Blind Man's Bluff

Chapter 1

 CHAPTER 1

The roar of the crowd was soon blanketed by the pound of the drums, the beat of the bass, and the shred of his guitar.

Now I see you,

now I don't,

Wasting light,

consumed with want.

Every ounce of energy went into those chords, the slide, the hammer on, pull offs. The pedal was at the tip of his toes, and he worked it as hard as he was working the instrument, singing the song in his head to keep time.

In that fine line

of love and hate

Is my current

emotional state

To his left, Jake was bellowing the current song.

Stuck your needle

in my eye

lack of light,

reveals your lies

His band members were slamming, and things on stage were becoming rowdy. There was a feeling of disembodiment, to be in the middle of this mayhem in utter darkness, but it was a comfort to know his buddys and band would respect the taped off area, his secure space.

Baby what I'm asking you

Is this love? Is this enough?

Maybe what I ask from you

End this game I'm not so tough

Is this love or blind man's bluff

The first time he had played a show blind folded had been a combination of a joke on his stage fright, a lost bet with the guys, and an enactment of their hit song, 'Blind Man's Bluff.' Then, somehow it was his trademark, his little idiosyncrasy that had the magazines printing his name. Funny how you could look back on something like that, the fear of peering into that sea of faces, the blindfold prank, the song, and rue the day, that in some twisted way, it had surely sealed your destiny.

You've got me playing blind man's bluff

Stumbling like a lunatic looking for love.

Twisting turning, crazed and confused

Which direction which delusion

Blackness hapless mass confusion

Trapped inside shattered illusions

Is this blood or is this love...

“Chris dude you killed it!” The elated exclamations of his band, riding on the high of the show, filtered all around him. Slapping Jake on the back in answer, he then let his hand rest there for a moment as they descended the stage.

“You guys see that chick, holy shit the size of them--”

No he hadn't seen.

In the dressing room, he settled into a corner, listening to more of the same, and chugged a bottled water, hastily thrust into his hand. The rest of the band showered sweat away, preparing for the meet and greets of the press room, and whoever was waiting in the hospitality room. Slinking deeper into the chair cushions, he waited to have the room to himself. Once, he had done all of that publicity and partying with them, but, for now, he was on a hiatus from it.

Briefly, the media had a field day; his anti social behavior spawning such headlines as 'Chris Platt Shuns Fame,' and 'Rock Star Becomes An Introvert After Near Fatal Wreck.'

“Chris, dude, you call it. Back in Black or Subliminal Verses?”

Lost in his thoughts, he normally ignored their habitual arguing, and now he turned his head that way. Jake was into the classic hard rock bands, Asher, being a drummer, idolized anything Joey Jordeson.

As he considered which one to throw his vote to, music pounded through the speakers. 'Greenday.'; Hunter obviously taking advantage of the distraction to plug in his own playlist.

With his input now moot, Chris tuned them out, tuning instead the guitar in his lap.

These guys had been his best friends for three years, but sometimes they collectively wore on his last nerve. Thrown together as a band, twenty four seven, for many more months than not, through each year, they had become brothers. This last year, they had become even more, bonded tight by near tragedy.

The room cleared, Jake being the last one to holler a parting, “Later Chris,” as he took his exit.

Chris retrieved his own music from his bag and docked it. Next, he unlatched his wardrobe case, undressed into the laundry bag, then delved around, making his selections from the neatly labeled and organized clothing.

The relaxing spray of the shower pelted his skin, first on cool, then he turned it to a warmer temperature. His finger tips ran over the tile, trailing over the shampoo/shower gel combo. From the other room, a song began to feed his memories, taking his mind to Alaina...

“No matter what, you will come for the summer? Soon as school is out? For a month or so, before you start Tech?”

”I saw your tour schedule. You are on the road starting early Spring through late Fall.”

“So? Ride around with us, entertain me?”

“That's almost a year away...I love you. So much. But, we should downgrade to friends for awhile.”

“Friends?! Can you really do that Lanie?! Friends?! Because I know I can't--”

“Why are you doing this Chris? Just shut up and kiss me...”

...And he had. He had kissed her while he threatened to turn down the contract, and kissed her the hour after signing it. They kissed every day and night until he loaded on that 747 to LAX, and then never again. That had been over a year ago.

Every day calls and texts had dwindled. He had stalked her Facebook, until it became impossible to look at the pictures of her with some other guy.

Twisting off the shower, he tried to twist off his thoughts as well. Quickly he dressed in the chill of the airy room. Feeling around in his bag, he found his brush, dragging it through wet hair. This particular album was becoming torture, and he paused to change it.

“Play Jewelweed, 'Family Jewels', Track three.” He instructed his player.

“Um Chris?” Stiffening, he tried to shake off the voice from his memories, knowing it wasn't possible, and heaved a put upon breath. “Yeah?”

Every once in awhile, there was a fan, influential enough to pull the strings to meet him. For ten minutes or so, he would fake his way through a picture and chat. The band manager always accompanied them though--

“I know it's weird to just drop in like this.”

“Alaine?” Moving too fast, he tripped over no less than three things, almost kissing the floor before he caught his balance.

“Hey.” Her voice was as warm as the sunny day he had met her, and as sweet as the honey she had always tasted of.

END CHAPTER 1

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