Impossible
To Live & Write in Alameda's June 2025 Alameda Shorts
I was dicing vegetables in the galley, the strains of “Smoke on the Water,” wafting through the open hatches. My husband, sitting in a bean bag on the bow of our boat with his guitar, was warming up before venturing into his own musical creations. The tunes soon turned to a soft strumming with a Spanish flair, and I wished he would play at the Open Mic Nights we attended almost weekly.
He had played live once in the 16 years we have been together, at his 50th birthday party with his guitar teacher’s band.
I’d informed him of the plans one night over sundowner cocktails.
“No way. I’m not that good,” was his first objection.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun, and you’ve been taking lessons for over a year.”
“A year! That’s nothing. Absolutely not. Impossible,” he tried again.
“Definitely possible. You’ve been playing for decades, and Mark says that with two months until the party, you’ll be ready. And I’ve already booked the venue.” I wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“You talked to Mark?!” he said incredulously. “It’s not happening. End of discussion.”
Impossible isn’t a word in my vocabulary. I smiled as I stirred the garlic and onions, remembering that epic night.
Mark, Aaron’s guitar teacher, had convinced him to play two of his favorite songs and he practiced with the band the weeks prior. Family and friends came from near and far and the local dive bar was filled to capacity. Drinks flowed and Aaron had a few pints of liquid courage to calm his nerves.
The stage lights glowed red and purple and green, and the band got the crowd up and dancing. Aaron was introduced and walked on stage to applause and cheers. Very few people had ever heard him play and I could sense a feeling of doubt and even sympathy as folks elbowed each other and shushed those talking.
He'd warmed up earlier and positioned his favorite Fender guitar across his body, adjusting the strap. He smiled nervously at the drummer, got a hug from the female singer, and nodded to his teacher, the lead singer and guitarist. The bass player who was prepared to help him keep time if needed, gave him a thumbs up.
This wasn’t just some average garage band. Mark McGee grew up in our hometown, leaving our island city after graduation to tour internationally with Vicious Rumors, a heavy metal band who opened for Paul Stanley of KISS, Blue Oyster Cult, Megadeth and others. He’d also recorded and toured for almost a decade with Southern Blues Icon Gregg Allman and was a member of the infamous Alameda All-Stars, as well as playing with Night Ranger.
He formed his own band. Luvplanet, with his wife Nicole, and at the time had recorded five albums and played at indie venues throughout the United States. He was an Alameda legend, and the band would more than entertain the party-goers with their unique melodic style, whether Aaron rocked or bombed.
After the first bars of “Midnight Blues” I shimmied up to the front of the stage and gave the signal.
Over the next minute, lingerie went flying. Black lace and leopard print silk undies, hot pink and glittery thongs, and one white cotton granny panty embellished with a Sharpie that said, “For a good time, call Jenny, 867-5309.”
A racy red bra spiraled high above the band before making a perfect landing on the neck of Mark’s guitar. The pro that he was, he didn’t miss a beat and kept right on playing.
I’d planned this “ice breaker” secretly and women of all ages flung with wild abandon, including Aaron’s 75-year-old aunt, high school friends, and my daughter. The band broke out in laughter and a huge grin replaced the tension on my then-fiancé’s face.
The song continued and Aaron got into a groove, improvising a solo at the urging of Mark. The crowd was amazed and surprised shouts of, “He’s really good!” rang out. He had the rapt attention of the entire bar for both of his featured songs and when he stepped down, he was dragged to the bar for congratulatory shots.
“Okay, you were right. That was awesome,” Aaron said on our drive home at the end of the night. “Terrifying, but awesome.”
“I told you so! You’re a great guitarist.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a once in a lifetime event.”
The sizzle of the hot veggies brought my attention back to the present. It was 11 years since that performance. He no longer took lessons but gets in a fair amount of practice now that we’re retired and living in Mexico. One of his buddies plays regularly at intimate local venues and our yacht club events, and a nearby bookstore hosts drop-in casual jam sessions.
I added the red curry paste to the pan, wondering what it would take to get him to play live again. We had a huge dock party for his 60th birthday in 2024 and there were no other big occasions on the horizon.
Hmmm. I’m known to do fundraisers for good causes. And there’s this incredible 1970’s actor and musician who lives in our marina half the year who I’ve been bugging to play live. A friend recently organized a benefit concert for a school’s music program, raising funds to purchase a dozen guitars for the kids. Someone needs to take on the second annual event to keep the momentum up.
Shrimp, tomatoes and finely diced ginger were folded into the caramelized veggies. A cilantro garnish and a squeeze of lime added the final touches as I handed the plates up into the cockpit for an alfresco dinner.
The scenario in my mind was taking shape and I had about eight months to bring it to fruition.
Improbable? Some might think so.
Impossible? Definitely not.
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This was my submission for To Live & Write in Alameda’s May Alameda Shorts challenge. Writers submit a 1,000 word or less story to the theme, are judged anonymously by a panel of writers, and the top 6-8 stories are chosen to be read at a evening at our local independing bookstore, Books, Inc.