One Reality

Maria Rodriguez
Flying Dreams

From her vantage point on the stage, Maria could see every single patron in the night club, and all eyes
were on her. But not the two eyes she wanted. He wasn’t here. But he would be. The band’s set was due
to start in a few minutes, and she knew he wouldn’t miss it.

It was her first night singing with the band as the lead vocalist. Even though she had started the band with
her brother and his best friend, she only played the guitar. She was a fine singer, superb even, but that was
the only chink in her iron armor. She could stand in front of the entire school for debate, to give speeches.
She could play her guitar on stage. She could walk into any situation; do anything she wanted, with no
self-conscious feelings. Everything, that is, except whatever mattered to her most. She loved to sing, it was
her secret passion.

But her father was greatly opposed to the idea. He wanted her to stop her foolish fantasies of being in a
band, he wanted his precious baby to go to college, and get a real job. He didn’t know about her singing,
and even the concession of allowing her to play the guitar in the band was a hardship. She only sang for
herself in a lovely part of the woods, it was secluded, and breathtaking. That was where she wrote most of
her songs. Yet again, she hasn’t shown a note to anyone, not even her twin brother.

Unfortunately, the lead singer her brother’s band had come down with a nasty case of laryngitis. That was
only two hours ago. They needed a singer, pronto. But who knew the songs? Mario did, but he couldn’t sing
because he was the only one who knew the drums, and the keyboardist had no voice at all. Seriously, the guy
cracked and squeaked. There was the alternate base player, but he only knew half the songs. That left Maria.
She had refused, but Mario had whittled her down. How could she not help? How could she just stand by and
watch the band fall apart on their big night? Wouldn’t she show her father just who was boss of her life (he
was in the audience that night by the way)? That she could do things for herself?

This was a nice, good paying club. They had an audition the week before, and were on trial to see how the
audience took to them. They needed to be the best they could be… Or they were toast. Hasta lavista. This
was their first night, and the club owner had prattled to all her friends, and to anyone, really, who would listen
about this hotshot band performing Friday night. Now this great, fresh, new, multi-talented band was out of a
lead singer. She was petrified of singing on stage, but she had to.

However, Maria knew she was good. She didn’t know how talented she was; she downplayed herself all the time.
Even though Mario forced her into singing, he was nervous. He knew from background vocals that Maria was
okay, but she never fully opened up. This was their reputation at stake. With traveling and setting up, doing
sound checks… They had had no chance to practice. But until Gabriel’s voice came back, she practically had the
job nailed to her forehead.

Mario was worried that would suck, to put it bluntly. In spite of herself, Maria had assured her brother she knew
all the lyrics. The guy worried too much, he was going to have a heart attack early in his life. After all, better to
have a bad singer than no singer at all!

Smiling to herself nervously, she tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, and smoothed down her clothing.
She wore well worn, snug fitting brown suede pants, with tassels made of coloured beads lining around her waist,
like a fake belt. Her top matched her pants, but it was more of a handkerchief for a shirt. It was much larger than
a handkerchief, but it was folded like the ole cowboys wore. It came down to a point over her bellybutton, showing
off the flat planes of her stomach, and a glittering navel ring. It tied in a knot on her back, and the simple design
emphasized her cleavage. Multi-coloured beads decorated the suede top in Aztec symbols. A golden cross dangled
from a thin chain an inch or two below her collar bone. And a beaded choker encircled her throat.

It was an expensive outfit, but it didn’t compare to her beauty. She had a face that movie producers and fashion
scouts would cross oceans for. She two different faces, if she looked one way, she was as innocent as an angel,
if she looked in the other way, she was a come-hither devil. She had warm liquid amber eyes, her lips full, pouty
and red. Her long mane of near pitch black hair was sometimes thought of a wig, it was so fine, silky, shiny and
smooth. She definitely had a sexy body, but most of her allure was in the way she walked, with confidence that
said she knew exactly who she was, and where she was going, her hips swaying tantalizingly.

