Dream Sequence - Rock and Roll Band

As I approach the stage, I am wearing my navy blue hotpants, with the top bursting with stars and accentuating my full-bodied figure.

My legs are encased in velour hip-length boots. My hair wildly swings and the weight of the curls cascades down my back, landing near my waistline. I clutch my signature tambourine, tightly clasped in my left hand. The center of the instrument is darkened by the constant striking on the calfskin, either utilizing the palm of my hand or a swift strike against my hip, furiously maintaining the raucous beat of the songs. I have the aptitude for a wide singing range, confidently hitting the soprano notes, but yet capable of a lower register. I inhale the rock music and it permeates throughout my body. I possess the accompanied rhythmic dance moves and incorporate those steps into the beat of the music. My head swivels in all directions causing a complete immersion of songs that we have selected to totally capture the attention of the crowd.

There is a multi-talented drummer in our group, Dave, who insists on wearing his letter jacket, although he graduated from high school within the previous 10 years. He still bears the scars of acne but combs his blonde bangs across his forehead giving him the illusion and the appearance of a much younger musician. He rhythmically keeps a constant beat, as he peers into the audience searching for a possible female connection. His expertise in drumming provides a steady and at times thundering and explosive sound, while occasionally throwing his sticks up into the air, thereby creating a dramatic flair to our group. An outstanding drummer contributes good timing and good dynamics, bearing a sense of musicality. His motor brain excels at being more efficient and organized.

Paul has extremely reddish bronzed tight curls, uncontrollably flopping about his head. He has very obvious bad teeth and if he closes his mouth, it conceals his biggest physical flaw. He wears a thickened worn leather strap around his neck, suspending an acoustical guitar, which guides him to specifically holds down a series of chords with a fretting hand, while also strumming or fingerpicking with the other hand. His stage apparel is always consistent, a deer hide fringed jacket which he never removes regardless of the club's temperature or piercing overhead lighting systems. He doesn't offer any vocals but he is a steady and reliable background musician who consistently applies a steady beat. He has no showmanship qualities and prefers to shyly perform.

Larry is profoundly the most skilled and appreciated player. His black stringy hair spiraling deliberately dropping over his lazy eye, makes him feel more confident. He always wears a green-styled pea coat jacket (army-influenced) and owns two pairs of pants. His chin has a light sporadic stubble while he attempts the growing out of a full mustache, that never seems to fill in. He is the strength of our group with his electrifying fender telecaster, which can produce heavy songs such as Jimi Hendrix or bluesy notes predominated by B. B. King. The guitar can emanate piano or organ-influenced pitches while also producing a soft twangy undertone. He has no audience contact but stares at the floor concentrating on the depth of the musical power that he owns with his guitar, named Genisis.

I scan the stage and I notice Claudia, who has slipped out of her overcoat and is wearing my black slinky leather skirt, topped off with her black turtleneck and black vinyl boots. She has compacted herself and squeezed into my apparel, as she is 20 pounds heavier than me. She steals my clothes without my permission. She has thinning brown hair, which hangs limply down to her shoulders. Her eyes are a brilliant blue/green shade and her demure stare is vacantly aimed toward the crowd. Is it the daily consumption of diet pills that does this? She sings in a sultry and soft tone. She grabs the mike and bravely confronts the audience, never fearing a dropped note or off-key rendition. She is totally confident and is our director for song choice. She could comfortably fit into a church choir or operative venue. She opens with Carole King's song, "You make me feel like a natural woman."

I sway from side to side and we all acknowledge her grasp of the crowd, creating a calm atmosphere.

Then, we break loose and follow her with the opening piece of "American Woman", "Staying Alive", "Hot Stuff", "Play that Funky Music", Janice Joplin's "Piece of my Heart", where I strain with my voice to capture her throaty and raspy voice. I succeed.

A full rendition of Jimi Hendrix and the crowd is stomping and giving us screaming accolades of their approval. We are nearing the end of our first performance and close out with Sly and The Family Stones, "I want to take you higher", Boom shak a laka, Boom, shaka laka.

The crowd is pumped and so are we.

They are howling and whistling and jumping erratically slamming into one another, completely entranced by our music.

Dave essentially has a complete drum kit, comprised of a collection of a base drum, pedal drum, throne, Hi-hats, and snare drum. He also has cymbals and other auxiliary percussionist instruments. He plays as if his sticks were ablaze, pounding on the drums repeatedly with strong strokes, and increasing the rapidity of cadence with powerful hits. His blonde bangs are disheveled as he fully immerses himself in his unique performance.

Larry, is now in full-stage performance mode, swiveling his hips like Elvis Presley and making pronounced defined sounds on his exquisite guitar. He can command his guitar to sound like a piano or finely tuned keyboard. His is magnificent.

Paul's fringe on his jacket barely moves and his concentration is focused on a steady, unruffled beat, calming down the wildly enthused bandmates.

Claudia casually taps her feet, not wanting to distress her appearance, she backs off of the mike and allows the enthusiasm to swallow up the song.

I am perspiring so much that watery drops are splashing onto my velvet boots. My hair is damp and as I dance in a wild exhibition, beads of sweat are flying throughout the air. My underarms are wet, and my skin feels almost clammy. I extend the tambourine high into the air and begin aimlessly jumping all over the stage to accelerate the steaminess of the song.

A book falls off of my lap while lying on the couch and it thuds to the floor.

In my dreams, I was a rock star.

Christine Reding