New England Writers II

Oct. 23rd, 2000 Medford, MA 10:55pm Check! Checkkkk! I was singing it, into the microphone, the timber wasn't quite right-- "CJ, turn up the high end a bit in the house, willya please?" and the words flew out of my lips and were shot out into the rafters of Somerville Theater, and reverberated cooler, cleaner with the additional dress of treble., CHecckkk! CHecccckkylsillvokiaaaah! CHeckssinthemail..... Don was tweeking his backwards electric pedal footboard, Chris setting up drums, kicking at them, hitting on them- your normal sound check, really, but more activity here tonight, a sound company, light crew, stage managers, caterers, more people, a crowd milling about.. There was no reason to be surprised when I saw her, kids come in here all the time with the crew-- but she standing alone, in the box seat that rises up above the right of stage. It's the best seat in the theater, the kind of seat where you can rattle your jewelery, you may raise the chain on the spy glass, it's the kind of seat where President's get shot... She looked about nine, I guess, hard to tell 'cause I was looking up at her, and she could've been taller than I think she was, she was standing in the box staring down at me like some green eyed mechanic,like she was eyeing a mint condition Model T engine ready for dissembly-- she was taking me apart nut by bolt. And I was afraid she wouldn't reassemble. She was in an off white dress against the dark of the theater and I thought somehow that her father or mother had taken her, maybe placed her there, and was taking in practice, swinging a light on her from across the theater. I couldn't find her paren in the balcony, but the lights were blindingly bright looking down on me... I kept on playing , switching guitars, not staring back mind you, but playing, open c#, open c#, knowing right along that she was watching, and so I broke into an old kids song that I thought she might recognize, "once there was a man, who had trouble all his own, he had a yellow cat that wouldn't leave his home.."... looking up at the end of the verse, from the corner of my eye, I saw her bend her head slightly to the side, brown hair fell on one shoulder... she was listening, and I played, and played, and when I struck that last chord, "the cat came back, he just wouldn't stay awaaaay...." I looked up at her directly. And she smiled. A cool, slow one. "What's your name honey?" I said into the microphone, and out to the theater... "It's CJ, Ellis--'C-J'..." it was CJ, coming in all tiny voiced through my right, footside monitor speaker. "No, man," I said, "I was just asking this girl here, up in the box, what her name was- " and I looked up, it was all shadow. Don looked up thinking someone may have shown up that he was expecting, and I said-- "Did you see that girl?" He was looking at empty aisles-- "No", no, he hadn't. I pointed up to the box, but no one saw her, and no one claimed her, noone cared, either, and they all returned to their tweeking, their snare drumming, their veggie caterering... Pre-show i was in the cold basement of this old place. I had my little ten by ten rooom to warm up in, the place was quiet, everyone upstairs for the moment, I could hear Chris Williams coming down through the floor boards, the squeeking as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, I was tuning, listening, trying to make out the song-- "Ellis." nothing... no one. "Jesus... " (that was me). "Ellis." I felt the cold and damp of instant claustrophobia, and opened the door to see if anyone was in the ajoining room, ruining my solace. "Hello--?" The temperature was dropping, fast, I stepped into an avalanche kind of pace to the door across the room, through the oppposing door, up two steps at a time to the backstage, to stage side, where Christopher was bathed in blue lights and singing, I saw a wedge of mauve faces staring up from the audience. "Man, are you ok?" It was Don. I was completely breathless... "Yeah, i wanted to catch some of his set..." I sat down and caught my breath... and didn't say a word, still haven't, until now. Neither Chris nor Don know I am writing this. I watched the rest of Christopher's set, and forgot about the whole thing, was brought back to the moment in the theater, with the crowd there, watching. Christopher's folks came, and were loving it. I sang his encore with him, and looked up at the box, empty and dark. During the break after Christopher, the spots went mysteriously off line, and the light crew took forty five minutes to repair them to the point where they could focus back on the stage, nobody could explain why they went out. It was going to make for a long night, and it was-- thanks for staying... When I went on stage after the introduction, I plugged in, and my guitar wouldn't play, CJ's tiny voice came through footside, "We should be hearing you...". All my equipment was ready to go, it took a while before I could figure it out, but the fresh battery I just had put in my pre amp before the show had mysteriously drained-- it was brand new-- should've been good for 16 hours, and i walked off stage, a little huffed, ran down the stairs and through to the back room, to the one last battery, in the little ten by ten foot warm up shack. I bent into the suitcase for the battery, and found it in my hands. "Ellis." I'd forgotten about her! I spun around into the dark of the room, it was empty. In my haste running in, I hadn't turned on any lights, and I was using the cracked door of the bathroom light to see around the place. I ran out. FAST... I ran up the stairs, and only slowed to a walk when I reached stage side. I rolled my eyes to Chris walking in, and Don came over to check on me.. i put the battery in, took a breath, and the guitar hit the first sweet notes of "Conversation..." Don's monitor mix was completely askew when we went into the song, as if someone had run to the sound board and swiped all his nobs with their hand blindly... By the second song, Don's 12 string fell off it's stand with a Hendrix like booom crash distortion. Moment of silence, thankfully, the guitar was fine, we finished the piece, and stood back from the mikes to regain a little composure. Chris swore his drum kit was moving all night as he played it, the snare would be three inches of center, he'd hit it again, and there it would go, he'd see it, it was like playing airhockey, same with his kick drum, kept on pulling out, pulling towards the front of the stage. He would pull it back and kick away. And the fireside tape, oddly ran out, last song of the night, it trickling to blue screen and then turned to live tv! what was happening? The show was amazing outside of this, really, a sweet celebration, and the best way to end the best tour I've ever had, and I want to thank you all for coming out... but if you know anything about the little girl who haunts the Somerville theater, let me know... see you next time, Ellis Paul