Lively Lime #5
Julia stopped reading and took off her glasses. Squinting at her red wristwatch, she saw that it was 9:03pm. Time to get ready, she thought. Stretching her arms as she sat in that ergonomically correct yet chronically uncomfortable chair, she let out a little sigh of completion. Cap that highlighter. Close that 3-inch thick textbook. It's time to have some real fun.
She walked over to the mirror in her tiny studio, a home to suit her seemingly tiny life. Black hair in a pixie cut. Pale skin. Some imperfections. Lanky. Grey turtleneck and blue jeans. Julia was invisible in grad school. That quiet girl who never talked in class, and when forced to talk, gave mediocre responses. Branded as "eccentric" by the kind, "loser" by the snobby. Nobody knew the truth beneath the surface, but that suited Julia just fine.
Stripping off her civilian clothes, she opened the closet and pulled out a sleek black dress shirt. $40 from the men's section at a trendy store in the Village. Silver paint splatter design all over it, which always made her feel like someone had shot the Tin Man in front of her. Baggy black pants, gathered at the top with a red belt that matched her watch. She bent down on one knee to lace up her chunky blue platform boots. Some spiking gel, glitter on the cheeks, sunglasses at night. All set. Julia grabbed the heavy black guitar case and walked out the door.
The club was about 20 minutes away by subway. As she balanced herself on the metal pole, she thought about the day. Another boring class, no questions asked, no insights gained. It's not that she didn't like law school. The subjects were interesting enough, tons better than undergraduate classes, but it just didn't excite her. Some of her classmates, whether feigning intelligence or not, at least seemed to be genuinely inspired and enthused by the subject. The way their faces lit up when answering a question. You can't fake that confidence, she thought. Clak clak clak, the subway continued to hurtle and sway. I can't get worked up by it. I need the education, I'll need a job. Being a lawyer will be steady. I'll make a good living. I'll be happy that way. That's what she told herself everyday. She generally got along with most people at school, but nobody thought about her much. An average student. An average person.
She entered the brick building by the side door. It was almost 10:00pm. "Julia!", a call by some familiar voices. Madi, Nick, Steph. Her bandmates. Her family. Perhaps the one good thing to come out of college. Together they made up Goldfish Royals, a group of kids who decided to escape their boring lives by making music together. Madi came up with the name. She was the one with pet goldfish, and while staring at the little ceramic castle in the fishbowl one day, had a stroke of genius. Not bad for an entry-level financial analyst. Nick was getting his PhD in biochemistry. Steph was a physician's assistant, planning to apply to med school in a couple of years. They were all up-and-coming professionals, resigned to sweaters and collared shirts and sensible shoes most days of the week. They were all invisibles, part of the massive collection of educated yet faceless individuals fighting their way to the top like everyone else in this metropolis. And now they were standing together backstage, pvc shirts, faux-hawks, mascara, spike heels and all.
Julia played bass, a job for the stoic one. The one who was mysterious, always calm and logical, keeping everyone together with her leadership skills. In short, the lawyer. She stood off to the left side of the stage as Madi belted the rock songs the four of them had written together. If the stockbrokers could see her now. Nick played his guitar with the skill and reverence of someone who had handled his share of dangerous test tubes in his life. Cautious, yet ambitious. Steph's head waved up and down as she wildly but expertly struck down her drumsticks, ferociously releasing the angst and anxiety that culminated from her day job. She wants to be a surgeon.
Goldfish Royals finished their set to roaring applause. Here, they were legends. Their names and faces were known. They watched other bands play, and lounged around in the café across the street until dawn, trading stories from the office and school while swapping ideas for future songs. As they emerged, mascara a little smeared and eyes a little bleary, they saw the misty light over the skyscrapers and fell silent. A chilly breeze suddenly swept through and howled over the naked trees. It was 6:00am. Classes and work would start again in a few hours. Time to return to reality and invisibility.
But there would be another gig in a week.
She walked over to the mirror in her tiny studio, a home to suit her seemingly tiny life. Black hair in a pixie cut. Pale skin. Some imperfections. Lanky. Grey turtleneck and blue jeans. Julia was invisible in grad school. That quiet girl who never talked in class, and when forced to talk, gave mediocre responses. Branded as "eccentric" by the kind, "loser" by the snobby. Nobody knew the truth beneath the surface, but that suited Julia just fine.
Stripping off her civilian clothes, she opened the closet and pulled out a sleek black dress shirt. $40 from the men's section at a trendy store in the Village. Silver paint splatter design all over it, which always made her feel like someone had shot the Tin Man in front of her. Baggy black pants, gathered at the top with a red belt that matched her watch. She bent down on one knee to lace up her chunky blue platform boots. Some spiking gel, glitter on the cheeks, sunglasses at night. All set. Julia grabbed the heavy black guitar case and walked out the door.
The club was about 20 minutes away by subway. As she balanced herself on the metal pole, she thought about the day. Another boring class, no questions asked, no insights gained. It's not that she didn't like law school. The subjects were interesting enough, tons better than undergraduate classes, but it just didn't excite her. Some of her classmates, whether feigning intelligence or not, at least seemed to be genuinely inspired and enthused by the subject. The way their faces lit up when answering a question. You can't fake that confidence, she thought. Clak clak clak, the subway continued to hurtle and sway. I can't get worked up by it. I need the education, I'll need a job. Being a lawyer will be steady. I'll make a good living. I'll be happy that way. That's what she told herself everyday. She generally got along with most people at school, but nobody thought about her much. An average student. An average person.
She entered the brick building by the side door. It was almost 10:00pm. "Julia!", a call by some familiar voices. Madi, Nick, Steph. Her bandmates. Her family. Perhaps the one good thing to come out of college. Together they made up Goldfish Royals, a group of kids who decided to escape their boring lives by making music together. Madi came up with the name. She was the one with pet goldfish, and while staring at the little ceramic castle in the fishbowl one day, had a stroke of genius. Not bad for an entry-level financial analyst. Nick was getting his PhD in biochemistry. Steph was a physician's assistant, planning to apply to med school in a couple of years. They were all up-and-coming professionals, resigned to sweaters and collared shirts and sensible shoes most days of the week. They were all invisibles, part of the massive collection of educated yet faceless individuals fighting their way to the top like everyone else in this metropolis. And now they were standing together backstage, pvc shirts, faux-hawks, mascara, spike heels and all.
Julia played bass, a job for the stoic one. The one who was mysterious, always calm and logical, keeping everyone together with her leadership skills. In short, the lawyer. She stood off to the left side of the stage as Madi belted the rock songs the four of them had written together. If the stockbrokers could see her now. Nick played his guitar with the skill and reverence of someone who had handled his share of dangerous test tubes in his life. Cautious, yet ambitious. Steph's head waved up and down as she wildly but expertly struck down her drumsticks, ferociously releasing the angst and anxiety that culminated from her day job. She wants to be a surgeon.
Goldfish Royals finished their set to roaring applause. Here, they were legends. Their names and faces were known. They watched other bands play, and lounged around in the café across the street until dawn, trading stories from the office and school while swapping ideas for future songs. As they emerged, mascara a little smeared and eyes a little bleary, they saw the misty light over the skyscrapers and fell silent. A chilly breeze suddenly swept through and howled over the naked trees. It was 6:00am. Classes and work would start again in a few hours. Time to return to reality and invisibility.
But there would be another gig in a week.
posted by Anonymous at 10:19 PM
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