The band III
The next morning, my truant band mates were amidst the dozen cricketing boys skulking around the pitch wishing it was their turn to bat or bowl. Adam D was cross-legged on the bench near fine leg, silent as a sculpture, reading a book.
He had already said yes to my idea of a concert. Now Adam T and Chris, singer and guitarist, needed to be converted.
Wide-eyed, I was about to sprint toward the pair before I decided to jog. Less earnest. And, so as not to betray my fervent commitment to our potential performance debut, I removed the smile from my face.
I slowed to a moseyed nonchalance before coming to a standstill beside them. Their eyes remained on the batsman. Dispassionately, I voiced my proposal.
“So, Adam D and I were thinking our band should play a concert…” I began. It was a sketch of a sentence, barely identifiable as the vista I had prepared to depict. Not a brush stroke of depth or detail anywhere.
I hadn’t even obtained their eye contact and yet, with grunted monosyllabic assertion, they agreed to the plan.
They had nodded. They had spoken affirmatively. They might as well have signed their names in blood. They were in. Within days we would shed our puerile selves and be revealed as the members of The Greatest Band In The Universe. Our cocooned peers would butterfly into screaming Beatle girls and our tired school hall would roar with Wembley approval.
And all the while, Adam T and Chris were each staring at the batsman like a hungry dog beneath a fencetop kitten. Didn’t even look at me. But we were now in it together.
Far from harm, Adam D turned a page and once more became statuesque.