"Oh good, it's one of those shows," I mutter to no one in particular, just anybody who might hear my sarcastic remark. The venue is Kilby Court – that's a generous word, venue – and it's a veritable shit box hole in the wall you would expect for a no-name garage band. There's no way this is to fire code with probably close to forty gross scene people jammed inside, and at least twenty more outside by the fire pits. The unwashed masses. I am sure the look on my face is one of abject terror because when my eyes finish sweeping and judging the crowd, Prim has her hands on her hips and her delicate head tilted to the side.

"Don't be shitty. This means a lot to Madge, and you know it."

She's right. This night is important to my dear, talented, albeit slightly deluded childhood friend. I've known Madge was quite the singer for a while, years actually, but I never thought she wanted to be here…

I mean, for Christ's sake, the guy by the door just dripped hummus on his beard. And now he's chewing on the pubic-looking mass to get it out? Ugh. And don't even get me started on the girls working the merch tables. GOD. If you are that desperate for a lay, you should be banned
from public.

"Fine, I'll be good, but do you know when her set is supposed to start? I need to be home by ten. And at least one someone here reeks, and the longer it takes to get shit going will only allow the funk to garner its strength."

I'm pushing it here, I know. The car ride over was me and Prim, doing this. I say something terrible, she tries to restore my humanity. She sighs, shakes her head and elbows Johanna. Apparently Prim is off the clock as far as dealing with me.

"Shut the fuck up, Katniss."

I roll my eyes.

Later when I finish counting missing ceiling tiles, I pull my phone out. Has it really only been four minutes? Madgie, I love you, but girl, too much is too much. I decide on Mahjong…

The lights dim and Prim grabs my phone out of my death grip, pocketing it in her purse with brows raised, practically asking me to say something snarky and sarcastic. I look at her intently, cross my eyes, and look away to the stage when I hear her start to snicker. Little sisters – so
easy.

I see Madge and three other people walk out of what must be "backstage" but to me looks like a broom closet. She stands just slightly off center, near the microphone, splitting the stage with a man bent over adjusting cables to the keyboard. No pretenses tonight, I guess. Madge's guitar is conspicuously absent, so tonight must be all about her vocals. She did mention to me a few days ago that this show would be an audition. Apparently the band needed fresh female vocalist blood after a Yoko incident with previous singer and the drummer. Speaking of drummer…

He looks… like a fine male specimen. He's sitting on the drum throne, but my guess would be that he's tall because his legs barely fold up in front of the bass. He is dressed much like everyone else here, flannel and beanie, so original, with dark hair peeking out the front, sides, and back. He briefly catches me inspecting him and raises his brows. My jaw drops open, and I quickly engage in a fake conversation with Jo – pretty sure I asked for a stick of gum. I decide I like looking at Mysterious Drummer, but that tall, dark, and emo isn't really my flavor.

It's because I'm watching him that I notice the little signal he gives to the rest of the group to get the fuck going. Fine with me. The sooner I hear Madge belt her little heart out, the sooner I'm back to studying in my underwear. I actually feel bad for having thought this and remember everything Prim said on the way over, how brave and crazy Madge is for seeking this group out. I resolve in this moment to be a better friend, convincingly supportive, like a freshly cutlet-ed push up bra.

She is visibly shaking, waiting for her cue to the song. The crowd has been cheering, filling this little box with their excitable "woos!". I add my one audible piece to the masses around me and yell out "You're fine as hell, Madge." She hears and looks my way, smiling. Prim and Jo quickly catch her eye, waving and squee-ing appropriately.

There is a light piano sound, and I turn my head to notice for the first time the petite woman with short blonde hair manning the keyboard. Her fingers continue their movement, rather effortless looking actually, and she nods at the blonde man who had been adjusting the cables.
He straightens and for the first time I notice the guitar slung across his back – somebody's showboating Madge's role, I see. He gently swings it around to the front and begins a soft, complimentary chord to accent the notes of the keyboard. With one quick look and smile to
Madge, he steps toward the mike and sings. His eyes are closed, which kind of fascinates me. Is he that in the moment here, in this shitty place? Whatever. I go back to Dark Drummer when I hear him chime in.

It's not until the chorus that I hear Madge for the first time, harmonizing with Blonde Guitar.

"Why'd you fill my sorrows

With the words you borrowed

From the only place you've known?

And why'd you sing Hallelujah

If it means nothing to you?

Why'd you sing with me at all?"

Jesus. Sorry Madge, I have supremely underestimated you. In truth she sounds incredible! Really very good, very clear, her voice just rings through the lyrics. Even I in my heart of bitchiness can admit I was wrong to be skeptical. And that guy! He makes her angelic sound even more pure and lovely. I realize it's the context of the entire song, the complete picture of four adults with many different sounds coming together that actually has me in awe.

I'm surprised to find myself clapping at the close of that song and beginning of another. This is so not my scene, this is so not my group of people, not my comfort zone, but dammit, am I proud of that pretty little blonde singing up there in front of this crowd! One quick look around the room tells me I'm not alone in her class of admirers.

Blonde Guitar becomes Blonde Violin, and Madge takes the lead in the vocals of the next song. It sounds happy and bright, and Keyboard and Dark Drummer chime in for parts of the chorus. It's cute, actually, really cute. Madge lets her little sway-in-place dance take over for Violin to
play a quick solo and leads the crowd in a rhythmic clap. She makes it look so easy…

The set continues like this, one folksy score leading into an indie song. When Blonde Guy changes instruments a third time, carefully packing the violin in its case and reaching behind the keyboard for what I think is a mandolin, I admit I'm impressed. Even I appreciate the skill and talent of an individual who can play three different musical pieces AND sing. Color me inspired.

I start to notice other things about him. The way he wears the shit out of his 511 Levis, the soft glint of scruff on his jaw and neck that catches in the blue light of the stage trees, the measured dexterity of his long fingers. And his eyes. I can see they are the color of the clearest blue, like
Mediterranean waters, and the focus in them burns through the instrument in his hands. But when he lifts his gaze to his band mates, his eyes melt and smile…

The group finishes one last song, with Madge carrying the final note, and I clap and smile at the success of my sweet friend. Her face searches the crowd in my direction, so I wave with my mouth open and tongue sticking out, making the face that guarantees a Madge-laugh, and I'm not disappointed. She is still smiling when Blonde Music Magician says something to her, smiles, and reaches out with his left arm to wrap her in a half hug. She leans into his grip until he exaggeratedly kisses her cheek, squinching up her face and raising her right shoulder to her chin.

It is the duty of the convincingly supportive friend to linger at this point, so naturally I turn to Prim and Jo to say something snarky about Dark Drummer and his affinity for flannel, when Prim grabs my hand and pulls me back to the stage door Madge and her new musical friends just disappeared through.

Maybe Madge will introduce us…