I haven’t made it back to my home town much since I moved away all those years ago. I turned the key in my three cylinder Chevy Sprint and floored it outta there wind in my hair. First to LA then New York and Nashville back to LA. Crisscrossing the country as often as needed to anywhere I could play music.
Throughout Junior Highand High School I felt like an social outcast. I was weirdly into music and theater. Mr. Maya, the drama teacher, told me one day that I walked to the beat of a different drummer. It bothered me at the time because I wanted to fit in and be accepted. But I knew he was right. I couldn’t help it. Eventually, I found friends in the theater community and the local rock band guys were cool to me. The rocker guys were the ones who would show up to help fix a car tire, be a last minute prom date or drive me home after a gig. They always let me sing in their bands. Their houses were scattered around town. It was like having a big brother every few blocks. Of course my best friend was there and steady as a clock through it all. Still, I had an unscratchable itch to leave as soon as possible.
Fellow Gilroyan Mattie was one of my few girlfriends. She had the same itch to get out. She had a cutting edge fashion sense and white blonde mohawk. The bitchin mohawk slid like a rudder back and forth behind the counter of the yogurt shop where we worked. Mattie was the epicenter of cool in my view. She lived in the country and had a horse, also cool. I called her when my rabbit had too many babies and was trying to discard them. Mattie came over and helped me care for the baby bunnies. I was her hair model when she took her cosmetology test in San Francisco. Her mother, Mattie and I stayed at the St. Francis Hotel and went to the Tonga Room for dinner. Her Mom was cool. We were roommates in LA. Twin beds in opposite corners of our shared room. She was a student at FIDM. I worked as a temp and gigged at night. We floundered into adulthood together. Broke and hopeful we dove into LA and all it’s possibilities.
Now so many years later she has created the Poppy Jasper International Film Festival in our hometown. Thousands of creatives flock to it. The festival must bring millions in revenue as well to the hotels, shops and restaurants around town.
I reached out to her to let her know if she needed any help with music for her event, I would be happy to pitch in. I imagined playing quietly in a corner of a cocktail party. She was a friend so whatever she wanted was good with me. She had a different idea. She included me in the band that played the festival party. A surprisingly bad ass band. All were seasoned pros which impressive resumes. All toured or recorded with familiar if not legendary artists. At rehearsal those of us who knew each other as kids reconnected. We looked a little older but everyone was basically the same. It was a good feeling. There are commonalities in areas that only those who have lived there would know and understand. Everyone in Gilroy knows what Gourmet Ally, Gilroy Gators ,Christmas Hill and Hecker Pass are. They also know and when garlic is harvested and what that smells like in July.
After rehearsal I drove around town not needing directions. I could get nearly anywhere blindfolded.
Throughout the weekend, it was especially gratifying when old classmates mentioned my Dad and what a nice man he was to them. He had a remarkable way of making everyone feel seen and accepted when he teased them. “Hey so and so!” followed by a big laugh. Often no one actually knew what he was laughing at but he was so engaging and seemly happy to see them they couldn’t help but laugh as well. “Ah Ralph! Good to see you. Yes we are going to the Spaghetti Dinner at St. Mary’s. Yes, we will see you there. Sure we will save you a seat. (Awkward glance because they weren’t sure if he was kidding. He was.) No. We didn’t know about the sale on steak at Hank’s Super Save. We will have stop by.” Here my Dad would make a joke that it was too late because he already got all the good ones. More laughs. I stopped by his grave to give him some flowers and visit a bit. If he were alive he would have told me not to spend money on the flowers, but I did and I felt good about it. I thanked him for being a good Dad and as a parent myself now I got it. Not all young girls had a good Dad. I am grateful.
The night of the party I saw Mattie. Big hug. It was great to see each other. We reaffirmed our friendship with a few short sentiments. The night had begun. She had to get to the stage and make in troductions and thank yous.
While the band played I heard people calling “Cindy! Cindy!” A sure sign I was in Gilroy. I haven’t been called that in a very long time. I waved at familiar faces. I stood next to Randy. He was a few years older and has gone on to much success, definitely a hometown hero, but we ran in the same musical circles as youngsters. Together we playfully survived the set. (The set is another blog entry in itself.) Mattie, Randy, the band and I were able to visit at the after party til early the next morning. Fun evening all around.
There is something about being with people from your home town. So much you don’t have to explain. We all knew each other when we were insecure and gawky. Yearbook pictures can’t be used as blackmail because were are all in it. Some of us left and came back. Some never left. But there we were celebrating Mattie’s massive achievement. She brought us together in her own unique way. Nowadays she is sans mohawk, but still the very essence of cool.