You hear the thump, thump, thump of the bass drum when you’re inside, and when you open the door the heat smashes in on you like an intruder, and the sound comes too with the heat because now you can make out the guitar and the voices, tinny from the amps. You try to close the door quickly, so you don’t let the AC out, but you feel it trail with you into the steamy evening.
We can’t believe the band has set up outside in this heat.
“It’s hot.”
“Yeah, but not as bad now.”
“Yeah, not as bad.”
“In an hour it won’t be bad.”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t believe the band is playing outside.”
“It won’t be bad in an hour.”
They blocked Brown Street for the block north of Baker, and we all looked around the corner and we see the band up on the bandstand and the thick crowd sweating behind the barriers and on the benches and seated on the curbs, listening with their beers in their hands.
We’d been playing cards since 1 pm and even now, seven hours later, you couldn’t believe how hot it was and that the band was set up outside.
Thump, thump, thump.
It was sunset, officially. Still light, but the streets were shadows and the streetlights weren’t on yet, but soon. I could make out some of the people in the crowd a block away carrying beers out to the picnic tables. Some of the men lit cigarettes and we could hear the music clearly now, the lyrics too, a classic cover on a Saturday night downtown.
Break over. Back inside and the cards are coming out and the clicking of chips. Poker banter. Thump, thump, thump. But we’re getting tired. It’s been a long stretch and there are only a few players left. The music is louder now, outside, and inside the game is breaking up.
After it’s over and everyone is gone home, outside it’s cooler now. I take a cold piece of pizza from earlier and a drink and I set up a chair on the sidewalk and listen to the band.
A neighbor walks by, cinching the straps on his backpack and heading to the gym, headphones on.
“You got the best seat in the house,” he says.
“I do.”
And a good one comes on, the one everyone has been waiting for. The crowd cheers. Man, they sing this one great. Close to the original. Loud trucks slow down at the intersection so as not to hit pedestrians crisscrossing the street by the barriers and crossing over to their cars. A couple dances but they stay out of the street, mostly. There is a backfire from a motorcycle, but it’s up Baker by the park and I can’t see it from here. Thump, thump, thump.
Over the mic: “One more slow one like this, then we’ll pick it up a bit.” This one I know too. I like this song.
When it’s over, I put the chair back and head back inside, and shut the heat behind me. It’s been a long day. A good Saturday downtown. Thump, thump, thump. I switch off the light and head to the bedroom with my book. You can’t hear the sounds back there, but you know them still.
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Michael Bunker is a local columnist for BrownwoodNews.com whose columns appear periodically on the website. Email comments to [email protected].
