Suzie’s House 305 : Fitting in Backstage

“What do you want.” Bruce made it sound more like an accusation than a question.

Tracy shrugged. “I was just curious.” Which was the truth.

She’d sat in the theater after the guys all marched out and thought about it, then thought some more. They all went out with a signal from Bruce, all at the same time. They acted shifty as they left and even as they went in to see the Passion Pit concert. No matter how she looked at it, Bruce was up to something.

They were probably going to go back stage or something. Bruce always bragged about having connections. Maybe he really did? Curiosity didn’t really eat her up while the band took their final bows and the crowd rushed the exits, but it took a few licks.

She slipped backstage and hid until she heard Bruce arguing with someone, then stepped out to see what would happen.

“Well now you know what we’re up to. We’re working. So you can just…”

Tracy ignored Bruce’s bluster. She ran over to one of the guys. He had a huge pile of drums in their cases that threatened to topple. She grabbed the one on top, and followed him to the truck.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Bruce tried to take the drum from her, but she dodged. “I’m not paying you.”

“That’s okay. I just want to help.”

“Help,” Bruce yelled. “No, no, no. I don’t need your kind of help.”

That stung. Did he really think she was such a klutz? Probably. After watching her work so hard for tickets that nobody wanted, and goofing around in school. She was always ending up in one weird predicament or another.

She squinted as she handed the drum to a roadie on the truck, as if the tiny string of lights along the top edges of the cargo area were so bright. So pushed past Bruce, trying to not look vulnerable, but careful to make sure he couldn’t look at her face.

She wasn’t wanted. Again.

What was she doing so wrong? Yeah, she meddled. And yeah, she was going to have to make herself not do that anymore. But was lending them a hand now really meddling?

No. Helping out was always the way to go. Helping out bought you a few more days that people would let you crash with them. She’d learned that from her mother over the years when sometimes they had a home and sometimes they didn’t. Be nice. Be fun. And be helpful.

Ignoring the way Bruce followed behind her, acting all menacing, she walked up to a bass guitar, found the case, and started putting it away.

“Seriously, Tracy. Just go home. If you break anything I’m the one who will be in trouble.”

“Does it look like I don’t know my way around a stage?” She gave him more outrage than it deserved, but still feeling pricked and vulnerable, couldn’t help herself.

One of the guys knocked over a microphone stand right then. Bruce ran off, swearing. He’d never answered, but it didn’t matter, because he didn’t bug her again, and she slipped right in with the rest of his crew.

Half an hour later she had everyone laughing as she played air guitar in imitation of the band, even the roadies. When Bruce handed out Skillet tickets right after his uncle returned, he gave her one too.

Great. Yet another ticket she didn’t want. But at least for a few minutes, she’d belonged.

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