The awakening of a lifetime

I used to love going to concerts.  I remember catching some of my favorite acts many years ago for under $20.  Now you go to see these same performers and they are senior citizens.  I understand reliving the past and paying tribute to our musical heroes, but now you pay 1000% more to see them.  Some old geezer at a microphone only singing half the song and I have to make a car payment to attend?
Let’s be clear on one thing, fans see things with rose colored glasses.  If 67 year old “Johnny rock n’ roll” struts on stage, gives cool looks, spits, and breaks his guitar, he cannot possibly look as cool as he did at 27.
No botox, penile implant, or super-sized Geritol dose is going to bring back his youth.  On the flip side, everyone should play music until they drop.  If you want to make grandpa a rock icon in your mind, that is up to you.  At least you don’t have to clean him up if he soils himself hitting the high notes.  
 
We get a bit of the best of both worlds in Onion Dent’s first major arena performance.  Donny is healthily back on his feet and primed and invigorated for his triumphant return to the stage. 
Rock veteran, Iian Hunter, on the other hand, had genuine interest in this show and initialed his participation in the event. He became intrigued with our group in conjunction with Donny’s near fatal show injury at the New Jersey non-profit benefit.  Donny isn’t going to call it good luck.  However, good fortune did arrived for Onion Dent in the form of a fallen light cam that put Donny in the hospital and really put us on the map. 
Since then, Donny had the visiting nurse “death episode” and the public’s endearing passion for Donny “the man, and victim” has increased tenfold.  The public doesn’t care if that old rocker , one Mr. Iian Hunter, shows up or stays home.  It is a peculiar position for the veteran rock star.  He has been peppered in the press as a “tag-along” trying to re-invigorate his career” by “latching on” to the most compelling musical story in decades.  He is commonly referred to in the press as the “rock n’ roll butt monkey.” Not only is the press hammering Mr. Hunter, Onion Dent is sour on the idea of sharing the stage and wants him placed firmly in the back seat of the limelight.  All of this chaos has transpired in the spite of a sold out show. 
  Onion Dent sits and chats at our luxery hotel.  Iam gave us some honesty “as happy as I am to be able to play such a huge arena, I really regret that we have to share the stage with this guy, he serves no purpose.  “I agree, I spent enough time in the hospital and don’t feel it’s right to compromise all that I went through” Donny had spoken from the heart.  We tried to get our manager Shill, to work Mr. Hunter out of the picture, but they are old friends and he puts his loyalty in the forefront.  There is always a catch when it comes to the circumstance surrounding this band.  Ironically we continue our winning ways to success with just that one show under our belt.
The marketing onslaught has kept us busy.  The band has been interviewed countless times in conjunction with the upcoming show and fans have embraced the candid personalities and spontaneous humor.  “Iam, what was the first thing you said to Donny when he came out of a coma?” “I fancy the liver spot on your buttocks that resembles the boot of Italy.”  “Jerry, did you ever imagine that Donny was possible of killing someone?” “No, but I know he used to host phony jewelry parties that he tried to turn into gang bangs.”  “Joe, is it true the band almost broke up over all of the difficulties experienced by Donny?”  “No, I could never leave the band because of Donny, he has too many naked pictures of me on his mantle.”
The band has become a prominent part of the story and has risen to the occasion.  The focus had been on Donny, but the group’s unique personality muscled in on the intrigue and allure.   The press embraced this quirky ensemble with the strange name. 
We meet for lunch at the hotel and talk about the upcoming show with an aging rock star. “Stay clear of the male enhancement M&M’s bowl in his dressing room, I think it’s the pink ones that have an ‘O’ on them.”  “How old could he be?” “Let’s flip him over and check his born on date.”  “Where do you think his born on date is?”  “Next to his sun-dried bean bag?” “I’ll tell you how old he is, If he sticks around another week and we can use his bird’s nest as compost.”

