We’re a mixed bag, but everybody accepts each other the way they are. It’s a hell of a group to share a locker room with, and I thank my lucky stars every day the Cyclones picked me up. Not only because I get to stay in my home state, close to home, but because I’ve found somewhere I belong.
I shower fast, ready to get home for dinner. When I come out of the showers, I notice the buzz in the room has shifted. Excited chatter bounces from one end of the benches to the other.
“What’s going on?”
AJ leans in, eyes wide. “Check your phone, man. The team got invited to seeLest Is Moorenext weekend when we’re in New York.”
Quirking my eyebrow, I open my phone’s email app and see a message from the Player Engagement office.
The entire roster for the Shreveport Cyclones has been personally invited to attend the Lest Is Moore NYC concert next Friday before our game in Buffalo. Backstage passes included. All players please respond by Monday if interested.
Around me, the room’s excitement grows. Questions are being thrown out, like anyone might have the inside details about the invitation.
“Isn’t that concert sold out?”
“I thought the entire tour was.”
All the guys are grinning, hyped for the show and making plans for a night out in Manhattan.
I’m less excited, although I’m happy that everyone else seems pumped. Scrolling back up, re-read the subject line. I’ve heard the band name, sure. They’re everywhere, right? I’m not much for keeping up with current music. My playlists are stuck in the ‘90s, alt-rock favorites on repeat. I almost never bother with the radio.
AJ practically bounces in his seat, shoving me in the shoulder. “Come on, man! Get hyped! It’sLest Is Moore, dude!”
I shrug. “I don’t really know them.”
His eyes bug out. “How is that even possible?” He shakes his head. “You know what, you’ve gotta go. They’re insane live. I think you’d dig their vibe. Trust me, dude. You won’t want to miss this.”
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
Truthfully, the thought of a packed arena, earsplitting loud music, screaming fans, and cameras flashing everywhere doesn’t appeal to me. I live it enough already.
AJ pouts at me like I just kicked his puppy. “Man, you’re no fun.”
Back home, my place is blessedly quiet. Unlike most of the guys, who live in giant houses in gated communities, I live in the same modest condo I bought when I first started, though it’s still more than I need. It’s nothing flashy, but there were only so many options for buildings in Shreveport with a doorman that could restrict access to a prescribed list of visitors. Thankfully, I’m not popular enough to attract that much attention off the field, so reporters haven’t tried to follow me home. They only bother with me if I brave going out for dinner or somewhere with the team, which is the reason I don’t. I like my quiet life.
While I throw together dinner, I decide I should at least listen to thisLest Is Mooreband and see what the fuss is about. I pull their music up on my phone and push play, the music coming through the surround sound speakers. When the vocals hit, there’s a flicker of familiarity, but I can’t place it. More than likely, I’ve heard them somewhere before. In the locker room maybe, or in a grocery store. How could I not? They’re global superstars.
Which makes me wonder why the hell they’d be sendingustickets. A young team out of Louisiana that hasn’t won any major conferences yet. Then again, maybe it’s not just us. Maybe it’s a PR move? I heard someone say they might play theSuper Bowl Halftime Show, so that might make sense.
Just as I’m plating some of the quinoa jambalaya I meal prepped on Monday, topped with two big, marinated, grilled chicken breasts, a slower track comes on. I stop mid-motion, spatula in hand, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling.That voice. Why is it so familiar?
And then it clicks. A few years back, I’d stumbled on a song. Something about it resonated with me to the point where I’d played it until the repeat button was nearly worn out. I couldn’t get it out of my system. It helped me process a lot of what I was going through at the time, the way really good music can sometimes.
The night of that bonfire had left me feeling empty, confused, and more insecure than I was willing to admit, even to myself. As much as I’d wanted to forget and move past it, I couldn’t. It took immersing myself in the memories with this song playing over and over to get to the point where I could breathe again.
This must be the same band. I drop the spatula, grab my phone, and scroll until I find the song in an old playlist.Remember My NamebyLest Is Moore.I push play, and mouth along with the lyrics, remembering every word as if they’re burned into my brain.
Your blue eyes cut me wide
In a flickering flame, I couldn’t hide
Moon hung low like it knew
What the hell was I doing smiling at you
We touched like it meant everything
Was it all too much
