Lonely People

Music Festival

Sleep was something I often took for granted. Molly called me an insomniac; I say I'm a night thinker. I got the best ideas late at night when the entire world was asleep except for me. It was then that I wrote the best poetry.

I gazed down at the sleeping figure of Molly. She was curled up in a tight ball, her head slowly inching closer to my thigh. Her hair was pulled back in a tight braid that was slowly loosening. With the moonlight shining through the window, I could see the sparkle of drool on her cheek.

A notebook was open on my lap, my pen poised to write, but I couldn't find anything. All I could do was look down at the sleeping figure of Molly, watching her chest slowly rise and fall. Something about her was melodic, like the music she created when she was awake followed her into her sleep. 

We'd spent many nights together. More than once I had woken up with her across me or vice versa. Both of us were restless sleepers, and we were bound to move around. It wasn't abnormal for me to see her sleeping. I had seen her like that a thousand times before, but that night, something stopped me.

Perhaps it was the way she looked like a portrait of a beautiful princess from the medieval era, or perhaps it was the way her breathing followed a rhythm unlike anyone else's. I couldn't quite understand why Molly caught my attention, but she did, and she held it.

"You're going to be the death of me," I muttered.

I began to scratch words onto the paper. They flowed out like a waterfall. Each word followed the next in a perfect marching band, all encompassing the feelings I didn't know I had.

At the end of the paper, I had a song. It was short, no longer than a minute or two, but it held everything I had hidden deep inside. Feelings and emotions I felt but didn't recognize ended up in that song. I called it; Moonlight Through The Curtains.

"Rubbish," I muttered, turning the page away.

***

"Molly, come on, we're going to be late!" I exclaimed.

Exhaustion filled my entire body, making my muscles weak and my limbs sag behind. The lack of sleep was bound to catch up with me sometime; I just wish it wasn't on that day.

With the help of Brian Epstein, Revolution had landed a gig at a small music festival just outside of Liverpool. It would take us an hour to get there by van, but that was nothing compared to the ultimate gain we would receive. This music festival was filled with music critics, producers, and managers. People there could launch our popularity tenfold.

"I can't find my bloody shoes!" Molly exclaimed.

I sighed deeply. We already had our instruments, including a drum set loaned to us by the club we were playing at. It was large and hard to lug around, but Janice was bringing her Mum's van. We would be able to transport it no problem.

Molly finally came rushing down the stairs. She was shrugging on a jacket as she did so. For a moment, I simply watched her. She smiled brightly at me, "Ready?"

"Been waiting for you."

"Come off it, I was only up there a few minutes."

"A long few minutes."

Molly rolled her eyes. She grabbed her guitar case and sighed, "We've got to get our own instruments."

"We've got to get the money first."

It took fifty pounds for us to rent those instruments. It would be even more expensive to buy them, but cheaper in the long run. If Revolution didn't start taking off soon, we would need to get real jobs in addition.