Transcription
Around the Cosmic Campfire by Tony Wright
Chapter 29: The Last Night
I started singing in junior high school. I didn't have a real desire to get up in front of people, all alone, to sing. And somehow, through a concert choir in high school, I found someone who wanted to sing with me, and she also played guitar. Lynn was a year younger than I, but she was very forthright and much more aggressive and was basically fearless. Not I. I was a scaredy cat. It was good for me to learn from her, to put myself out there, as I was incredibly shy and reclusive. I may never have done that without her, ever. It started my lifelong desire for performing.
We played at a few places that our parents had to drive us to since we didn't drive yet. I even remember playing at the VFW hall, and I have no recollection at all how that came about. I don't even remember who was in the audience; probably some very old men. But we plunked two guitars and sang everything from the Beatles to earlier folk music of Peter, Paul and Mary, and Dylan. We had a good time. Since I graduated high school a year before Lynn, I then got married and moved out of state and never did see her again. We lost touch, as young people often do.
Years later, I was a professional singer, a traveling road musician, and I was playing with my band in Jackson, Mississippi. We had been booked there for six long weeks. On our last night before leaving town, we were in our last 15 minutes of our last set—yes, on our last night in that city—and the cocktail waitress brought me a bar napkin saying someone wanted to speak with me. It was Lynn. She and her husband had come in for a drink at our lounge, and they had never been there before. It was a total fluke for her; she did not know who was playing there. It was their last night before they moved out of town, and she had lived there for several years. We had no advertising to indicate that I was there, and she would never have known me by that stage name. But what a special moment to see her again, to catch up, to have a musical connection once more.
How did we find each other against all odds, in one location, just moments before both leaving the area? Not only my last night, but my last 15 minutes of playing music on stage when she walked in. It was her last 15 minutes of opportunity to get into the club and hear music and see us on stage. Amazingly, she recognized me. I otherwise would have finished and gone right to my room upstairs and out of sight, as I did most every night. Of course, we apparently both dialed it right in. Our antennas were certainly up, and we were tuned to the same radio station. Was it the God station? I believe so. But it truly is one of those fun things that helps us stay awakened to the resonance we have with others. It is a vibration; we send it out there, we transmit, we listen; others listen. We can all do it quite easily, but in the end, it seems like a miracle. But at this stage in my life, I can attest to the fact that miracles are not miraculous per se. Miracles are the norm. We just have to put up our antennas, take a deep breath, and ask for them. They are sure to come.