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Sean ran his fingers through his hair for about the eighteenth time. Then he sighed, protruding his lower lip in another futile attempt to make his bangs flutter. He envied girls who could do that. If he could do that at the perfect moment on stage, maybe a girl in the audience looking at one of the other guys in the band would begin wanting him. That was the whole point, wasn’t it, he thought. If he could only get the right hairs to stand up and the right ones to lay flat.

He rolled his eyes and gave up on that task for a moment. He needed to get ready for the gig. He even hated saying the word gig in his head, refusing to turn into some stereotypically pretentious singer in a rock band. He was just a guy in college trying to get laid. He made sure his two t-shirts sat in just the perfect position. His khaki shorts had one small rip in the right leg, the product of 10 painstaking minutes with a pair of scissors and steak knife.

Sean shrugged his shoulders, then shook his head. He repeated this four times, each one ending with a different face of planned spontaneity designed to drive the girls wild and make all the other guys in the bar start to formulate plans to form a band of their own. First was the big smile during one of Will’s guitar solos. Then the knowing glance toward his left where Billy would add backup vocals. The serious look back toward Todd and his drum kit was followed by the serious stare for a girl who would never talk to him in any other situation. He finished and smiled crookedly, picking at that stubborn cowlick on the right side.

Tags: creative writing, writing contest finalist

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