No Way Back Today

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No Way Back Today Page 20

by Eric Shoars


  “Generation X, would never miss a show, with VHS recorders, they were in the know,” we sing.

  Before VCRs we had only two chances to see any episode of our favorite shows, when it aired originally and summer rerun. If we didn’t see it either of those times, we would never see it. There was no Nick At Nite or any of those other channels or platforms airing reruns of popular shows from the past. The best we could hope for is that our local, over-the-air television station would air the old shows in syndication long after they’d gone off the air.

  When I was a kid I’d been able to see reruns of Gilligan’s Island, The Beverly Hillbillies, The Little Rascals, Batman, and The Partridge Family after I got home from school. But those were shows from someone else’s childhood. My childhood shows were lost. Maybe they’d be in syndication years later but the TV shows of my youth were out of my reach until then.

  I was 15 years-old when I bought my first VCR. It was a General Electric and cost $383. It took me five months of saving my money from my allowance, from doing odd jobs, and from bailing hay in the summer. Whatever I could do to make money I did to be able to buy that VCR. Life changed when I got that VCR. I didn’t just use it to record shows I wouldn’t be around to watch, I’d use it to record episodes or special one-time broadcasts that I could play again anytime I wanted. It was mind-blowing.

  We lived in a rural area and didn’t have cable so on Saturday mornings I’d record segments of American Bandstand to preserve performances by artists Pat Benatar, Bananarama, Adam Ant, Culture Club, The Fixx, The J. Geils Band, Billy Idol, Naked Eyes, and The Thompson Twins. Every Sunday night a couple over-the-air television stations aired weekly video countdown shows so I’d record those too. This was the closest I’d get to MTV.

  How could we have ever conceived that one day we would have almost every show we’d want to watch at our fingertips or that we’d be able to watch an entire season of a television show in a weekend? Let’s not even get started on movies. And to think, the seeds of the on demand viewing we enjoy today were planted by my generation. We can go into any store – brick and mortar or online – and purchase television shows and movies and play them whenever we want. I have seasons of The Six Million Dollar Man, The Incredible Hulk, and WKRP in Cincinnati on DVD allowing me to relive the best TV of my childhood whenever I want. It’s a beautiful thing.

  “With your help, we grew and we thrive,” we conclude.

  Fade out. Applause in large volume. Two songs in to our reunion tour and we’re off to a terrific start. The butterflies are still flying amok in my stomach but they’re more from adrenaline than nervousness. I don’t want to take a victory lap so early in the show but thus far it seems like the audience is identifying with our songs, just as I had hoped.

  The four of us move away from our instruments and gather at the front of the stage. “Any Iowa fans here tonight?” Todd asks knowing what’s about to happen. The crowd doesn’t disappoint. The applause quickly turns to lusty boos. The University of Iowa and The University of Minnesota are long-time Big Ten rivals and any mention of Iowa sparks strong reactions.

  Todd puts his hands up at the crowd in a defensive position. “Hey, the Hawkeyes suck! You got two Iowa State grads up here!” He tosses a thumb in Laurel’s direction. The crowd comes back to our side with loud cheers to find a common hater of the Hawks. I shake my head. Now Todd’s playing with the crowd. Outrageous.

  “Can an Illinois girl get a little love?” Lorelei asks rhetorically. The cheers turnaround again to lusty boos. In order of hateability, Illinois comes in third after Iowa and Wisconsin on the Big Ten hierarchy. Lorelei puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head to the right as if to ask, “Really?”

  It’s my moment to jump in to save the day. “Hey, I don’t know about these posers but is there any love in the house for a native Minnesotan and Concordia University alum?” The crowd reverses course once and cheers the lone Minnesotan among our band.

  “Now just a minute, mister,” Laurel protests, “you grew up in Iowa like we did. What are you trying to pull?” The crowd is starting to get whiplash being emotionally jerked one way then the other repeatedly. They begin to turn on me.

