When I was a little girl, bored at home one summer and flipping through TV channels, I happened upon MTV. They were doing a nineties throwback, and the showUnpluggedwas playing. I almost flipped past until I noticed three girls on stage and only one boy. I’d never heard of the band, Hole, but I could pinpoint that day as one that changed my life. Courtney Love blew my ruffled socks off with her scratchy wail, but my eyes kept traveling to the back.
To the drummer.
The rest of the band was well lit, and most of the shots zoomed in on Courtney’s pretty red lips and bright blonde hair, but it was the girl in the shadows that intrigued me most.Shewasn’t a star, but the rhythm she created was. She could be heard in every note. I found out her name was Patty Schemel, but not that day.
That day, I got out Mama’s pots and pans, along with a couple wooden spoons, and kept time with Patty, imagining myself there—the star, but not in the spotlight—the backbone, but not the head. A spark lit inside me.
Even then, as a little girl, I knew my station well enough to keep that spark hidden. It was mine alone to figure out how to nurture and grow. And grow it did. Once I discovered Karen Carpenter, Torry Castellano, Debbi Peterson, and of course Meg freaking White, it grew so big and so fast, by the time I was in high school, I had a flaming wildfire inside me, yearning to break free.
To rebel.
And so, I did.
Haven, Liam, and I took the stage in near pitch-dark, alien-blue lights illuminating our way to our places. The hum of the crowd buzzed around me, past the weight of the monitor in my ear. We’d played big shows and small, and though Haven and Liam weren’t really in this for fame, we’d made something of a name for ourselves in our little part of Brooklyn, and it sounded like they’d all shown up tonight.
I twirled my sticks between my fingers, breathing in the smell of beer and bodies crammed into a tight space. It gave me a heady rush. I’d never done a single drug in my life—I wasn’tthatkind of rebel—but I imagined the high I got from the spotlight shining on Haven, the crowd cheering, and my sticks tapping the snare, had to be akin to snorting a line of cocaine. Pure adrenaline and bliss. My little girl dream fulfillment.
Haven did her thing. She was born to perform. She was most alive in front of a crowd. Her dream was to be on Broadway, but she put on a hell of a show as a rock chick.
“All right, Brooklyn. You turned all the way out tonight,” Haven said into the microphone. She caught my eye over her shoulder, shooting me a wink. “We’re gonna slow things down, then speed them right back up. See my girl, Maeve, back there on the drums?”
I rubbed my sticks over my head, earning a roar of applause. Laughter flowed from my chest, releasing in giddy bubbles.
“I have to tell you a secret.” Haven cupped her hands around the mic. “Maeve is an angel.”
More applause, more cheers, a few, “I love you Maeve!”
“She’s gonna sing a little for you. Just a little, ’cause my girl is shy. I had to yank her hair backstage to convince her. She finally relented, saying she’d give you just a taste of her angel voice.”
Haven’s story wasn’t that far off. It had taken two years of performing together for her to convince me to sing. She’d twisted my arm a little, reminded me how Karen Carpenter had rocked the drums and vocals, and I finally bit the bullet.
Tonight, as an homage to the Carpenters, I sang “Close to You” while tapping a simple, steady beat on my drums. This part always confused the audience. We went from hardcore punk to seventies soft rock in the span of a song. But their confusion didn’t last long. I stopped after the first chorus. Liam strummed his bass once. Haven let her eyes roam the crowd.
My hands moved over my kit at a speed I’d worked my tail off to acquire. My head banged as I shredded, my voice climbing to a wail, Haven adding her huskier voice to bring us to a crescendo.
When the last note played, the last beat struck, sweat dripped into my eyes, and my heart was happy. I felt like I glowed from the inside, and I had no trouble going to the front of the stage and taking a bow.
Once I wiped some of the sweat away and touched up my makeup, I went out into the crowd to grab a drink and see my friends.
Clive waited for me, a beer in his hand. He had a look on his face I’d never seen before.
“Wow, love, I…uh—”
I cupped his cheeks, grinning. “I’m still me. I just like to shred from time to time.”
I’d told him I was a drummer, but I hadn’t elaborated on my style or the kind of music we made. Clive definitely seemed surprised.
He shook his head like he was shaking off a dream. “I just…uh, didn’t expect that from you.”
Something in his tone attempted to drag me down. Maybe this was why I’d never invited him to one of our shows. From experience, I knew it was hard for men, especially, to see me as anything other than a soft girl with a southern accent.
Someone else grabbed my wrist, pulling my attention from Clive. “Yael! You didn’t say you were comin’!”
Seeing my old friend lifted me right back up again. The look of excited astonishment on her face and her iron-tight hug had me squealing right along with her. I’d invited her when I’d given her my new phone number last night, but it had more to do with being polite. She had much bigger fish to fry than me these days, so I hadn’t been sure I’d hear from her anytime soon, much less see her tonight.
“Honey, you just killed me dead. I’m a ghost. You’re hugging a ghost.”
Laughing, I held her at arm’s length, giving her a once over. “Well, you look damn good for a dead girl.”