That girl, that time, that place.

I hadn't planned to go. T's old college band, Tomboy, hadn't played together in over 35 years but, at the request of their old manager, Jeff...they agreed to open for his band since a rarity had occurred: all band members were in town except for one of them.

35 years. Had it really been that long? Jaysus. Where did the time go? 35 years ago, I was in my early twenties. I mean, I sort of remembered those days. T and I had lived in the top of an old house. We had a cat. When she wasn't studying, T was practicing with her all female rock band: Tomboy. They played every single weekend in the tri state area. I tagged along occasionally and always went to hear them play when they were within a 60 mile radius. Those days were a sloppy haze of school, working crazy jobs to pay for school, and, ok...partying.

But, now...I was so tired. T brought up her snare drum from the basement.

"I have to dust this off," she said. "My god, it's filthy." She polished it and then we had to hunt for her old stick bag. The bag that used to be perpetually slung over her shoulder. Her drum sticks. She had dozens of them and every table and chair bore witness to the fact that she was a drummer. She drummed on everything. Constantly.

But, like most bands, they fizzled out after several years. T got her teaching degree. Teri, her finance degree. Stacey and Julee headed to California in search of a warmer climate. Karrin, music degree in hand, decided that she preferred jazz and headed to Kansas City. Out of all the band members, she would be the only one to find success as a singer and musician. She would be nominated for a Grammy multiple times for her jazz recordings.

We stayed in touch with Karrin. The rest, we lost to time and work. T threw herself into teaching and discovered that this was where her true talent bloomed. She loved playing drums, but she adored teaching and became a Fulbright Scholar and an Apple Distinguished Educator. She had a small reggae band that she played with in the summers but as she became more and more involved in teaching and writing grants, that, too, fell to the wayside.

She still loves anything with a beat. She was never that into rock and roll, prefers classical music and jazz, but she pretty much loves anything with a beat. The lyrics don't matter to her. The sound matters. I once complained that listening to music in a car with her was downright painful because she refuses to let me just relax and listen.

"Okay," she'll say, her voice tight with happiness. "Here comes that bass and now....listen....THERE....did you hear that? That three quarter slide? Wasn't that just genius?"

Sighing. I like the lyrics, okay. She looks at me blankly. What? Why? Because that is what always resonates with me, I tell her. She rolls her eyes. Writers....

When T told me that Stacey was in from Austin and Karrin was taking time off her global tour to visit family in our city and that they had all decided to unite Tomboy for one small opening appearance for Jeff? I admit that I yawned.

It was so long ago. We were all so old now. And worst of all....the show didn't even start until NINE. That would be 9 p.m. Not a.m. Good lord. We were usually on our way to bed by nine. I didn't think I could stay awake. I told her to count me out.

The evening of the concert dawned. I watched her get ready.

"Remember that old referee shirt you used to wear to gigs?" I said. T smiled at me. "Long gone, babycakes. I'm just going to wear this kind of tropical yellowish top. What do you think?"

I held back a smile. Aging dyke, I thought to myself. But, she was glowing.

"You are really excited," I said.

"I'd be more excited if I could look out and see you in the audience," she said. "Please won't you re-consider? Our gig is only a half hour."

I looked into her dark eyes. She would do this for me, if it was my band re-uniting. In fact, she wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Sure, I told her. I think I can manage it. Let's do this. 

And then there I was at the venue. A smallish room in the arena with a bar-like atmosphere just like old times. I found a seat towards the back, on an aisle, close to a bathroom. This is typical cancer survivor behavior. We always know where the bathrooms are. I watched T, Teri, Stacey, and Karrin setting up. Stacey, lead guitar. Teri, bass. Karrin, keyboards. T, drums.

The lights went down and Jeff, the lead band's vocalist came out and I heard:

Let's give a real welcome back to.......TOMBOY!

The music began and within seconds my eyes were flooded with tears. I no longer felt so tired or the sharp pain in my feet, hands, wrists.

Holy cow. There she was. I could see her. A younger version of myself.

Me. That girl, wearing the white man's shirt with a pair of jeans and a long blue tie around her neck. Her hair was long, dark and silky. So full and shiny! Kohl rimmed her eyes and her lips were a sharp bright red. In her left hand, she held a Virginia Slims cigarette and every now and then, she took long, deep drags and then let the smoke out the side of her mouth or.....sometimes......in perfect round O's aimed at the ceiling. In her right hand, clutched with fingernails painted a red to match her lips, was a glass full of clinking ice. A gin and tonic. No beer. She wasn't a beer drinker. It was always gin and tonic. A lot of it. Most of the bartenders knew that she was with the band, so they made sure her drinks were heavy on the gin with lots of ice, just the way she liked it.

