Page 47 of The River in Spring
Dove dances around the group, cowbell in hand. As she passes Aargon he follows her lead forming an impromptu conga line that winds around the room and passes in front of my chair. Only the two guitarists and Van stay in their places. Parish and Scarlett beat their drums in time. My mother and father add a kazoo dance linking arms. Van can’t take being out of the loop any longer, and rises with the keyboard cradled in one arm, joining his fellow band members. Not sure he’s hit a right note since he stood.
It comes to an abrupt end when the keyboard falls and crashes to the floor. The edge of the board breaks off and slides under the coffee table.
“Ta da!” he says as a flourish as the last notes fade in an uneven finish. The kazoos and guitars are the last to sound.
I applaud and stand for the performers. They are clapping for themselves too. And laughing.
“Bravo!” I call. Bravo!”
Everyone is talking at once.
“That was so much fun!” Scarlett says, giving Parish a peck.
Pointing at Sam and Teddy I give them their due with a thumbs up.
“Very nice! Whose idea was this?”
“Three guesses,” Sam says. “And the first two don’t count.”
I look to Dove, and she smiles with my words. “It was you, right?’
“Of course it was her! We wouldn’t have had the balls,” Van says, getting on his hands and knees to retrieve the piece of plastic.
I walk to her and take her in my arms. “Thank you, babe. It was awesome.”
“We aren’t done yet. That was just the start of tonight’s festivities.”
She untangles from my hold and speaks to the group. “It’s karaoke time! Grab your shot glasses!”
“What? Oh no. Not me. But you guys do it for sure,” I say, knowing my opinion is going to be rejected.
The room talks back.
My mother gives me “the look” and points her finger.
“Don’t be silly! Of course you’re going to participate. Your girl went to a lot of trouble.”
“If Parish can do it so can you,” says Scarlett.
“Just do it. You are never gonna get out of it,” Van adds.
Dove ignores the whole thing. She knows perfectly well I will capitulate.
“All right, all right. Maybe one song. And someone has to sing with me. I don’t know the words of songs! Shit!”
“I call bullshit,” Argon says, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. “You know one for sure.”
Van starts laughing. Oh crap. I know exactly what he’s thinking. “Louie Louie’s” infamous dirty lyrics were enjoyed by The Lyon brothers, ad nauseam.
“I have to be drunker than I am to sing that one. It’s not for mixed company.”
“Listen, take your seats and this can be informal. The lyrics are on the screen if you can’t recall them. But this is a night for fun, so there are no wrong lyrics or bad voices,” Dove instructs. “We also have your songs on a playlist and you can sing along with the original artist if you feel better doing that.”
“That’s right. You can do a group singalong or go it on your own. Who wants to go first?” My father is into this whole thing, it’s obvious he’s raring to go.
“Gaston, why don’t you start? Oh! And every time a new performer comes to the stage, we have to take a shot!”
That gets everyone’s attention. Van’s all for it, but looks like he and Dove are alone in their opinion.
