In a Past Life

I was cool once.  Outwardly, anyway.  I played bass in a blues rock band and sang a little too.  I was barely old enough to drive and years away from being legal when we first started out, but I could hang, or at least pretend to.  Sure, we played a lot of dives, and I got more practice in rejecting creepy old men than I could ever have bargained for, but looking back, that's not what I remember.  I remember the roadtrips and the couches we crashed on (stories for another time), listening to Dan drunkenly banter on about art and music in some dark corner of the bar, goofing out with Jeff on and off stage, and accepting the beers Andy would slip me.  I remember the compliments and the kisses, the hugs and the handshakes.  And maybe most gratifying of all, I remember the surprised looks on the faces of the guys in the bands we played with; before the show, I had just been one of the band girlfriends carrying her boyfriend's guitar.  But after...that was something else.

I've traded in my bass guitar for...other things I guess.  And more often than not, I spend the day in pencil skirts and kitten heels as opposed to bell-bottom jeans and sandals (even temps have to look professional).  So things change.  That's just what time will do.  Those memories of being a rocker chick are part of me, though, and I'm glad for it.


Oh, by the way, I had bangs once that sort of made me look like Chan Marshall...when I was eight. 
(meow)