Thank God I’m a Country Boy
Thank God
I’m a Country Boy
They killed another pizza and another round of drinks, then wandered outside. Ken Millerton—a pitch-perfect musical genius who could pick any tune out by ear—was setting up his keyboard and a small drum set. A sign leaning against his keyboard stand read: Yeah, I can play that.
All the tables and fire pits were occupied, so the men moved to the stone wall enclosing the outdoor patio area. Liko hitched up to sit. Dane leaned beside him.
The pub’s social media manager made a little welcome, holding the clipboard with the signup sheet, then calling “First victim to the stage.”
A middle-aged man with a guitar played a couple acoustic covers and one original.
Applause was generous. A woman came up and spoke to Ken.
They hemmed, hawed and hummed, finding the key.
Then she stepped to the mic and sang “To Make You Feel My Love.” The courtyard went utterly silent and transfixed, and as the last chords died away, there were loud calls for an encore.
She put her palms together and shook her head.
“One and done,” she said. “Next?”
A teenage boy took the mic. Tall and gangly, with a kazoo on a string around his neck, a guitar in one hand and a small cardboard box in the other. He set the box by the mic stand, spoke to Ken, then looked around the crowd and said weakly, “Gon. Na. Vom. It.”
A spattering of applause and people called encouragement. Still, you could see the kid’s knees trembling inside his pant legs.
“Uh, hi, I’m Brian.”
“Hiiiiii Briiiiiian.”
“I’m really fucking nervous. Sorry, sorry, are there children present?”
“Fuck it,” someone called.
“I’ve never played or sung in front of anyone before,” Brian said. “But fuck it, I’m gonna sing this. Please be nice. Don’t laugh. And uh…clap along?”
He exhaled hard, then started a stomp-clamp beat that half the audience picked up. A cappella, he belted the opening verse of John Denver’s “Thank God I’m a Country Boy”
Dane jumped in his shoes as Liko let out a yell worthy of Antietam. He hopped down from the wall and picked up the beat over his head, turning to get everyone else involved. They barely needed the coaxing. By the chorus, nearly every person was on their feet, clapping, stomping and singing.
Well I got me a fine wife, got me an old fiddle
When the sun’s coming up I got cakes on the griddle
The grin on Brian’s face could’ve powered a small island country.
He went into the second verse on guitar, and Ken played under him.
Someone slipped behind the drum set and laid down a two-step riff.
There was no fiddle for the solo, but Ken worked magic with buttons and dials to create one.
Brian’s voice got stronger and his knees held still.
He got a screaming, standing, sustained ovation and was practically in tears as he bowed, shook Ken’s hand, shook the drummer’s hand, bowed again. The crowd yelled for more.
“No no,” he said. “Like the lady said, one and done. I’m gonna go throw up now.”
They pleaded. A chant began to pick up: Bry-un!
Bry-un! Someone brought a soda to the stage.
Ken got up and put an arm around Brian, encouraging him as he drank.
Brian handed off the glass, picked up the box by the mic stand and gave it a shake.
“I brought kazoos,” he said, giving it to the closest table.
“Pass them around. You can all help me with this next one.”
He started the iconic riff to “Tequila” and everyone picked up the saxophone melody on kazoo.
People doubled over as they tried to blow and laugh at the same time.
Everyone yelling Tequila to the skies and cracking up harder.
Brian next played “Yellow Submarine,” and for his closing act, he sang Benny Bell’s “Shaving Cream.” The patio turned into a German beer garden, people swaying with drinks held high. Warbling and kazooing.
I think I’ll break off with my girlfriend.
Her antics are queer I’ll admit.
Each time I say, “Darling, I love you,”
She tells me that I’m full of shhhhhhaaving cream
Be nice and clean
Shave every day and you’ll always look keen
“This is fucking awesome,” Liko said. “I mean look at that kid.”
Dane nodded, his body trying to contain seventeen different emotions.
Pride in his community. Happiness for young Brian.
Content in excellent company. Yet lonesome.
Wanting Nomi. Longing for Ethan. Missing Saskia.
And a rich thrum in the back of his throat every time he brushed against Liko’s thigh.
This is your life right now, Diane said. It’s the story being written. Once upon a time. And then. And then. You’re not at the “until finally” part. This is still “and then.”
And then Liko came to your house.
And then you invited him to stay.
And then you started walking him through the chamber mystery and telling him stories.
And then you almost kissed.
And then you went to open mic.
“Are you feeling here?” Liko asked.
Dane glanced at him, puzzled. Then he understood. “Ever so slightly not here.”
“C’mere,” Liko said, putting a hand on the back of Dane’s neck.
“I double as a human vest.” He guided Dane a little forward, then back between Liko’s knees.
He crossed his arms over Dane’s collarbones, and rested his chin on Dane’s crown.
His feet curled a little around Dane’s legs. And he squeezed.
“There,” he said. “Can you feel your edges?”
“I can now. Thanks.”
“It’s so hard to be present sometimes,” Liko said. “Lean into the happy moments without feeling guilty. Or look at a beautiful boy and let him have his moment without resentment.”
“Look at loving couples in your hometown and not think of what you lost.”
They gave a doubled, identical sigh, then went on being present through a few more performers. “Switch,” Liko said, so Dane sat on the wall and Liko leaned back against him, vested.
A vested interest, Dane thought. I am invested in this guy.
“Can I tell you something?” he said by Liko’s ear.
Liko turned his head and looked up. In the firelit night, he was dazzling again.
“Know what word is inside Greylock?”
“You mean what obvious thing have I missed? Go ahead, tell me.”
“Kyle.”
Liko’s eyes flicked side to side, blinking rapidly, then closed. “Oh for fuck’s sake. It is.”
Dane slid his hand up the back of Liko’s head and dug fingers in his hair. He tilted Liko’s face up and kissed him between the eyebrows. Liko’s hand ran slowly along his leg. Dane kissed his mouth. Soft lips inside a rough beard. He didn’t make it long, but he made his vested interest known.
“Want to go back?” Liko said, his palm on Dane’s leg spreading wider.
“I’m going to be as piss-elegant as I can about this.”
“Oh shit,” Liko moaned, closing his eyes again.
“Shut up. Look at me. Yes, I want to go back. Yes, I want to sleep with you. But not yet. Not tonight. I have things I need to tell you first.”
“About the Green Man Chamber?”
“Yes, but also about me.”
Applause filled the patio as another song finished.
“All right,” Liko said. “You’re not just making an old man feel better?”
“Would you— Jesus Christ, here’s a dating tip, okay? If any human being snuggles you between their thighs and kisses you, then your age isn’t a problem.”
“Sorry,” Liko said. “It feels like forever since I’ve done this. With any human being.”
“We’re doing a paint-by-number kit, remember?”
“Right.”
“For the record, I’m not interested in late twenties stupidity or mid-thirties crises.
You being in your fifties is an insane turn-on.
Yeah, you’re in an extraordinarily fucked-up, vulnerable place right now, but I know that place.
I’m a neighbor. Your basic shit is together and you’re not after me for my money. ”
Liko leaned back a little further, expression mercenary. “You got money?”
Dane put their brows together. “Even better,” he murmured. “I got real estate.”