Dedicated to Ayla. Beloved Guardian and Comfort, Precious above all others. Rest in Peace.

HOME

Let's not get heavy about it, Aye? It's not what the Rock gods would have wanted!"

Gazza seemed to read my thoughts for once.

"H-How do you know?

If the following short silence was anything to go by, Macca had not expected to be asked that.

But then he answered anyway, and I decided to step in before he fed Gazza any more nonsense.

Instinct, my ass!

I opened the door and stepped out.

My "Tada-a!" drew the attention to me in a heartbeat, and feeling self-conscious again, I let it fade in a defensive "Tada-alright, don't laugh!"

I was never prepared for the outburst I met then.

There was a great deal of whooping and cat-calls and cheering. Prince's "Check out the Babe!"-boom cut through it all, and when I tried to get him to shut up, Cliff chimed in with a compliment I didn't quite hear over the din but ended with "-licious", making me think he made it up somewhere along the way. I tried to brush off that as well, but now the compliments rained down, and somehow I felt happy, despite the burning in my face.

Especially since Gazza, the boy who never shut up, seemed to be at a loss for words.

Until Meat Loaf's statement that I looked "Totally Rock 'n' Roll!" seemed to sum up what everyone had wanted to express and they calmed down, giving Gazza the opportunity to gather his wits (rather than staring at me and trying to listen to everyone and drinking everything in, all at the same time, occupying his mind quite nicely) so that he was able to form a coherent sentence. "They're right, Scaramouche! You do look totally Rock 'n' Roll!"

Which, for some reason, meant more to me than all the comments tumbling over each other to show their appreciation.

That is, until his grin faded and he asked, somewhat sheepishly: "What is Rock 'n' Roll?"

Maybe, Gazza, someone should teach you to stop using words you don't quite understand.

But the exasperated look on Big Macca's face reconciliated me. It was just too funny to look at to stay angry at Gazza, for it was he that brought it forth.

Plus, I was nearly as curious as he.

"Ugh – What is Rock 'n' Roll? WHAT IS ROCK 'N' ROLL?" Macca worked himself up real good, and Brit stepped in – I was not so sure if he did it to stop Drama Queen from exploding or from throttling 'The Man' – and tried to explain.

"Gazza, Baby" (Baby? Oh, blast, mental pictures... bad mental pictures...) "Rock 'n' Roll is everything you want it to be!" His affectionate hit to the shoulder made Gazza stumble, while the Bohemians chimed in with suggestions:

"It's sex!" (Cliff running his hands up his thighs)

"It's style!" (Prince. Of all people to say it, it had to be Prince with his pointy, golden glittery corsage-thingy...)

"It's rebellion!" (I never took Bob to be the shouting type – well, that shows, huh?)

"It's freedom!" (That was Cliff again, doing a little dance)

Gazza grinned like a fool again, but for once was not deterred. Reading my thoughts again, he asked the question that was flirring around in my head: "B-but what actually is it?"

His words sent a dead silence over the group, as everyone was contemplating the question. Macca opened his mouth to answer, and you could hear the gears rattling in his head as he thought about it again and finally admitted: "We don't know."

Gazza looked disappointed, the Bohemians dejected and I wondered what it meant that they had complimented me with something they didn't know the meaning of. Somehow that thought must have registered on my face, because Meat reached out and patted my shoulder.

Macca tried to compensate for his admission by telling what they did know. That Rock 'n' Roll died. (And that makes it better? Geez!) And that someday a man would arrive who carried the past within.

A man who could remember.

Suddenly, the faces of the Bohemians were hopeful again as they flocked around Gazza while Macca continued to explain that somewhere hidden on Planet Mall were Instruments.

I felt a shiver run down my spine at the thought of a real musical Instrument, my fingers aching with a sudden strange want.

But this was Gazza's party, Gazza's quest.
Macca's still slightly careful "If Britney is right, you are the man that can find them!" seemed ridiculous to me.
Because Gazza was, without a doubt, The Dreamer. The Man who could remember. And I knew it, for he breathed music, carried it with him like a fatal disease. If anyone was able to restore Music to its former glory, it was him.

"Me?" Suddenly, Gazza seemed reluctant. He who had blabbed on and on about a special destiny somewhere in store for him had it spread out before hum and feared to grab it.

"But I-I-I don't even know what they look like," he protested weakly.

That seemed to put the Bohemians in a stump, until Brit's rich baritone proudly exclaimed: "I do!"
He pulled something forward that was basically a box with a broomstick sticking out, connected by a free-hanging wire. "I've been working on this for MONTHS!"
To be honest, I didn't see the difficulty, but then again, I never tried, now, did I? Maybe there was something to hat contraption I was not aware of? My string of thought was severed by Brit's somewhat sheepish admission that he "Can't play it, though." For a moment I was disappointed, but then he shoved the thing into the waiting arms of the Black-Stripe-Guy that had held the door open for me earlier, and grinned. "Fortunately, Lulu can!"

Black-Stripe-Guy – Lulu (what a girlish name!) – pressed the wire down onto the broomstick and plucked at it.

And suddenly there was sound.

Not music, not what Gazza made happen in your head sometimes, but sound. Sound that could become music if you let it mature a bit, nourishing it.

"LULU! You're the man," Prince screamed enthusiastically from somewhere in the crowd now obviously getting ready for a feast. Suddenly there was food being carried out, and drinks appeared, while Brit took Gazza, throwing his arm around his shoulders, talking to him like a benevolent older brother. "Once you get that – 'vibe'," (whatever that was, exactly), "all you need is your Baby!"

