hands. The moment came. The
guitars hit his key, the drum and cymbals crashed and the lights
exploded in color. In that same instant, Peter swung the mic stand
and nailed his opening note, his body taut with strength and
energy. His pure voice rose above the instruments; his lyrics hit
the back wall. He owned the stage. All eyes were on him. The night
was young and he was ready to rock.
Song after song the three moved with a
synchronicity only possible between blood brothers. They worked off
each other’s signals, and moved from individual highlights and
solos to unison movement. At times they delivered their carefully
crafted harmonies, singing together at one mic, their heads inches
apart. They exchanged silent communication. When they were on
stage, they displayed complete and utter harmony of movement,
thought and talent. They hummed with energy.
While Garrett and Adam awed with their
expert guitar stylings, Peter ramped things up with smoking stage
moves and vocals. He entertained the audience with his high energy.
He leapt off side stages, performed mic tricks, spins and slides.
His stage performance mesmerized the crowd.
Perspiration glistened over his body. His
mop of hair dripped with sweat. He whipped it to the side as he
belted each note. He left every ounce of energy on stage, he held
nothing back and the audience knew it. Peter peered out over the
thousands of fans and watched as the lights illuminated different
areas of the audience, revealing the enormous mass of humanity that
the three brothers, Jamieson, held in a spell. The experience of
sharing the personal music he created, never failed to intoxicate
him.
# # #
Libby slunk low in her folding chair and
buried her head in a copy of “The Great Gatsby”. What a dumb story.
Why was it considered a classic? At least the book helped her
appear a little less obvious as she sold tickets among the riotous
noise of the commons area.
True to her word, Miss Orman expected her to
sell bus tickets to the away football game that night. Some
cheerleader should be stuck at the table, not her. Football
sucked.
Nearby, the lunch ladies served up cardboard
tasting pizza and watered down turkey soup. For the granola heads,
limp lettuce awaited.
She’d sold a dozen or so tickets, but most
of the students ignored her. Libby became invisible to them months
earlier. Of course, she didn’t help the situation any by ever
trying to fit in. When she started school in Rockville, her heart
overflowed with grief and thoughts of the family she lost. Her
withdrawn personality mistakenly convinced the kids she was emo,
but even the emo kids found her eerily withdrawn. Libby’s only
problem, she suffered grief. But everything changed the day Peter
walked into her life. Now all she could concentrate on was him and
how unbelievable it was that he actually wanted to see her
again.
Since checking Peter out on the internet,
she thought of nothing else. When they talked at Parfrey’s Glen,
she thought he exaggerated the popularity of their band. In
reality, he’d understated it.
She couldn’t imagine why he wanted to see
her again on Saturday, but she wasn’t going to second guess his
sanity. She could barely wait to lay eyes on him again and make
sure she didn’t dream the whole thing up. The hours crept by so
slowly, she wanted to scream. If only she could figure out a way to
get his CD, then she could hear his voice and pretend he was near.
She needed a connection to him, some way to get a little closer.
But she had no money and no way to go to a store outside of school
hours to buy it.
Aunt Marge insisted she spend all her time
studying or at Parfrey’s Glen for the fresh air. She was paranoid
Libby might do something remotely normal like get a job, have
friends over, or god forbid have a date. Libby suspected her aunt
possessed other motives, but it never bothered her until now. She
was used to it. Libby never questioned authority, she always gave
in. She
guitars hit his key, the drum and cymbals crashed and the lights
exploded in color. In that same instant, Peter swung the mic stand
and nailed his opening note, his body taut with strength and
energy. His pure voice rose above the instruments; his lyrics hit
the back wall. He owned the stage. All eyes were on him. The night
was young and he was ready to rock.
Song after song the three moved with a
synchronicity only possible between blood brothers. They worked off
each other’s signals, and moved from individual highlights and
solos to unison movement. At times they delivered their carefully
crafted harmonies, singing together at one mic, their heads inches
apart. They exchanged silent communication. When they were on
stage, they displayed complete and utter harmony of movement,
thought and talent. They hummed with energy.
While Garrett and Adam awed with their
expert guitar stylings, Peter ramped things up with smoking stage
moves and vocals. He entertained the audience with his high energy.
He leapt off side stages, performed mic tricks, spins and slides.
His stage performance mesmerized the crowd.
Perspiration glistened over his body. His
mop of hair dripped with sweat. He whipped it to the side as he
belted each note. He left every ounce of energy on stage, he held
nothing back and the audience knew it. Peter peered out over the
thousands of fans and watched as the lights illuminated different
areas of the audience, revealing the enormous mass of humanity that
the three brothers, Jamieson, held in a spell. The experience of
sharing the personal music he created, never failed to intoxicate
him.
# # #
Libby slunk low in her folding chair and
buried her head in a copy of “The Great Gatsby”. What a dumb story.
Why was it considered a classic? At least the book helped her
appear a little less obvious as she sold tickets among the riotous
noise of the commons area.
True to her word, Miss Orman expected her to
sell bus tickets to the away football game that night. Some
cheerleader should be stuck at the table, not her. Football
sucked.
Nearby, the lunch ladies served up cardboard
tasting pizza and watered down turkey soup. For the granola heads,
limp lettuce awaited.
She’d sold a dozen or so tickets, but most
of the students ignored her. Libby became invisible to them months
earlier. Of course, she didn’t help the situation any by ever
trying to fit in. When she started school in Rockville, her heart
overflowed with grief and thoughts of the family she lost. Her
withdrawn personality mistakenly convinced the kids she was emo,
but even the emo kids found her eerily withdrawn. Libby’s only
problem, she suffered grief. But everything changed the day Peter
walked into her life. Now all she could concentrate on was him and
how unbelievable it was that he actually wanted to see her
again.
Since checking Peter out on the internet,
she thought of nothing else. When they talked at Parfrey’s Glen,
she thought he exaggerated the popularity of their band. In
reality, he’d understated it.
She couldn’t imagine why he wanted to see
her again on Saturday, but she wasn’t going to second guess his
sanity. She could barely wait to lay eyes on him again and make
sure she didn’t dream the whole thing up. The hours crept by so
slowly, she wanted to scream. If only she could figure out a way to
get his CD, then she could hear his voice and pretend he was near.
She needed a connection to him, some way to get a little closer.
But she had no money and no way to go to a store outside of school
hours to buy it.
Aunt Marge insisted she spend all her time
studying or at Parfrey’s Glen for the fresh air. She was paranoid
Libby might do something remotely normal like get a job, have
friends over, or god forbid have a date. Libby suspected her aunt
possessed other motives, but it never bothered her until now. She
was used to it. Libby never questioned authority, she always gave
in. She
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