“You were really great!” said the lady in the fedora.
I smiled, but before I could say anything more than thanks, she cut me off with, “I’ll be right back–I’m gonna go smoke a bone.”
And with that, she was gone and the conversation was over.
But not the night.
In fact, it’s 12:20 am, and the Lizard Lounge’s Open Mic is still going strong. I’m fading a little, but the night marches doggedly on.
It’s weird, walking onto an empty stage–armed with nothing more than a ukulele and a pile of lyrics–still feels new. I’ve done it more times than I can count now, but there’s still that adrenaline. Still that, “Please God, don’t let me forget the three thousand words I stuffed into these verses,” prayed under my breath.
And still just a ton of eyeballs glassily staring at me. Brains wondering if I’m any good at all.
“God, please help this to be good–my best…”
Yes, there are many hurried and hushed prayers that coincide with the soundtrack of my life. They seem to materialize especially when I’m driving or about to go on stage.
If I were to ever drive onto a stage, I’m sure I’d have to get every church lady circling up, praying for me.
I performed, and I have to say it was really fun! And the response was the kind that makes me feel like maybe I’m doing something right.
“You just moved here?” the MC asked, right after I finished my second song, with the audience listening.
“We’ll get you playing all over this town, girl.”
Another hushed prayer.
Perhaps the most important one of all.