She was dancing. No problems balancing with this one. No sirree bob. She shifted from one foot to the other, leaning in to laugh with the boy she was dancing with, usually a different one for every song. Preferably one who would keep her cigarettes lit. On the slow songs, she would either find an ashtray and a table for her drink and cigarette or sit it out. She liked the fast ones. The ones where she could whip her hair around and sing along. Make her long earrings sway. Later, she would seek out Joyce, the girlfriend of the roadie who always had good weed. They'd hunch together in a bathroom stall, smoking and laughing, arms bumping.

There wasn't a scratch on her. No cancer anywhere to be found in that body. That beautiful, nubile, agile body. No arthritis in her hands or feet. Elbows. Wrists. Ankles. Hips. Knees. She just moved to the music. Waving gaily at the drummer once in a while, that dark haired girl in the referee shirt who twirled her sticks around in a circle and then pointed at her as if to say, I see you! Isn't this fun! The one who kept that beat going, be it fast or slow.

God, I missed that dancing girl. The younger me.  So badly that I felt it in every cell of my body. My aging, stiff body. It seemed to me that life was so carefree back then. What in the hell did we have to worry about? We had good health, good looks, a car that ran. We had so many friends and so many good times. We always seemed to be hurting for money, so much so that the water was turned off more than once in our little apartment, but I don't recall being scared. Not scared like I feel these days.

I know what it was. We felt....immortal. We had so much of life just waiting for us. Now, 35 years later, we had accomplished so much but we had also paid heavily in pain. We'd suffered the loss of parents, a few friends, had lab tests that weren't negative and a few fights that almost ended us.

I looked up at the stage, at this gutsy, beautiful group of women in their late 50's just doing that there thang. Teri, now a banker with grown children who were in the audience watching her with awe. That was MOM up there! Karrin, a big shot jazz artist who lived most of the year on the road, a global traveler who was finally tiring of it all, almost ready to find a nest. Stacey, a cleaning business owner in Austin, who still practiced guitar every night just for fun, but had long given up the music dreams. T, a teacher with so many awards that they wouldn't all fit on one shelf.

And me, sitting in the back of the audience, holding up my phone to record that one song that used to be my favorite:

I caught you kissin' my cousin, Jane
You ain't messin' with me again!
I'm sick of your rock and roll!

UUUUUUUU La La La bye bye!

It hadn't lasted long, but for just a moment I could taste the smoke in my mouth, feel the gin and tonic crashing against the ice in the glass while I danced and thought about smoking a joint in the bathroom with Joyce.

I didn't want it to end, but it did. Later, in bed, T and I would talk about those days of Tomboy, that apartment on top of that house and Azalea, the cat.

T:  23 steps.
Me: What?
T: 23 steps up to our apartment. I remember because of all the times I had to carry you up them when you were totally wasted. 18 up to the first landing and then 5 more. And then, scoot you to the bed and throw you in.
Me: It was a water bed. Remember that? I would be so drunk or high or whatever and....
T (interrupting): you smelling like smoke....
Me: And it would slosh back and forth.....
T: God, we did have fun, though, didn't we? We were always laughing. It seemed like we were always laughing.
Me: And trying to come up with money for rent.
T: God, yes....and trying to pool our money for rent. And here we are now....old and settled down.
Me: Two little old ladies in bed by 9:15 every night.
T: Talking about what little degenerate snots kids are today.
Me: Yelling at kids to get off our lawn....
 T: WAIT! I have NEVER yelled at a kid to get off the lawn.
Me: Right next door, baby. Right next door.
T (sighing): No. Don't let me be that lady. Promise?
Me: (half asleep) Promise. I'm so tired...let's sleep. My god, it is past midnight.
T: (in a whisper) Thank god we don't have 23 steps. I'd never be able to carry you up 23 steps....

We slept, perchance to dream. T, of drum sticks pounding and rock and roll. Me, of dancing in the dark with strobe lights flashing, cigarette in hand.

Life goes on. It speeds like a motor boat. 

 "Ooh, la, la, la bye-bye"
https://youtu.be/_fGJzd0L5Xk