I almost don’t want to post about this because it was so magical for me.  I don’t think a lot of people will understand or believe it. 

In the early 1990s, I "wrote" a song for Jones, one of the cats that my college and post-college roomie and I had a long-ass time ago.  He was a stray that came to live with us, a long, tall, lanky tuxedo cat with bright green eyes and amazing white feet.  The song is a torchy, two-verse jazz-type song that I sing when people want to hear me sing.  (Jones passed away a few years ago, but not that long ago.)

At some point a few months back, I relied on my old standard and sang it at the bar I frequent.  I had forgotten about doing it … here’s how my memory was refreshed:

A kid came out onto the deck, a lovely, gregarious young gay man whose face I recognized, but that’s par for the course at that place.  I had been talking to his friend when he came out, and had introduced myself.  This sparked a round of introductions, during which I re-met this person.  After a few minutes, he said to me, "Hey, do you sing?"  

I said, "Yeah, but I haven’t sung in public in a long time."

He hesitated, then said, "Do you know ‘Chicken Bone Jones’?"  I smiled and said, "Yeah, that’s my song!"

He started shrieking and turning to his friends and saying, "I told you it was her!  It’s her!"  And they turned to him and started singing Chicken Bone Jones (sort of) to him and saying, "HER?"  "Oh my god, it’s HER!"  Then turning to meet me and squeal and shake my hand three times each.  

He said, "You have no idea how famous you are in the theatre department!"  Another of his group said, "Did you know you were a cult figure?!"

Then, they all started asking me to sing for them.

I was overcome, delirious from the attention, and nervous that I would forget the words.

Eventually, I took them into the "red room," a sort of foyer between the smoking deck and the main bar area.  And I told them the brief history of the song.

Then, I sang it for them.  Because I refuse to lose beats even when singing a cappella, one boy added some stripper horns, and a girl snapped her fingers to keep time.  

When I finished, they screamed and clapped and I hugged them all one at a time.

Then, my self-proclaimed "biggest fan" bought be a birthday cake shot.  He said, "Oh my god, everyone’s just startstruck."

No one more than me, let me tell you.

I know this sounds like the hallucination of a former cover band singer, which I am, but it’s all true.  I could probably fill in more detail, but I won’t, not now, anyway.

I promised him a recording of the song, the lyrics in writing, and a photograph of Jones.  He said that this was "the defining moment" of his senior year.

Nothing was going to outshine the moments I spent singing to those kids, and making them so happy.  So, I left early.

And, to quote the jack-ass that tried to pay to cut in the bathroom line, "That’s Lawrence for ya."