WIP Wednesday: Meet River
Work in Progress Wednesday!
Can’t have a love triangle without the third point. Meet River, the magnetic superstar who wants to take Grace away from Everson. Temporarily… Right?
I belt out the last note, sit back down (when had I stood?), and start again to pick out the song I am still working on.
“Fuck yeah,” my new fan says—their words not matching their slow, apathetic delivery—from their lazy position at the bar. “You’ll do just fine.”
“Pardon me?” What the actual fuck is this person on about now?
“You’re not drunk. You’re sad,” they say as though they know me or something.
I bark out a bitter and prickly laugh that makes my own arm hairs stand on end. “What now?”
“That’s the truest heartbreak song I’ve heard in a long time, Grace Samuels,” this person says. Moving from their kickback place at the bar, they suddenly look very intense. I try not to let my nerves show on my face—and I try to see or hear if any of the bar staff are nearby. “We could use that kind of heartache on our tour.” They pull a business card out of a pocket and hand it to me.
I don’t even look at it. It clears up for me in a flash. “You’re River Ng. You’re Leaves Waking. You’re… Um. Hi.”
The too-many-to-count Grammy-winner (Seven. It’s seven Grammys. I’m not saying I know that off the top of my head, but yeah.) grins at me. They take off their post-pandemic face mask. “I’m not the whole band, but yes. That’s us. And we’re in a bind. We need someone—wait, that’s not quite right. We need you to open for us.”
Holy shit. Yes, please! But wait. “Wait. I’m confused. You heard me play one song and you want me to open for you? On tour? I’m confused.”
River laughs. It is as melodic a laugh as any of the songs that have made the band famous. “Sure. Let’s start over. I’m River Ng. My pronouns are they/zir and I’m in a band called Leaves Waking. Would you like to open for us on the U.S. leg of our tour?”
I laugh. A genuine laugh I can feel bubble up from my toes. “Fuck yes,” is my my gut reaction. “Wait, no.” I immediately start to backpedal. “I can’t. I’m not. I want. Oh, shit.”
“Eloquent,” River says with a wink. “Tell you what. You play your set.” They look at their watch. “I’ll be around. I’d like to hear what you play on a typical Thursday evening. You think about what’s so important in Redondo Beach,” they say the name of this town with a disdainful sneer, “that you can’t take advantage of an opportunity falling in your lap.” They turn and walk out of the bar. And leaving me wondering just what exactly is standing in my way.
What band do you think of when you hear the description of Leaves Waking?
