History: "Wild Journey: Bars and Rock"

 

Wild Journey: Bars and Rock

 

I met my girlfriend hitchhiking. She was in a beat-up car, painted pink and yellow, with flowers all over it and rock band stickers. The first thing I saw when she pulled up next to me was a sign that said "Sing, but don't cry." She rolled down her window, looked at me with huge sunglasses on and said: 

—"If I take you, it won't be free"- He said in a serious tone.

—"How much does it cost?"— I asked nervously. 

—"Just your soul, but I accept monthly installments"- He joked. 

That's how I ended up in the passenger seat of Sabrina, a wild, explosive rocker who sang in seedy bars while I, Tomás, was a programming student as square as a Lego block, trying to figure out how I had gotten to this point in my life. 

Sabrina had two rules for the road: 

1. The co-pilot chooses the music, but if it's not rock, you get out and walk. 

2. Never ask me what smells weird in the car because I don't know either. 

As we drove along dusty roads, Sabrina belted out songs she had composed herself. She was incredibly talented, although some of the lyrics were… unconventional. 

—"'My love is like a cold pizza'?"— I asked. 

—"It's a profound metaphor!"— She responded indignantly, looking at me seriously —"What do you know about pizza or love?"- 

I, who was nothing more than a nerd with a gluten allergy, didn't know what to answer. 

Getting to each bar turned into an adventure. Sabrina always managed to get them to let her play, but her negotiating style was… very particular:

—"Do you have a band for tonight?"  He asked innocently.

—"Yes"- used to be the most frequent answer from bar owners.

—"Well now you have two," she said innocently, showing an adorably deceptive face. 

Her band's guitarist was always out of tune - by design, she said - and his magnetic stage presence led to surreal situations. Once a big girl, with a budding moustache that was beginning to look like a bush, approached menacingly before a show:

 —"You can't call yourself 'Sabrina the Savage'! That's my stage name!" 

Sabrina looked her up and down and replied: 

—"Ok, wild bozo. I challenge you to a guitar duel to see whose name it is." 

Sabrina won, of course. The woman ended up crying. It was beautiful. 

One day, in the middle of the desert, Sabrina fell asleep at the wheel while we were listening to her heavy metal playlist at full volume. I was half asleep – I almost always snore loudly while we are driving – luckily I woke up and was able to wake her up just before the car ended up in a ditch. 

—“You have to let me drive sometime,” I said, still shaking. 

Sabrina agreed, but first I had to prove my ' rock soul' . This included wearing 80s style sunglasses, learning how to make ' horns ' while sticking out my tongue and yelling 'Full throttle!' as I started. 

Once, in the middle of nowhere, we came across a small music festival organised by a group of hippies who were in their sixties. Sabrina was excited, and signed up to play. The problem arose when the organisers insisted that all music had to be accompanied by 'natural instruments'. 

—“What the hell is that?”— my girl asked. 

—“Sticks, stones… anything, except typical instruments,” said an old man smiling. 

Sabrina tried to improvise a drum kit out of a couple of coconuts and some tree trunks. I was recruited to put together an improvised ' transverse flute ' out of a reed I made some holes in.

Amidst laughter and disasters, the contestants' numbers won the public's affection. We were awarded a crown of flowers... and a bag of carrots. That was what we had for dinner that night. 

I remember a small town where Sabrina and I went into a bar that was hosting a karaoke night. Sabrina was convinced she could outdo anyone, and she thought of signing up to sing. When she got on stage, in a romantic - and somewhat clumsy, to be honest - act, she called me to sing the chorus. 

The problem is that I can't tune even by accident. Sabrina tried to hide it, and that's when a group of drunks started chanting "Autotune! Autotune!" Sabrina's brain cells exploded: 

—"He's improvising his own musical genre! It's modern art, you bunch of ignoramuses!"

Thrilled by her effusiveness, I launched into an a cappella out-of-tune version of Radiohead's " Creep ." In the end, we received a standing ovation... although it's not clear to me whether it was because of Sabrina's bravery or because everyone else was too drunk to judge us. 

As we traveled, Sabrina decided it was time to record the band's first album. I, with my programming skills, offered to edit the songs and upload them to Spotify. She insisted on recording them live, including the screams from the audience. The hard part was convincing her that 'the guy who ordered another beer' couldn't be part of the chorus. 

We stopped at a deserted gas station again, and Sabrina found an old karaoke machine. Without hesitation, she started singing 'Livin' on a Prayer' while I checked the car's engine. Suddenly, a group of truck drivers started clapping. One of them shouted:

—“Marry me!” -

Sabrina replied: 

—“Sorry, I already have a co-pilot,”  he replied, pointing at me.

I can't deny it. I blushed. Sabrina found it so funny that she decided to dedicate her next song to me. 

During an impromptu recording at a motel, the desk clerk called the police thinking there was a fight. Sabrina convinced the officers to join in on the chorus, and the song 'Sirens of Love' was born . Literally... I kid you not. 

Even though we were like water and oil, it didn't take long for us to fall in love. Sabrina taught me to live more freely, and I showed her that not everything can be fixed with guitar strums - although sometimes it helps . There were tender moments amidst the chaos, like the time she wrote me a song called " You're My Favorite Bug ." 

—"Do you know why I love you, Tomás?"— she told me one night under the stars. 

—"Because of my intellect and my sense of humor?" 

—"No, because you also smell something weird in the car and you never ask me why." 

Our dream of getting the album on Spotify was nearly derailed when Sabrina lost her guitar in a card game to an Elvis impersonator. But with a little luck – and my talent for hacking karaoke machines – we managed to put on the most memorable show of all. 

The bar was packed, and Sabrina was shining on stage. When the last song ended, the audience asked for another. Sabrina, without a guitar, pointed at the karaoke guy - myself - saying: 

—"Play 'My Heart Will Go On'. Let's make history"-

And we did it. 

We finally managed to upload her album, but Sabrina insisted on putting me on the cover posing in my underwear because " it's authentic ." Kind of like the bizarre version of the NeverMind cover. Spotify accepted it, and there I am, a real diva.

Unfortunately they didn't understand the concept of the photo and classified the album as " Experimental Comedy ".

And here we are. Sabrina and I continue conquering bars, dancing to the rhythm of her guitar chords on this wild journey we call life.

END