  “I was born in Minnesota but grew up in Iowa. As soon as I graduated high school I got the heck out of there and moved back to Minnesota,” I assert. The crowd claps with amusement that I was able to successfully escape. “Hey did you hear that Iowa’s starting quarterback bought a hide-a-bed? Now he can’t find it.” The audience hoots when I hit the punchline and now I’m back in their good graces.

  “Nice save,” Laurel acknowledges. “One thing we have to acknowledge is that without Iowa we would never have met and would have never launched this reunion tour. It was at a bar in Des Moines where we sang together in public for the first time. If you’ve ever wondered what the first song we ever sang as a group was, it’s this one. Laurel then hits the note on her harmonica to get us in tune and then we perform California Dreamin’.

  It’s weird to think a group that has been together for such a short time has a sentimental favorite but we do and this is it. I take a mental step back listening to us while not losing track of what I should be singing. Our voices blend better and better the more time we spend with each other and with every practice.

  The audience is almost spookily silent as we sing. There is no singing along, no applause, no sound. They’re allowing themselves to take in our voices, what the song means to us, and how we are all here tonight because this song showed us what we could be.

  We complete the song and just stand there. The crowd applauds us as we applaud them for appreciating the significance of the song and how it changed our lives. Life changing is something we are here to attest.

  The four of us retake our places behind our instruments while the crowd continues to clap. Lorelei speaks after the sound level has come down to the point where she can be heard. “Anyone have plans for your life and something happens that ends those plans forever?” Lorelei looks around as more than a quarter of those standing on the floor earnestly put their hands together in response to the question.

  “Me too,” she says her head dipping toward her keyboard. “This is Happy Ever After.”

  “Sitting in your chair, the old one that reclines. Your coffee mug warms my cold hands, hands that once held so tight. This sweater holds the scent of you. I think of the time gone by. I cry no tears, the river’s dry,” Lorelei begins.

  Note by note, we share a story inspired by Lori who bares her heart in a room full of strangers who not only sympathize with her but some can empathize. She is certainly not the only one in the room to have suffered loss. There is a sincere recognition that comes with the quiet that has come over the room taking in Lori’s every word.

  “Somehow I’m supposed to move on with my life. Everybody leaves you but you have to survive.”

  When a person or family suffers a loss there is an outpouring of support from those they know. Visitation, funeral, maybe their friends and neighbors swarm them with meals, perhaps run some errands or take care of some menial chores. A couple of weeks later all that stops. People move on with their lives. The grieving face a deafening silence as they now confront a life that looks and acts much differently as a large empty space exists where a loved one’s presence once was and never will be again.

  In the aftermath of loss, other people give you a couple weeks to come to terms with the new normal and then wonder why the grieving don’t snap out of it, get over it, and get on with life. Oh, if it were only so simple.

  What do you do when the one you said, “Till death do us part” dies before your golden years? The deal is that you get married, have kids, raise them, see them go off to college, graduate, start their own lives. Then you and your spouse enjoy being empty nesters until your kids get married and give you grandbabies you can happily spoil.

  Lorelei – and many who share a similar situati
on – faces a much different reality. Lori had so many future memories to make with Dominic that will now be unrealized. How does that not re-open the wound every time one of those moments becomes a reality? How do you pick up your life and start over when you didn’t want an end to the old one?

  The five rows of people I can see standing in front of the stage have more wet eyes than dry. It is important that our songs are relatable but Lori’s singing makes this song more than relatable; Happy Ever After penetrates the soul.

  We three sing backup with a subtle delivery to allow Lori’s voice to take center stage. Everyone focuses on our keyboardist. Four songs in and this crowd belongs to us. They are all in on this group and what we have to offer. We have to take them through the whole journey because, now, it’s their journey too.

