Holiday Advent Story 1

“Pain Wagon Memorial Holiday Concert” That’s what the back of Tom’s t-shirt read. The shirt was black and the lettering was done in a gothic font. The letters were white with splashes of red meant to look like blood dripping down through the words. The front of the shirt had a close up of Santa Claus holding a Krampus head in one hand and a bloody axe in the other. His grandfather would have loved this shirt.

The crowd roared as Pain Wagon jogged out on stage. Tom smiled and cheered as they picked up their instruments and began playing their first set. Tom sat watching the concert from the side of the stage. He’d been given a place to sit off to one side where he could see the band but would be out of sight from the fans. He tapped his foot to the beat of the song while he nervously followed along with his own set of drum sticks.

He loved this band. They had always been great to him and his family. They may have slowed a little since they debuted back in the 70’s but right now they sounded the best they ever had. Even with the stand in drummer they sounded tight.

Tom smiled at the drummer. He had been there when the guys started talking about doing the concert and who they would have play the drums. They sent out feelers in the Death Metal community and the number of people who had volunteered had been overwhelming. At one point there had been thirty four names on the list. In the end scheduling, rehearsal time, and compatibility narrowed the list to Dave. He’d been great, he even moved a concert date to play with the guys tonight.

Pain Wagon finished the first break and the crowd erupted. They’d already been bouncing around on their feet for a while and the energy just crackled through the room.

Trevor, the lead, grabbed a bottle of water and downed half of it. The band had decided to have a dry show in honor of Tom’s grandfather, Malcolm, who had been killed by a drunk driver. Security had reported a few people trying to sneak alcohol into the show, but t was only a handful. Most of the fans seemed to understand and accept that for this one show there’d be no booze.

Trevor held his hands up and the crowd quieted down. “How are you maggots’ doin’?”

The crowd roared.

“In case you somehow missed it we’re playing tonight for our dear friend Mad Dog Mason.”

The crowd screamed, phones flashed as pictures were taken, and bunches of black roses were tossed up on stage.

“He was a good man and one of the things he loved more than any other was the holidays. Tonight we’re gonna play a couple of his favorite songs.” Trevor’s voice cracked and he grabbed the bottle of water and drank until it was dry. “While Dave’s gonna hang out for most of it, for the first song we thought we’d do something a little different.”

Tom took a deep breath.

“We thought it would be great if Mad Dog’s grandson would join us and take the old boys place for this first song.”

Tom started to walk forward.

“Let’s have a big hand for the Terror Tot his own self.”

Tom had completely forgotten about Terror Tot. He’d appeared on the cover of one of Pain Wagons albums years ago and was listed as Terror Tot in the credits.

Tom walked to the drums. Dave stood up gave Tom a quick hug and jogged off stage to leave the band alone.

Tom waved to the crowd until the noise died down. When it had settled to a dull roar he sat behind the kit and readied his sticks.

“TT’s going to help us with this one,” yelled Trevor. “It’s not going to be our usual number, but for Mad Dog, we’re going to make this one exception.” Trevor bowed his head. “For Mad Dog.”

The band and the crowd repeated the words.

The banned was looking to Tom, waiting for him to start. He held the sticks above his head the way his grandfather had taught him. He clapped the beat for a five count and then began to play. The beat was fast and steady. Tom focused on the song.

Slowly as he played the sound of singing broke through his focus. First a word here and there. Then a line, “I won’t even wish for snow,” “For St Nick,” and “So brightly everywhere.” Tom played as the song slowly washed over him. He remembered his grandfather singing along to the radio in the car, walking around the house most of the year, and last year to Tom’s grandmother on their anniversary.

The refrain began and Tom let the words penetrate past his focus. He heard Trevor belting out the word. He also heard the crowd. There were eighteen thousand people singing along.

The song ended. There was solid quiet from the crowd. Tom remembered what his grandfather had always told him about finishing your time on stage. He stood, took his drumsticks in one hand, and tossed them into the crowd.

end
The Little Drummer Boy