The Last Set

I haven’t seen Rosemarie since high school when we were in a band called Living on the Wind. We performed in small coffee houses on the New England coast. Now, I’m a retired vocalist and a former hippie, volunteering at shelters. I see her standing in the food line with her incomplete wishes.

She holds out her plate.

“Rosmarie?”

She smiles. “I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Joseph Cole!”

I never thought I’d see her again; she was a little wild. “Where you been all these years? Last I heard, you were headed to Paris.”

Our eyes lock, and she whispers, “What time do you get out of here?” I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

This is crazy! Are my dreams finally coming true?

I look around the shelter; the line is dwindling, and some volunteers are just standing around. “Hey, I’ve got to go,” I call out as I fill the last plate to the brim.

Rosemarie and I head to the alley. “Where’s your car?” I glance down the road.

“Let’s walk,” she says.

“Na,” I shake my head. “Let’s take my car.”

Rosemarie hugs me, just as she did when we were kids. “I found a place not too far away. You can park where you are,” she says.

“It’s dangerous to walk here at night!”

“I’ve got your back," she laughs. "Come on!"

I follow mindlessly, light-headed. I can’t make out anything she’s saying. I feel like I’m floating; her scent is intoxicating.

She pulls me down an alley I don’t recognize. Although I’m not accustomed to this part of town, I feel like everything will be alright.

I hear a faint hum in this dimly lit alley, with cracked asphalt and flickering neon lights overhead.

We stand before a weather-beaten wooden door. A lantern-style light fixture glows softly, forming a halo above her head.

We step inside, and a smoky haze greets us, along with the low hum of conversation and the tinkling sound of glassware. The interior is packed yet inviting, with mismatched chairs, a few booth-style seating areas nestled against the walls, and a small stage.

Excitement wells up within me. I look at Rosemarie and laugh, nodding my head in agreement.

We take a seat, and I feel the warmth of youth.

The crowd is dressed the way we were back in the day.

“Wait,” I say. “That guy looks like Muddy Waters!”

“He does,” Rosemarie says. “And look! There’s B.B. King and Howlin’ Wolf!”

The stage light hits my face, and I feel a surge of exhilaration. A voice rings out through the crowd: Let’s welcome Joseph Cole and the Living on the Wind Band.”

Applause erupts.

Rosemarie pulls me forward, and my old friends join us on stage. I belong here—the place I started from. Here comes my old dog, Tango. Now, I'm crying.

“Welcome to Heaven, Joseph Cole.”