The Rockstar Chronicles

It's here.

The boys got up, exchanging nervous glances, and I wondered what it was all about. Why were we going through this? What was it all for?

And then they filed out in one silent line, resolutely facing something that terrified them.

I started to sit back down and then Mom grabbed my shoulder. "Don't you want to watch?" she asked. Her fingers gripped my shoulder, digging into my flesh. It was the only sign all night that Mom was nervous.

Nodding, I fell in step with her, walking right past the other backup dancers in their matching makeup and hair. They were all older than me, professionals, and I had only practiced with them twice.

The backstage area was a jumble of equipment and people, neatly hidden from the audience to present the idea of perfection.

The lights were dim and I squinted, trying to find my brother in the haze.

And then the lights came up, the music blasted from the speakers, and the band went on.

#

Nate came out to introduce Kiss Goodbye and the fans went wild. As he talked about the band and how his son was a member, I shifted to the right, standing on my tiptoes as I tried to get a better view. Through the smoke, I saw the boys exchange nervous glances as Nate left the stage.

They stood alone.

And then the intro music died away and they each took their starting position.

I knew it in the middle of the first song. The cheers, though loud before, rose to a level I hadn't imagined existed. I felt the adrenaline pump through my body.

Mom leaned close, yelling something in my face, but I couldn't hear her over the noise. All I could see were her eyes and they shone.

It was electric. And I knew.

They were going to be big.

Too soon, it was my turn. I thought it was going to be different, like rehearsal, but I was wrong. The lights were so bright, I could barely see. And they were hot. It was surprising.

I felt the heat on my skin and when I closed my eyes, it still filtered through, a glowing orange. I can't describe anything more than that. It just felt right.

I was home.

It was an amazing feeling to perform and to know that the people you are performing for love what you are doing. I'll never forgot that feeling, no matter what.

And too soon it was over and I was ushered to the sidelines to watch the rest of the show. When I came offstage, I felt like I was glowing. I floated over the ground, barely noticing the people and noise surrounding me.

Until I heard her voice.

"You're a natural," Mrs. Crabtree said and I hugged her.

"You came?" I asked, even though it was perfectly obvious she had.

She laughed at me as she nodded. "Of course I came. I couldn't miss your debut." Mrs. Crabtree touched my cheek. "You have a talent, Lindy."

I blushed again. "Thank you," I said.

"Be careful of it. Don't let anyone take advantage of you," she lowered her voice as she stepped closer to me, glancing around as if she were fearful of spies. "This business is ruthless. You have to decide if you love this and, if you do, you have to decide how much you are willing to give up for it. Don't let anyone else decide that for you. It's your choice."

I nodded, tears pricking my eyes. "The trouble is, I don't know what to do."

"You will, when the time comes. Here, I brought you this." She handed me a small bag.

"What is it?" I asked.

Mrs. Crabtree laughed at me again. "Why don't you open it and find out?"

Tucked carefully among the tissue paper was one of Mrs. Crabtree's handpainted fans. I opened it, anxious to feel the cool artificial breeze against my skin.

I gasped when I saw it. I could barely breathe as I struggled to take it all in. "Oh, thank you," I whispered.

It was gorgeous and it was special and it was mine. Mrs. Crabtree had painted a scene I've never forgotton, just like I'll never forget that first summer in Nashville, and the endless days of rehearsal and the long nights at the Berkeley's farm. Or the heat rolling over me the night I first performed or sitting in the car listening to the music echoing through the streets of downtown.

It was all part of it and part of me.

On the fan, Mrs. Crabtree had carefully drawn Minnie, the mimosa tree, in the left corner. Almost all of the rest of the fan was covered with the flowers and lanes making up Mrs. Crabtree's yard. The exquisite detail of the flowers brought tears to my eyes and this time, I didn't bother holding them back. Just that alone would have been enough, but deep in the background, if you knew where to look, you could make out Mrs. Crabtree's house, stretching out among the flowers, and on the porch, a tiny figure with its arms flung wide, as if to welcome me home.

It was her garden and I would have it with me now, wherever I went.

When I looked up, Mrs. Crabtree was gone. I saw her tottering away, brushing at her eyes as if she too were crying. And then I ran, dodging people carrying equipment and cameras and notepads.

I caught up to her, wrapping my arms around her in a giant hug and she hugged me back.

"I'm going to miss you, Lindy Madison," she said as we rocked back and forth.

"But I'm not going anywhere," I said.

Mrs. Crabtree shook her head and smiled at me. "Well, if you do, maybe you'll come back to visit an old woman every now and then?"

"Of course I will. If I go," I added hurriedly.

"Lindy, come watch," Mom called, waving me over. She waved at Mrs. Crabtree and Mrs. Crabtree waved back.

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