It was the evening of the big gig, and Rose and I were packing up our gear in preparation for the short drive over to the local thrift store, where we were playing for some sort of block-party event that was being held there. Somehow, we managed to pack both guitars, amps and a huge amount of connective cords into the pull-behind bicycle trailer.
Then, we biked down quiet roads flooded with golden, late-afternoon summer sunlight. We reached our destination just as the sun was setting.
We checked in with the shop-owners, the sound technicians and the stage crew before proceeding to set up, though by now I was beginning to realize that everything was not fine and dandy with Rose. She looked a little pale and her brow was furrowed with worry.
"Green," she said to me, "I don't think we're ready to play this gig."
I immediately became frustrated. After all, I had spent months teaching her to how to play the guitar, and now she just wanted to back out.
"I think we should go home," she continued. "I forgot some of my stuff anyways..."
I knew that if Rose wasn't going to play, Rose wasn't going to play. I might have been able to solo the gig, but that would leave Rose alone and unprotected, and I didn't want anything to happen to her...
Eventually, after apologizing profusely, we packed up again and biked carefully home in the dark.
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