When she opened her mouth, it was as if the angels themselves had begun to sing. Lyrics and melodies melded into a perfect symbiotic relationship. This is where she was happiest, with the music pouring into her bruised and battered soul.
Soft gentle melodies helped fill her, supergluing edges she had long since forgotten where there. Mending the glass shards in her heart until it almost looked new again.
Angry dirges helped smooth the savage beast left from years of aching, needing, wanting, and the quick beats of pop frivolity helped to raise her spirits.
Yes, Music did all of that, in just a few songs. The bar crowd grew to scream and cheer when she approached the stage, and her raspy bluesy voice held such promise of things to come.
The drive home was devoid of that hope and wonder. There was no song that touched her soul on the way back. She could feel the depression sifting in, the pride she’d felt at voicing her inner workings dwindling to less than candleflame.
And that momentary high of performance, that brief foray into normalcy, was gone in just that, a moment. Back to the confused and battered woman.
Back to a derisive lack of self esteem. Back to the dark that crowded in at all time, except for Saturday.
But perhaps, there will be more Saturdays. Maybe even Fridays, and Mondays. Maybe she can find herself once more in the lulling arms of karaoke, and of friends. If she had friends, and if any of the people she regularly spoke to gave her more mind than a passing thought.
And though not everyone cheered, and not everyone cared. Saturday might just make a difference.