Encore

Paul and Liam showed the security guard their concert tickets. The guy in the bright yellow jacket nodded, and ushered them towards the turnstiles.

Paul raised his sign above his head as he squeezed through the turnstile and into the gig. As they looked around the large concert field, crammed with fans here to see the best band in the world, Liam threw his arm around his best friend, hugging him tight.

‘I can’t believe we’re here. I can’t believe this is actually happening, mate.’ Liam said.

Paul nodded and wiped a tear from his eye. 

He and Liam pushed their way through to the front section of the crowd. They found a spot about ten rows of people back from the stage. The anticipation was electric. The thousands of fans filling the field, all here for the gig they’d waited all year for. Paul and Liam knew how they felt. It had been quite the roller-coaster to get to this evening. Paul and Liam, like everyone else, were wearing band t-shirts. The band t-shirts were like a uniform, or like your football team’s colours. 

When the band came on stage, everyone cheered. Paul waved his sign, holding it as high as he could.

The band launched into their first song, the crowd going wild, bouncing around, cheering. The beat of that thumping base guitar was just infectious. The crowd clapped along with the hypnotic bassline.

Paul was buzzing. He had learned to play bass guitar just almost a decade ago, wanting to emulate the band that meant so much to him. His fingers had hurt for weeks but he just couldn’t stop playing. When he had finally been able to string a bassline together, Paul had tried out for several local bands but nothing had come of the auditions. And so Paul had become one more back-bedroom musician, playing to nobody but himself, and purely for the fun of it.

About half an hour into the gig, as the singer was talking to the crowd, explaining the title of their new album, he caught sight of Paul and his sign. The singer pointed and spoke into the microphone.

‘Is that true?’

‘Yes!’ Paul and Liam shouted. 

The singer stared at Paul, as though he was the only member of the audience, as though everyone else had faded away. He turned to his security team, get him up here, get him up!

The singer waved a hand, come on, man. Paul pushed his way forwards, the crowd parting to let him though. 

Paul stretched his arms out and was dragged and hauled up on to the stage by the band’s security staff. When he was up on stage, the singer took Paul’s sign and turned to show it to the crowd.

‘Is this true? This better be true!’ He said down the microphone, addressing Paul and the crowd at the same time. 

Paul nodded. ‘Yes, it is true.’ he said.

Eighteen months earlier.

Liam sipped the awful vending machine tea. It looked and tasted like dishwater. He stared at Paul, lying unconscious in the hospital bed, hooked up to the beeping machines at his bedside.

In the weeks since the accident, Paul had been in a coma, connected to the machines that were keeping him alive. Paul’s family and friends had been briefed that there wasn’t much more the doctors could do, and that there wasn’t much time left.

The doctors had told Paul’s family and friends that next few days were critical and unless anything changed, they going to be the last. There was nothing more that could be done. Paul was comfortable, was in no pain, but wouldn’t wake from the coma. In the next day or so they would be switching the machines off. He would slip away peacefully.

‘Can he hear us?’ His mother had asked.

‘I’m afraid we have no way of knowing. The brain is a complicated thing. We always advise loved ones to keep talking to the patient.’

Paul’s mother nodded, saying nothing, and swallowed back the lump of sadness in her throat. 

The next day, Liam was at Paul’s hospital bedside. As a nurse made adjustments on the machines, Paul spoke.

‘Can I play him a song?’ He asked.

‘Yes, sure. It can’t do any harm.’

The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile and continued her rounds. Paul took out his mobile phone. He found their favourite song by the greatest band of all time. He hit the play icon.

Then it happened. As the throbbing bassline intro kicked in Paul’s arm moved. Liam looked on in wonder as Paul’s hand grabbed the safety rail at the side of his bed. His digits tapped out the bass guitar notes against plastic rail. 

As the track finished the door opened, and Paul’s mum came in. She smiled at Liam.

‘Morning, love. Are you playing songs for Paul? He was mad on that band.’

‘Just watch this.’ Liam whispered and started the track again.

As the track started up Paul’s fingers twitched and tapped out the guitar notes once more, his fingertips running along the rail.

His mother sobbed, staring transfixed. Then Paul opened his eyes. He blinked several times and then looked around in confusion. 

As Paul’s mother tended to her son, Liam rushed to find a nurse.

The singer read the sign out to the crowd.

‘Your music saved my life! Woke me from a coma! Can I play bass with you?’

The singer hugged him and said he was delighted to have him there. The bass player crossed the stage and shrugged out of his guitar strap. He handed the instrument to Paul.

‘You mean I can actually play with you guys?’ Paul said.

‘We’d be honoured, man.’

Paul slipped the guitar strap over his head and gave Liam a thumbs up.

The audience cheered at the beauty of the moment. Liam clapped along, tears streaming down his face, as the familiar bass line kicked in, this time being played by his oldest friend to a crowd of thousands. 

Inspired by true events.

By Chris Platt

From: United Kingdom