But her looks brought her no pleasure. It was like money. Something she was born with, but talent was real. She
was born with her talent, but patience and determination made her better in what she did. In addition to playing
the guitar and singing, Maria could act, model and dance, she could also kick butt any day of the week, she practice
the art of self defense, and a few offensive moves. Her hands and feet were quick as lightning. Just don’t ask her to
make you toast. She’d probably burn the house down. Or do your homework, she bombed at school.

Someone nudged her side and Maria glanced up, “Listen Mia, listen to the beat, and don’t get ahead of yourself.
The music will let you know.” Mia. Only her mother, brother and father were allowed to call her that. However,
someone else called her that to tease her, knowing she was as passionate as any Hispanic woman.

She flicked a smoky look at her twin, “Mario, have a little faith in your lil sis.” He was one minute older than her, and
she liked to rub it in. She winked at him, and he rolled his eyes. She stuck her hip out, and propped her hand on it.
“Hey bro, y’know where Angel is? I know he’d come even though he can’t speak.”

Mario’s features tightened. He had this belief that Maria was infatuated with his best friend, if not in love. But his best
friend had no scruples with women; he used them for one simple thing. But Mario’s belief was smack on, Maria was
infatuated with Gabriel. Who wouldn’t be? “He’ll be here chica. Since he can’t sing, he said he was workin’ a few hours
at Juan’s’. He’ll be here, to make sure you don’t mess up.”

Maria pulled a face at her brother; she didn’t need him making her more self-conscious.

As if on clue, Gabriel Angelino strolled into the club. He had a grease smear on his forehead, proof that he did
come straight from work, only stopping to peel off his coveralls. Maria’s breath caught in her throat. She thought
he looked absolutely gorgeous. Blue jeans, a white muscle shirt, a plaid shirt tied around his waist, and his leather
jacket casually draped over one shoulder. Her heart couldn’t help but shudder in her chest. She bounced offstage,
caught herself before she did something stupid, then calmly strolled over to him.

She lifted her fist in a mock punch, and he drew back very slightly. A smile spread across her mouth, “Two for
flinching,” she said, before punching him lightly on the shoulder twice. She let her hands fall to her sides, and
she looked down at them silently. “Hola.”

Work roughened fingers tilted her chin, and she was forced to look into Gabriel’s black eyes. She didn’t blink,
she couldn’t. He pushed a non-existent lock of hair from her forehead, and then drew back. She managed to break
eye contact as he drew something from behind his back. A single orange rose. Her favorite kind. Maria wasn’t into
meanings of flowers, her favorites were those that smelled the best, and to her, that was an orange rose. It came
from his aunt’s garden, she knew. No store flower could smell as sweet.

She accepted it from him, and lifted it to her nose, and breathed in the perfume. Her eyes closed by their own
violation. When she opened them again, her vision was slightly blurry. “You truly are an angel, Angel.” She gave
him a quick hug.

She wasn’t sure, but Maria could have sworn something lighted in his eyes, but extinguished quickly. Still, he was
looking at her. He held up his hand, made a motion, and a card flicked up between his index and middle finger.
She took the card.

‘Mia,’ it read, ‘I’d say ‘good luck’ but I can’t speak. So I hope the rose says it instead. Sorry you are put into such
a tight spot, cara.’

Angel

She was the only one who called him Angel. It was an exchange. He called her Mia, she called him Angel. But his
simple words touched her, and yet, made her sad at the same time. She knew he didn’t feel the same way about
her as she did him. And if he ever did show interest, she’d be wary, and nervous. Not to mention she’d just die if
he ever had an inkling of her feelings.

She smiled, though it didn’t make it to her eyes. “Thanks Angel. I’m sorry it isn’t you up there. I know you don’t
say much about it, but I know this band is important to you. I won’t let you down.” She turned away, so she
wouldn’t see his response, and made her way back to the stage, they were starting shortly.