There is a luncheon held at a private suite at our resident posh hotel. We have the wall sized plasma TV tuned in to the area news as the entertainment portion begins.  There is an upcoming feature of an Iian Hunter interview that catches our eye.  It is the next segment after the commercial break.  The short interview uncovers his sour and candid views on Onion Dent.  He refers to us as “amateurs” lacking talent.  He stated that this show would prove the difference between “hype” and “genuine talent.”  Finally he said “I’ve seen these type of fly-by-night bands come and go, and they’ll be gone before you know it.  Most of my backup bands are left in the dust and then they sweep up when I’m all done.”
We weren’t pleased and took our turns in comment.  “This guy looks like he hasn’t been cleaned up since the bicentennial.”  “Let’s mop up the stage with him, before we need a mop on the stage for him.
“Don’t guys his age just like to smell bad, fart at the grocery store, and proudly sport unkempt ear hair.”  “If his groupies throw underwear on stage, I’m calling 911.”
This guy certainly has changed his tune from one of sympathy to competitive assault as we approach show time. Onion Dent’s  sentiment for Mr. Hunter has turned vile.  The joking stopped as reality sunk in.
“He’s through, this will be his last show.”  Joe uttered the resounding last word and the group agreed.

We sit in the vacant mammoth arena where the show will be held for our initial meeting with Iian Hunter. The venue always looks smaller when empty, but it was impressive to see and realize we were the ones filling it up with fans in three days.
We heard Iian Hunter from the stage upon arrival before we actually saw him.
“I heard about this band they call Onion Dent.”  There he was sporting extra dark aging rock star sun glasses, a black t-shirt with an orange triangle design, time tested  faded ripped jeans, and new blinding white high top sneakers.  The band was eager to establish an aggressive tone and to set the record straight.  Donny started off the festivities “hey look, it’s our opening act.”  Iam took his turn “This is exciting, I never shared the stage with someone that had osteoporosis.”  “Watch out for his crooked finger, it’s still eager and functional.”
Suddenly we were redirected by a loud thump. Through the side door holding guitar cases and additional gear was a distorted and peculiar aging hippie character. Iian Hunter’s assistant was an oddly arranged specimen of a man.  His name was Chit.  He was a sandy colored died long hair, chain –smoking, deep wrinkle faced, sculpted biceps, half cut-off shirt wearing, obscurely tattooed veteran of the music biz.  Two visuals stood out upon our introduction.  One absurdity was his missing teeth; the other was a stomach tattoo. “Do you think he’s just waiting for the shock treatments to take effect.” I curiously wondered.

Chit cracked a broken smile and the assorted tooth arrangement curiously had some deficiencies.  It mirrored a visual facsimile of an extraction of Dracula’s fangs.  The remaining front teeth were reminiscent of yellow Halloween corn candy or some runaway Chicklets caused by decades of chain-smoked lucky strikes and a mallow cup addiction.  On either side of the periodontal defensive line, were gaping black holes that drew in your eye.  He laughed a lot, even when no one talked to him.  When he laughed, the eyes affixed on the missing teeth regardless of how funny the inside joke was.  I had a strange neurological daydream that confetti was going to shoot out on some hilarious joke and we all would have to run for cover. 
The second absurdity was a stomach tattoo that could have been a case study right from my old abnormal psychology professor.  Chit had a “c-section scar” tattoo.  He thought it was hilarious, we thought it was insanity. He used it as a curious introductory conversation piece that brought on an unsettling feeling and loss of an appropriate response.  After he introduced himself, he pointed the tattoo out to the band and said “how about that?”  We had some comments that we mumbled amongst ourselves so he couldn’t hear us.  “I hope he doesn’t think I’m the fictitious father and expect me to pay child support in monopoly money.”  “I hope he doesn’t have another tattoo that he’ll show us later that is currently hidden by his dungaree shorts.”  “I kind of like how he chose to accessorize the gaping tattoo with the missing teeth to compliment the vacancy of brains.”  “If he tries to breast feed a Betsy Wetsy doll during the sound check, I’m calling the psychologist who helped Donny to quit sucking his thumb.” 
We decided to throw Chit a few of our usual mode of questions and he didn’t seem to understand any of them. 
Joe was the first to inquire then we took our turns. “Is it true that doctors have yet to deliver a baby through a human teapot spout?”  “Did you do the Lamaze class ‘cleansing breath’ technique while getting the tattoo?”  “Does belly button lint make it look like a maypole?”  “You should probably wear a cummerbund to the next family reunion.”  “Does your girlfriend call you girlfriend?”  “The matching birthing hips are a nice touch.”   “Is that the C section?  At least he got good seats.”

