Friday, September 28, 2007


Benny would sit in the front row of every gig she ever had. He’d be there no matter where they played, even in the shittiest parts of town. No matter how many people were in the audience, Benny would always be front and center with a pink rose for her. He’d always give it to her at the end of her band’s rendition of "Thou Swell," as if she were singing it only to him.

He knew he never had a snowball’s chance. He knew she was married, but he also knew that this woman’s voice made him feel better than any ex-wife or ex-girlfriend had. Hell, her husband never bothered to even come see any of her gigs.

And he would always walk her to her car as the band was packing their equipment into the van. They’d pretty much exchange the same pleasantries each time. "Where are you guys playing next?" "When’s the tour kick off?" Stuff he already knew, but stuff he would use to keep the conversation going, if only for a little while longer.

She’d eventually pull away in her old Chevy, and Benny would be left behind, waving good-bye.

She’d go home to a husband who saw her singing as an annoyance, and she’d always wonder what life would have been like with Benny. And Benny would always be on the front row at the next gig, wondering the same thing.



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