Loud whoops from the bohemians near enough to hear him, and then from those further away just for the heck of it. And all the while Lulu plucked away, altering the note by lowering or raising the finger that pressed the string to the stick. I sat down at the edge of the platform, studying his movements. Who knew...? I only listened to the conversation with half an ear.

"You see, Galileo", Brit continued (and for a moment I was actually puzzled about who it was he was talking to, until I saw Gazza look at him with his mouth hanging slightly open) "what passes for Music these days was only created for money, which is why it has no soul." More agreeing whoops from the Bohemians "But when Rock 'n' Roll started, you know why they did it?"

Gazza was at a loss. "W-w-why?"

Brit smirked and slapped Meat's ass in an affectionate way. "They did it for their babies, of course! They did it for a crazy little thing called love!"

And the party started.

Cliff and Prince sat next to me, holding a bucket and tins, hitting around on them, some people got other stuff, like some plastic cups with pebbles in them that rattled in time to the rhythm, others just started wolfing down something to eat (AC was nice enough to bring me something), and yet the whole din turned into music somehow.

And then Brit started singing, as if he was telling Gazza a story, until Meat chimed in, drawing Brits attention to her by swinging her hips and pushing him with them so hard he stumbled. But he recovered, turned to her, and then they sang "Crazy little thing called love" together, while I joined Cliff in his hitting the bucket. It was fun.

Gazza stood nearby, trying to get in everything at once. Failing, of course, and looking fairly stupid in doing so.

And then Prince gave me a shove, jutted his chin in Gazza's direction and told me to go dance.

Meat lead the second verse and it became obvious that the Bohemians had been singing that particular song very often, for the other Bohemians joined her in a kind of echo.

This thing (this thing)
Called love (called love)
It cries (like a baby)
In a cradle all night

Dancing was awkward.

I tried to copy the movements of other dancers around me (Madonna and Bob were a sight to see), but I felt self-conscious, especially next to Meat, who moved like she danced so her entire life, and Brit, who moved behind her like they were one mind in two bodies. He continued singing when she stopped, and as he sang "It jives", he leaned over to me and poked me in the ribs with a conspiratorial wink. Which made me flinch and draw back, so that Lulu and his box were between Brit and me. I heard the next phrase from Brit – "It shakes all over like a jellyfish" - and decided that Love seems to be a rather strange thing and was to be avoided. (I hate jellyfish, I really do. They give me the creeps).

But I continued to try to dance.

I failed abysmally. I was unable to let go. Unable to just let the music carry me away.

But then Gazza was behind me, his hands on my hips, and suddenly it was easy. A tingle spread from where his hands were, his warmth seeped into me, and with it the music. It was the same song, but he seemed to magnify the effect somehow, and I was washed away. I registered the other Bohemians dancing in a wonderful mess, and finally felt whole.

With Gazza behind me, surrounded by music and rebels, I was home.

I never felt better in my whole life.

Gazza grabbed my hand and swirled me out of his arms, like I had seen Bob do with Madonna, and the spin made me laugh – but then there was a pause in the music and reality came rushing.

The insecurities were back, and I chanced an unsure glance at Gazza, who smiled and moved a bit (His dancing definitely had improved). I looked around, the music started up again, and then I realized that it didn't matter how foolish I might look – (Gee, that Leather-Charlotte girl was even more stiff than me – although than could have been caused by her clothes, of course - and Macca actually managed to look nearly as foolish as Gazza did at the car dump), so I simply – moved, even though the music was down to its original level now that Gazza was a few feet away. I even managed to catch the words Brit and Meat were singing.

"I gotta be cool, relax, get hip
And get on my tracks
Take a back seat,"

"Hitchhike" (that was Meat)

"And take a long ride on my motorbike" (Brit took over again)
"Until I'm ready"

"Crazy little thing called love" (Everyone)

There was a pause in the singing, but not in the music, and everyone was simply dancing.

Brit and Meat came over to dance with us a bit (well, it was more Meat dancing around Gazza and Brit having a watchful *coughjealouscogh* eye on them), until suddenly all that was left of the music was a ghost and a rhythm of snapped fingers as all eyes turned to Gazza and me, waiting.

After nervously licking his lips, Gazza silently started: "I gotta be cool" then, gaining confidence (and volume) as he sang: "relax, get hip, and get on my tracks!"

I couldn't stand back, so I tried Meats Hip-push (successfully) and took over: "Take a back seat!"

Gazza grinned "Hitchhike" and indicated for me to continue, which I did.

"And take a long ride on my motorbike"

Back to back we sang together: "Until I'm ready!"

And then Brit took one shoulder of each and turned us around so we faced each other and him: "Crazy little thing called love"

It felt like we somehow had participated in an initiation without knowing it, but passed. The dance resumed, suddenly a formation while still keeping its wild disorder, and the steps seemed to fill my mind. Only as I danced beside Prince and Cliff did I realize that the physical music had stopped when Gazza and I sang. Now it was like Gazza's music – it simply was.

And everyone heard it and sang together.

"This thing called love I just can't handle it
This thing called love I must get round to it
I ain't ready"

Gazza claimed me back, grinning like a fool while he sang, and I am afraid I did not look any better. His eyes only left mine when he spun me around, and I felt a blush creep up that had nothing to do with exhaustion. We repeated "Crazy little thing called love" over and over again, until the music came to a close and Brit let out a satisfied "Oh yeah!"

And in the silence the triumphant voice sounded like a doomsday bell – A voice I had hoped to never hear again:

"'Oh yeah' indeed!"

With just three words my Home was destroyed.

Again.

And another chapter. Happy International Day of Rock, everyone. Especially to those who follow my story. I feel deeply honoured. The reviews always make my day. I don't say this to pressure anyone into reviewing, but simply to show that the reviews are duly noted and appreciated.