Shill told us that Chit was harmless and was traumatized thirty years ago when he was curiously left at the alter of a shotgun wedding.  The bride, and mom-to-be, ran off and left him at the backyard grill at her Daddy’s gunpoint.  All he had was his BO and aqua velva mix, and tuxedo shirt as he stood in groom position with the preacher for two hours.  The “coulda had a V-8” moment finally hit home when Uncle Bub ran in from the front yard to yell to the congregation that Thelma’s pickup truck was gone.  Chit stayed for the pig roast, got drunk, and then hiked for months to his new life of desperately needing psychotherapy.  Iian hired him one night after a show.  His limo was driving out of the barren parking lot and all that was left was a stick figure of a man standing by the exit.  Iian put down his window and Chit returned the guitar pick that he caught during the show.  He said, “ I thought you might need this.”  They have been friends ever since.

After our brief interlude with Chit, Iian Hunter took the initiative and shot back.  “Shill Miller told me what monumental ballbusters you are.  Let’s be clear on one thing you fookers, this is my show.  Anybody that gives me any lip will have to answers to Chit.  He is undefeated in cage matches in the UK.     
Joe had a little message “listen fuzzy, without us you’d be out to pasture with a carrot up your hole.”  Donny tried a gentler approach “why don’t you be a nice elderly man and take your orthopedic high heals and get on the bingo bus.”  The veteran rocker looked at Donny “listen Mr. Lucky, no one will care about you once this show is over.  Thank that light cam for your one day in the spotlight.”  Donny replied “I’ll take my chances Iian and hopefully I won’t ever need to meddle my way into someone else’s spot light years from now when my prostate swell interrupts my vocals.  You are just a worn down, crusty old turd.”
“That does it!” Iiam Hunter pushed Donny and he toppled over a vocal stage monitor.  A tense moment ensued and instead of a fight there was a revelation. 

Jerry spontaneously maneuvered a rapid step toward Iian Hunter and ripped his trademark wig off of his head. 
Jerry didn’t know for sure that it was an actually a wig, until he stood there with it in hand.  There was silence and we couldn’t accurately gauge each other’s facial expressions or feelings.  Was Iian Hunter red with anger, embarrassment, or both?  Chit, on the other had been down pacing around in pre-fight anticipation.  We just stood in silence and waited for whatever would unfold.  Jerry slowly lowered his head and stared at the floor in regret and peered in silence at the wig.  “I don’t do things like this,” he said.  “I hold the remnants of a rock star and his persona in my hands, this just isn’t right.”  He walked over to a red-faced broken former icon that had been exposed to a small group of confused onlookers.  “I’m really sorry about this, it wasn’t right to take away how you chose to be.”  “Iian Hunter reached over and took the wig, he proceeded at a snail’s pace toward the trash can at stage right.  He softly tossed the synthetic curls in the trash container as he stared momentarily at the contents and results.  “You’re right, I have been holding on to a memory for too long.” 
Nicole reached in her purse and found a compact mirror and slowly approached Iian Hunter.  She positioned the small mirror so he could get a glimpse of his own realty.  “Look,” she said.  “You know something, you’re a good looking man.”
He stared at the mirror with the same wonder and curiosity as someone who had just regained his eyesight.   He tilted his head to the left, and then to the right, then a small tear ran down his face and landed on the stage as it christened a new beginning. 
Nicole had a tear in both eyes as she witness the awakening and whispered some inspiration “let go, be yourself.”
He continued to look in the mirror, he wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and a tiny smile appeared as if an old man had been introduced to boyhood again.
“Come on Chit.”  They both began to walk off the stage.  Chit had Iian’s guitar pick in hand.  He stopped his tread behind Iian, paused and peered at the wig inside of the side stage garbage can.  He sighed, sniffed, and proceeded to throw pick into the trash.   They both exited through the stage side door on the left.
Donny was now on his feet and staring at the door that Chit closed tight.  “Do you think we’ll ever see him again?”  I gave him my best approximation “not in this lifetime Donny, not in this lifetime.”

Copyright © 2010 Domenick Cassise. All rights Reserved Worldwide.

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Onion Dent is a work of fiction and any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.