around the fire giggling and drunk. Let me sit under a guitar and sing my little heart out. Let me be funny, and sarcastic. Let it sting a little bit. Let me play with your dark hair. Let me pull you in, twirling the string tighter and tighter around my finger, completely unaware. Let me ride this wave of dark night and fleeing sparks. Let me hang on a little longer, let me be surprised by your kiss. Let me get lost in it. Let me get lost. Let me find myself.
Let me find myself.
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