I host an open mic every other week. It's God's work, sort of. Okay, not really, but it is an important service for musicians who want to play their songs in front of an audience.
The other night a guy came in late and sat at the bar. He had a guitar with him and signed up to play. I noticed he was in a good mood and smiling. People who smile are worth a million dollars in gold. I told him that he was third in line to play. He gave me a confident look and said okay. I kept an eye on him. There was something about him that caught my interest.
When he was second in line to play I saw him with his head bowed down, as if he was trying to get himself ready for his performance. When he was first in line I noticed his face had lost some of its color. And when it was his turn to play the first thing he said to me when he got to the stage was that he was nervous. I told him he'd be fine and to just do his thing.
He stooped down to open his guitar case. He was fumbling with the case and couldn't get it open. He wasn't lying, he was nervous. I asked if his guitar was in tune. He said he didn't know. I played an E chord on it. It was close enough.
The first song he played was an instrumental. It wasn't bad. Atonal mood music. The second song had lyrics and singing. I think it was an original. It wasn't bad either, not great, but not offensive. When he finished his set I went up to unplug his guitar, and the guy was a wreck. He was beating himself up, and overly embarrassed. He grabbed his guitar and bolted straight for the door.
I thought, all his troubles are in his head. Nobody cared, or thought what he was thinking. They're drinking and talking, not making judgements enough to kill someone's self-esteem.
I got up to play a tune. Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone come running in. It was the kid who'd just played. He grabbed something off a chair.
He turned to me and said, I forgot my sweater.
