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“Now, with the sponsor’s permission, we’re gonna hijack this segment for a minute,” Dez announced to mixed response. Some folks wanted them to let the next guitarist play, others cheered, wanting to know what was coming next.
“I’m betting everyone standing here tonight likes guitar playing just a little.”
The roar that came back was proof of exactly what Dez had said.
“Sounds to me like maybe more than just a little.”
Was starting to grow deafening, those voices raising goosebumps up and down Tripp’s arms.
“Bet there’s a bunch of you out there dreaming of being up here with us tonight!”
Of course there were. Hands waved, a few people jumped up and down. Though similar to the night in the video, where Shriveled Rose invited Dez on stage, it was clear that, though nervous, Dez was trying to make this moment as much his own as one part of a legacy.
“How many of you play!”
“How many of you practice every single day!”
There was a young man in the third row with deep hazel eyes. He’d been staring up at theme like he was starstruck, mouth half open in awe, it had been since Dez first started talking.
“How many of you pass on hanging out with friends and would rather spend a Friday night with a guitar in your hands than out partying.”
That hazel eyed boy didn’t have his hand up, but it wasn’t down either. His skin was the kind of tan that came natural, his curly hair sun kissed, and touching his shoulders, streaks of golden brown mixed with lighter hues. He looked hesitant, like he was afraid to answer because maybe he had doubts about himself.
Shockingly, Dez was whittling the numbers of waving hands down considerably with every question he asked. That last one prompted some lewd, raunchy and sometimes impolite come backs, especially about the things you couldn’t do with a guitar. Dez let them die down some before he spoke again. This time, his voice took on a low, serious tone.
“Who out there thinks they have what it takes to get where we are? Be honest with yourself for a moment. Think about what you put in and what you want to get out of it and tell me who thinks they have the potential to stand up here.”
That hazel eyed boy finally had his hand mostly up. He wasn’t waving it, or jumping up and down like some of the others, but he was staring up at Dez, all the awe gone, replaced by determination. Dez had noticed him too. He looking down at the kid, holding out his hand to help him up and over the barricade.
“You wanna come up and prove it?”
The kid grasped Dez’s hand and someone in the crowd gave him a boost. Even the security guards who’s heads he was climbing over as he scrambled up the metal barricade, reached out to help him get there safely too. As soon as he was up there, Dez took off the guitar he’d been playing and draped it over the kid’s shoulder.
“Alright kid, what’s your name?”
Dez held the microphone out so the kid could answer. “Blaze.”
“Well, Blaze, it’s awesome to meet you. Now, show us what you can do.”
Despite the particular instrument being unfamiliar to him, Blaze was no stranger to the strings, he awakened them with a touch as he launched into a Hendrix song. He held nothing back, from the wild and ragged intro, to the deep, bluesy rhythm through the middle. He played the finish with a flourish well above his years, shyly keeping his gaze on his hands the entire time.
“I’d say he proved it, wouldn’t you!” Dez hollered out into the crowd, who’s reply was loud and clearly positive.
“I’d say you just earned yourself a guitar too,” Dez said, all of his attention on Blaze now.
“Holy shit, really? Like, to keep.”
“Yup.”
“Holy…shit,” Blaze breathed, barely able to get the words out, but the crowd sure echoed the chant.
“Care to join us in one more song?” Dez asked. Tripp’s fingers tingled with anticipation. It took a lot to convince Dez not to step off to the side, or grab another guitar for this part. He hadn’t wanted the attention of being front and center. He’d even offered to play Jesse’s guitar and let Jesse sing, not that any of them were gonna let that happen.
“Hell yeah!”
“Do you know The Final Nail?”
Blaze nodded enthusiastically, a big, bright smile on his face. The Final Nail was off Shriveled Rose’s second to last album. Not too new that the kid would still be learning it, but not too old that he wouldn’t know it at all.
