Silver Springs

Part 1

"What is it like, being on top?" Sam smirked at the question, dragging his hand across his forehead in the hot sun as sweat beaded against his tanned skin. He held back a laugh at the obvious innuendo, leaning against the warm brick of the building.

"It's a crazy feeling," Sam answered the interviewer, who was holding a microphone out to him with a slightly shaking hand. "I never thought in a million years our music would reach so many people. We're just some kids from the suburbs of Michigan, so to be at this level is insane."

"You're turning into hometown heroes, really." the interviewer replied, chuckling at his moniker. "Record sales are at an all time high, you're at the top of the charts, do you have any advice for any kids back home in their garages, trying to be the next Greta Van Fleet?"

"Yeah, don't try to be the next Greta Van Fleet." Sam grinned. "Be yourselves, write what speaks to you, play what sounds good to you. As long as you're yourself you'll go far." They wrapped up the interview and Sam parted from the young man, starting his journey back to his bus across the parking lot. He pulled a cigarette out of the pack in the front pocket of his half buttoned shirt, slipping a lighter from his jeans pocket and lighting it.

"Hey, you're Sam Kiszka, right?" Sam squinted in the sun, turning and seeing a young woman walking fast to catch up to his long stride.

"I am." he replied. "If you want an autograph, I'm afraid I don't have a pen. If you wanna shag, there's a line forming over on the other side of the venue."

"I don't want either of those things, thank you though." the girl scoffed lightly, slowing down now that she was beside him. "I'm actually a musician, a singer-songwriter, and I was wondering if you'd look over a few of my songs? I really dig the music you make, and it'd mean a lot." Sam stopped with a sigh, turning to the girl. Her light, sandy brown hair was frizzed from the humidity, unkempt waves looking like she slept with her hair wet and the window open while tossing and turning.

Her wide hazel eyes blinked up at him, and Sam glanced down, seeing her clutching a worn, tattered journal in her hands. She wore overalls with patches on the wide legged knees. They hung loosely on her and were faded, the t-shirt underneath short and snug to her body, making them clear signs of hand-me-downs or thrift finds.

"I guess," Sam sighed, holding out his hand. The girl opened the book in her hands, flipping through the pages before handing it over to Sam. The page Sam looked down on was scribbled all over, words etched out, messy writing across the lines. A few spots were discolored, spots where maybe some water, possibly even tears had spilled over. His eyes scanned the lyrics, keeping a blank face as the young woman bit her lip nervously, ruffling her hair, a smattering of bracelets clattering along her wrist and forearm as she moved.

Sam flipped through a few more pages before snapping the book shut, looking over to her. He thought carefully about what he wanted to say. The words she had written were good, and he couldn't help the artistic jealousy that bubbled up in his chest that he never thought of stringing them together himself.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Brandy." she responded. "Brandy Lawson."

"Well, Brandy Lawson," Sam held up the book in front of him. "I wouldn't quit your day job. You've got some potential, but nothing big in here. No one wants to hear a woman whining about her broken heart." he watched Brandy's eyes dim, her cheeks turning pink as she rolled her shoulders back against the blow to her ego.

"I appreciate the honesty." Brandy reached out, taking her book back from Sam. "Really, thank you." Sam felt a small twist in his gut, guilt setting in at crushing the girls' dreams. He ran a hand through his brown, shoulder length hair with a sigh.