The faire is in the fields between Los Carneros and El Colegio Road. Parked cars line the streets, so Josh turns off on Camino del Sur and parks a couple of blocks away. He pulls his old beach blanket out of the back seat, folds it up, and puts it under his arm. I carry the muffins in a paper bag and stash the bottle of plum wine in my Greek shoulder bag.
We find an open spot in the grassy area in front of the stage. Josh spreads out the blanket and we sit down. I slip off my sandals and he takes off his tennis shoes. We dig our toes into the nubby surface of the blanket. The Travel Agency is on the stage playing one of their long instrumental numbers. The notes work their way into my muscles and bones and follow the nerve pathways until they fill my whole body with light. Is this what nirvana is like? I close my eyes and remember every light show from all the concerts I’ve been to, especially “Dry Paint” with its giant projections of Botticelli paintings in the midst of the flowing colors. Funny because I’ve only ever seen The Travel Agency outdoors, playing for free in the parks. But they’re so good they make light shows in my mind. I open the bag of muffins and put it between us. Josh reaches in, takes one out, and tears off a big mouthful. He passes it to me; I take a bite and hand it back. It’s getting dark when the music builds to a crescendo and the set is over. Thundering applause, loud whistles, people wanting more, but the band is unplugging their guitars and taking their instruments off the stage. Who is going to play next?
Prompt: Sunday Scribblings, Shine