Carry On (last night's dream)

I could almost hide behind the large, vintage broadcast microphone. The chrome was smooth in my cupped hand. My vision narrowed, and I thought to myself, since this is a punk band, I could probably get away with just yelling something unintelligible to the rhythm. I didn't know the lyrics, or even the songs, and in the dark underground club the ceilings hung low as the audience began to settle into lamp lit corners for the show. Surely all the noise and distortion would protect me. The other members of the band were in position and though I could not see them arranged on the stage behind me, I expected them to start up any moment. To my dismay, the only sound that came was from a dusty old cassette player on a side table; it was not even loud enough for me to make out the tune. Was it old Siouxsie and the Banshees? Was this to be my accompaniment? The crowd was silent, waiting. Well, if this was all I had to work with, then so be it - but don't rush me, I thought - I felt the band's impatience. I needed to wait for a good entry point, and to gather my wits for improvisation. The first slow, meandering lines came to mind effortlessly, though I was aware that my amplified voice was all that the audience could really hear. It was plain, unrefined; without flourish. Perhaps there was some charm in that, I could only hope. As I mentally groped for a clever segue into a chorus the accompaniment faded away completely; only my optimistic dirge remained. “Carry on……Carry on…” I sang in a melancholic tune. At this, two pretty girls seated at a table front and center, giggled in each others ears. It stung to think that they had judged my lyrics to be insipid. Did they know I was making it up on the spot? I had hoped for a little compassion. Persevering, I thought - I will “carry on”. I will. I felt inspired and determined to see the song through.