Long Live

Tim McGraw

"When you think happiness, I hope you think that little black dress

Think of my head on your chest, and my old faded blue jeans

When you think Tim McGraw, I hope you think of me."

I gaze up at the green awning, which is reaching down toward me with swooping white letters reading "The Bluebird Café." A smile spreads across my face, and a chill runs down my spine as I pull the wood door open.

The quiet buzz of patrons in the café fills the air around me. I grip the handle of my guitar case tighter as I walk around the perimeter, admiring the wall of photos of musicians who have performed here before me. I've waited months for this opportunity – after half a dozen failed auditions and nights where my best friend consoled me, I'd finally gotten the golden phone call. A featured spot on their Sunday night lineup.

I stop next to two pictures of the musician who particularly inspired me in starting my career here – Taylor Swift. The first must have been taken during her first time playing here. Her face is rounder, her eyes bigger, and her curly hair is cascading down past her shoulders. Her hands hold her guitar gently, and her mouth is open, smiling wide as she sings.

The second photo is more recent. Her hair shorter, straighter, and her face doesn't have that youthful roundness to it anymore. Still, the way she holds her guitar is the same, as is the twinkle in her eyes as she sings. I pull my phone out of my back pocket to take a picture and send it to Sage.

"Naomi?" A gentle voice shakes me out of my reverie. "You can start setting up whenever you're ready, honey."

Without looking at the pictures I took, I put the phone back in my pocket.

I stare up into the blue eyes of the manager. Rose, I think her name is. I smile, fighting the nerves that are forming a pit in my stomach. "Thanks."

With one last glance at the pictures, I turn and make my way to the stage. I set the guitar case down and unlatch it, staring at the deep oak of my Fender guitar. I'd been saving for a new one, but I'd missed out on picking up some extra shifts at the restaurant in order to practice for this gig. But it would all be worth it after tonight. Any exposure I could get from being here would be better than nothing.

I set the guitar on my leg, facing away from the audience, and begin tuning the strings. Around me, the lights of the café flicker, resulting in quiet sighs from the patrons. When they go out completely, the room fills with groans.

"I'm so sorry, everyone!" Rose says. "We're working on getting the backup generator going. It should be on shortly. We appreciate your patience."

I finish tuning my strings, but the stress begins to eat away at me. What if the backup generator doesn't work? Will I have to give up my set for the night? I know the café is booked solid for the next month or so, and I don't know if I'll get a second chance if this falls through.

I grab my phone that I'd set in my guitar case and quickly text my best friend, and roommate, Sage. She likely wouldn't see it; she's stuck at work, which is why she couldn't come in the first place. Not having her around didn't help my growing concerns.

Power outage. Not sure if I'll get to play.

The response comes almost immediately. Hang in there! Everything will work out the way it's supposed to. Don't stress yourself out.

She's right. To help myself relax, I run through the lyrics of the songs I'm going to sing in my head. As I do that, I put the capo on the first fret of my guitar, and toy with my pic in my fingers. With my other hand, I tap my fingernails lightly on the guitar, letting the beat push away my worries.