  The song reaches its conclusion, the final notes floating in the air like so many wisps of smoke. All of us in this venue breathe as one…contemplating, wondering, feeling. I pull my drumsticks back toward my body not wanting to not break the quiet with any accidental noise. Todd and Laurel drop their right arms to their sides. Lorelei picks up her left hand, taking a moment to wipe a tear away. She’s not alone. The men and women before us who have shared something so real, so devastating, wipe tears from their eyes as well. Seconds pass and then a respectful yet spine-tingling applause rises, the crowd thanking Lori for allowing them to be part of her experience.

  It is a beautiful moment. “Thank you,” Lorelei says softly at the response she’s received. Just off stage, Faith and Hope are streaming via Facebook Live with Faith’s smartphone. Both have tears streaming down their cheeks while giving their mom a thumbs up. She looks their way and blows them a kiss. The rest of us freeze until Lori’s gaze to come back our way. When it does she exclaims, “Take The Day!!!”

  The crowd roars, I count us down, and we are back to blowing the roof off the joint. This is the best amusement park ride ever and every single person in the place is strapped in with us. If there is any residual sadness from the last song, the crowd doesn’t show it.

  The audience is jumping up and down. They pick up the chorus and sing with us. Goosebumps up and down my arms push the hair to a standing position. A cold wave washes over my body. It is unexpected and surreal to hear our song - even if it’s just the chorus - sung back to us.

  Laurel turns her back on the crowd to look at me, her eyes wide with amazement, and all I need to do is nod at her to confirm I’m thinking the same thing.

  Todd is shredding his guitar. Sweat has soaked the back of his hair. He is going to town. It’s clear he’s in the middle of a first-rate time. Lorelei is rock and roll grimacing. She’s feeling it. We all are. This moment...THIS is why I put myself out there to get the band together. This is when my inner nine-year-old is freaking out, jumping up and down, screaming at the top of his lungs.

  The rest of the first show is a non-stop adrenaline high for everyone. By the time we end our show at 10:30 everyone in the house is manic in a “if there was a better way to spend a Saturday night, I don’t know what it would be” manic. The last note of the encore floats above the audience on its way into the night. The applause and cheers won’t stop seemingly trying to call the notes back so the party will continue. We know we should leave the stage but can’t.

  The four of us line up at the front of the stage clapping for the audience to thank them for what they’ve given us tonight. They will never know just how much they’ve done for us this evening.

  As we clap and wave and express our gratitude in as many ways as possible, I grab the mic from Laurel’s stand and announce to the crowd that if they’d like to meet us and get selfies that they can do so in 10 minutes at the Centrum Silver selfie station next to the merchandise table. I encourage our fans - our fans, how weird is that? - to take pictures and post them on their social media.

  The four of us take leave of the stage with one final wave heading down the stairs and to the dressing rooms for a quick change before meeting our fans.

  “Damn,” Todd says as we descend from the stage. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever been part of. Did that just happen?”

  “Happen? We rocked their worlds!” Lorelei exclaims. “What a rush!”

  Laurel shakes her head, “Never did I ever think people would react this way. I expected polite. I never expected this.”

  “Best freaking reunion tour ever!” I shout throwing my fists in the air.

  The Onions stop moving when we are all back on equal footing. We’re all breathing hard and it’s not from coming down the stairs. We haven’t come down from the adrenaline high but instinctively we all realize we need a moment just for us. Faith and Hope are making a beeline toward us. Their mother waves them off. Hope says, “Meet you at the selfie station,” and both young women turn on their heels and depart.

  My arms extend, my hands palms up. Laurel grabs my right hand, Lorelei my left. They, in turn, reach for Todd’s hands and he completes the circuit. Taking a deep breath I say, “I have no words to adequately express how much your belief in me and in the dream means to me. Other than marrying Julie and the birth of my daughters, there’s not a moment in my life that tops tonight. You guys are the best.”

  “Are you going to start crying?” Todd asks almost annoyed. “Do you have to be dramatic for everything? It was a fantastic night. Can we just say that?”

  “Ignore him,” Laurel says. “This was so much more than I thought it would be. I’m looking forward to St. Louis.”

