There were only five people watching them play outside the bookstore that evening and we were amongst them. Although there was no stage, the illusion was created by the steps they were standing on, as they sang covers of songs that preceded their time. Each boy was no older than 15. I took two dollars from my wallet and stuffed it into their plastic tip jar, a recycled peanut butter container.
“I love this,” I told Paul. “It reminds me of growing up by the third street promenade, watching street performers as a kid with my mom.”The boys continued to play and we sat in plastic folding chairs applauding after each song. No one recognized Paul as a musician, and no one saw me as the girl from Twilight. People passed by, but being that we were in a small town, and these boys seemed to play here regularly, no one really cared to stop and listen. Paul said he wanted to play a song, so I told him he should ask the boys if he could borrow their gear.My brother tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Are you going to sing with him?”
“I don’t know,” I thought, but before I even had time to turn around I heard Paul start singing our song.
I jumped up there, just in time for the chorus, and we shared the mic like we usually do.
As Paul handed the guitar back to the boy he said, “Hey man did you write that one yourself?” Paul nodded. The boy said, “Wow, you’re really good at that! Good luck with your music career!”
“Well, its official. We’ve rocked the bookstore on Kauai,” Paul said as we walked back to our car.