Night in the Ruts

How It Began, in a Nutshell - Charlie

June 12, 1971, Bristol, Rhode Island.  A local high-school

“Stop it!” I hissed, planting my feet firmly on the ground in the hopes of stopping Jess from going any further.  She stopped for a second, looking back at me like there was something wrong with me.  “We’re gonna get caught!”

        She grasped my wrist tighter in her hand, and led me forward, down the long corridor.  “Yeah, if you don’t shut up, we are,” she replied.

        I continue to trudge along behind my older sister, scared out of my mind.  I’ve never really done anything bad before.  Does sneaking backstage count as bad?

        Well, I’m assuming you’re a bit confused right now?  Allow me to catch you up:

        Jess(ica) is my sister; she’s four and a half years older than I am.  I’m seventeen.  She’s kind of a bad-ass.  I’m not.  Jess was sneaking out and partying when she was my age.  I sit at home and read books. Don’t get me wrong, I have friends, but I’m just not a rebel, as some might say.

        You see, Jess had come into my room a few weeks ago and asked if I wanted to come with her to get a spray-tan.  I was simply sitting on my bed in a pair of sweatpants and attempting to play my guitar along to one of my favorite albums by Derek and the Dominoes.  I love all those acid-bands like Pink Floyd or the Jimi Hendrix Experience or Led Zeppelin (Jimmy Page is the best thing to ever happen to this world), but I also dig some of the heavier stuff, like the Clash and the Ramones.  There’s also this band called Aerosmith.  Not like the book.  I’m absolutely in love with every member of that band.  Especially the lead singer.  He’s just perfection.

        I denied the spray tan offer, asking, “Why the heck would I get a spray tan when I can just go sit on the roof for an hour?”  After all, it’s the middle of the summer.  Jess was already tan enough; she went over to her friends’ houses nearly every day and sat by the pool eating grapes and getting wasted.

        She invited me to go with her to these little parties several times (I suppose she felt sorry for me being a loser and just wanted to allow me to have a good time).  In all honesty, I’m good with laying on my back in the backyard with some headphones and my WalkMan (which cost me nearly two hundred dollars and half a limb, I might add), or reading a book, or playing my guitar.

        But there is one thing that completely contrasts the whole ‘sit and do nothing’ persona: I love going to concerts.  Whenever a band comes into town, I bed and plead with my mom to allow me to go.  More often than not, I end up having one of the greatest nights of my life: listening to the music and living the music, just like all the other millions of people surrounding me.  It amazes me how so many people can come to a show–how many people love the same music I do–and all combine into one whole being.  I think it’s pretty frickin’ cool–and I don’t even do drugs.

        Anyway, Jess typically take me to the shows.  We get pretty good seats.  She takes well to the drunk guys hitting or her, while I think it’s a little creepy.  Yeah, I don’t know you; don’t shove your hand in my pocket.  Thanks, bye.  But that’s how I feel, at least.

       I always wondered what it was like backstage.  If there were tons of half-naked groupies awaiting the band’s return, lining the walls with managers and security guards; if there were tons of drugs and paparazzi and if there was a ton of food and booze or what?

 --

My current favorite band: Aerosmith.  I was out shopping for new records–typically the only thing I shop for–one day.  The telephone pole outside the store is usually plastered with posters advertising concerts.  In saying this, I always look at it.  This time, it was plastered with stickers (covering up most of the other posters) for some band.  The logo caught my eye because the lettering was really futuristic and the name wasn’t something you’d hear every day.  Because I thought it looked cool, I searched for some of their records.  Apparently, they didn’t have any out at the time.  I asked the guy at the counter when he’d get a new shipment, but he told me they never cut a record.  He also did the usual of hitting on me.