  “St. Louis?” Lorelei blurts out. “We’re not done with Minneapolis yet. We have our adoring public to meet.”

  “It’s not fair to keep them waiting,” I agree. “Onions on three...one, two, three...”

  “Onions!” we yell in unison. Our hands go skyward in a confetti-throwing motion. A few more for high fives and we’re off to our dressing rooms for a quick change before appearing for our meet and greet session.

  ***

  We are stunned by what we see coming through the doorway into the meet and greet area where our merchandise tables and selfie station are located. People. Everywhere. Every. Where. Quick, astonished glances are exchanged among my bandmates. We were expecting some people. Just not this many somebodies. Cheers and claps rise as we’re spotted.

  Julie and Seth knife through the crowd to get to us and help us get to where we need to go. Compliments and back slaps come from all directions almost on top of one another. If I could get my arms up, I’d pinch myself but free space is currently hard to come by.

  Ashley and Nicole are up to their eyeballs at the table, taking cash and swiping cards from a never-ending sea of humanity. I make brief eye contact with Ash and she widens her eyes at me in a what the heck have you done way. I widen mine back at her without knowing exactly what my expression is communicating other than utter shock.

  Faith and Hope are there when we navigate our way to the selfie station. A big backdrop stands in front of the wall. Our reunion tour artwork with the Centrum Silver “presented by” showing everywhere. The Onions are positioned smack in the middle of the area. Fans can come up individually or as a group of family and friends. Using the fans’ cameras, scores of pictures are taken for almost two hours. Hope reminds each person to hashtag “Onions Reunion” when they post on their social media so we can see all their pictures from the concert and the selfie station.

  It’s a constant coming and going of people with compliments and encouraging words that spray about like a drive by. One thing that is consistent is the level of enthusiasm people have for our music and our group. We have tapped into something very deep in ways we could have never imagined. Call it nostalgia, call it inspiration, or call it community. Whatever “it” is, it’s very real and powerful. It runs through this crowd like a current.

  If we had charged for the photos, we could have made a fortune but it’s not about the money. The Centrum Silver sponsorship has m
ore than paid for everything so we’re happy to put more smiles on people’s faces. Who knows, maybe this will help sell more tickets for the St. Louis and Chicago shows.

  Julie and Seth are doing a great job of keeping the crowd moving at a steady pace so any bottleneck doesn’t last long. The people in line don’t seem to mind, taking the opportunity to talk amongst each other about the concert but mostly reminiscing about what the songs reminded them of growing up; about life, about where they are now. Or, for some, what might have been.

  Next show we need to have someone tasked with going through the crowd with a recorder interviewing people about their show experience and tap into the conversations.

  It’s a little more than 90 minutes before one last person gets a selfie with us, shakes our hands, and thanks us for coming out to play. A woman who paid hard-earned money to come hear us play thanks us for coming. I pinch myself. No harm in checking. That woman, who looks to be our age, with a few streaks of gray in her brown hair walks out into the night throws her hands in the air, and screams, “Onions At A Crime Scene!” Those are her last words as she disappears from sight.

  Silence. Then more silence. None of us say a word. For the first time in hours there is no sound. Not a word, not a note, not a nothing. We just breathe. Instead of embracing the good, we’re embracing the calm.

  “What did you guys do? Holy crap! There’s nothing left!” cuts through the air like a samurai sword. Every remaining head in the room snaps in Nicole’s direction. She is standing in the souvenir booth next to her sister; eyes wide with bewilderment.

  “What do you mean there’s nothing left?” Julie asks.

  “She means there is nothing left, Mom,” Ashley echoes. “All of the merchandise is gone. Gone. All of it.”

  Ashley had been in charge of taking card payments using her tablet to swipe transactions with the card reader plugged into the device. Nicole handled cash transactions. We see that the only merchandise remaining are the t-shirts pinned up to the backdrop of the booth. All the shirts, magnets, wristbands – everything – is gone as reported. The girls’ wide-eyed astonishment is contagious as now we all wear the expression.

 

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