InsaneJournal

Would you sing my song at the top of your lungs
Who: Garrett Rigby (then Garrett Walker) and his mother Allison (NPC)
Where: A random open mic night at a club in Kansas City, Missouri
When: March 1997; Rigby is just shy of 16 years old
Note: Rigby is not yet going by Rigby at this point in time, so he's referred to as Garrett in this scene. :D


By all rights, there was no reason why Garrett should have been allowed into the club. Granted, the open mic night was advertised as being “for all ages,” but he definitely saw someone checking IDs. If not for the hint of stubble along his chin and the hair in his eyes, he would totally look like the kid he was.

In his mind, though, it was worth the risk. He and his mother Allison needed the money and first prize was $500, cash. Garrett didn’t know what to do with so much money; it was pretty much a fortune to a poor Georgia boy. And if it would help his mama out, fix the brakes in their truck and keep them on the road, even better. At least this was one thing Garrett knew he could do, and do well.

That determination couldn’t prepare him for the onslaught of thoughts that hit him the moment he stepped inside the club. Garrett paused in the doorway, one hand going to his temple, trying to will the thoughts away. Of course, it didn’t work.

Allison laid a hand on his arm. “We don’t have to do this,” she reminded him softly, and he couldn’t tell if she was actually talking or if it was just her thoughts in his head. “We’ll get the money some other way.”

“But I want to, Mama. Don’t you be worryin’ ‘bout me.” If anything, Garrett knew what he was getting into. The potential migraine was well worth the thought of getting onstage and playing his heart out. He ran his thumb over the handle of his guitar case, smiling to himself a little. He knew he could do this, though he’d never tried it with a crowd this big before. What would he do if his music did fail him?

Garrett wasn’t going to think about that now. He made his way to the bar, put his name on the list, and then took a seat to wait. Until now, he’d never performed in front of anyone but his own family, and of course his mama would say he was going at it. Singing for a crowd was something else entirely – and he only had one song to knock them dead. Talk about pressure. Garrett took a sip of his water – the bartender thought it was strange that it was all he ordered, but luckily she didn’t say that out loud. Allison lingered behind him, fingers tapping against her glass idly.

“You know what you’re gonna sing yet?” Allison asked, leaning in close so he could hear her. Even then it took Garrett a moment to pick up the words over the thoughts of the couple next to him. Seriously, some people needed to learn when to get a room.

He shrugged. “I got a few.” By now, Allison had heard him practice all of his favorites. To her credit, she never once complained about the music, not even in her head. She knew what it meant to him, what peace it brought him. “Keepin’ it a surprise.”

“I’m sure it’ll be perfect.” It was times like this when Garrett was glad he wasn’t an empath too, because between his mother’s nerves and the nerves of those around him, he’d be a wreck. At the very least, he knew he’d do better than the guy in the corner who was repeating Journey lyrics in his head.

There wasn’t time to be nervous. Not about singing, anyway. Garrett busied himself with taking his guitar out of its case – the electric had cost them a fortune, but Allison had insisted. He’d start earning the money back for her now. If this all worked out the way he hoped it would, maybe this would be the first of many shows. Kid could only hope.

“And next up,” the emcee’s voice boomed over the room, reading from the sheet of paper in his hand, “is Rigby!”

Allison’s jaw dropped. Garrett just reached over and patted her on the shoulder before drawing a deep breath and moving towards the stage. His mother’s thoughts were ringing loud in his head: That’s my last name, Rigby. What in the hell is he thinking? A stage name? Later he’d tell her that he liked how Rigby sounded, that it seemed to fit who he was becoming. That Garrett Walker the boy had died when his father attacked him. That, when he got his license in a few months, he was putting his name as Garrett Rigby, whether she approved of it or not.

He pushed those thoughts aside as best he could – which wasn’t hard, considering that he was picking up on more thoughts now that he was facing the entire crowd. The lights were brighter than Garrett figured they would be, and he blinked a few times as he adjusted the microphone. “Hey y’all,” his Southern accent a big contrast to what everyone sounded like, which he hoped would work in his favor, “name’s Rigby, and hope y’all enjoy what I’m playin’ for ya tonight.”

Later, he’d reflect on how well the name had rolled off his tongue, how it just seemed to fit. Right now he concentrated on the way his fingers drifted over the strings, his mind finally becoming quiet as he started to play. The song he picked was a newer one; Allison had bought the cassette tape for him the previous Christmas, and he’d listened to it damn near nonstop while they were on the road. The lyrics were perfect and the vocals suited his range and Garrett knew he could knock this one right out. “She said I don’t know if I’ve ever been good enough, I’m a little bit rusty and I think my head is caving in…"

And then he realized what else was happening. There had to be a hundred people in the bar, give or take – and he couldn’t hear the thoughts of a single one of them. There was just him and his music and that gave him the extra confidence he needed. Judging by the crowd’s reaction, he was doing just fine all on his own. As the song picked up the pace, he could see heads bopping with the melody, people singing along.

That’s all it took. Garrett was in love with this, the rush of being on stage. Here, his telepathy couldn’t screw with his head and he could pretend he was normal for a few minutes. He’d give anything to feel like that on a regular basis.

When the last notes finally rang out over the audience, Garrett only took enough time to give them a small bow before hauling ass backstage. As it was, some of the thoughts still rushed back and he was clutching his head when Allison found him, his guitar case in hand. “Come on,” she murmured, tugging him out into the parking lot, their only company being a few smokers on the other side of the building. Garrett leaned his head back against the building, chuckling softly to himself in spite of the headache he could feel building behind his eyes. He’d done it – performed live in front of all those people. And hell, he’d sounded good! People seemed to like it, even.

Allison, ever the mother, reached over to brush the hair out of his eyes. “Rigby, huh?” she asked, something like a smile on her face.

He opened his eyes to look at her. “I kind of like it,” he admitted. “You ain’t angry or nothin’?” He’d hear her reactions, of course, even if she didn’t tell him so aloud. And Garrett wasn’t the type to hold that against her, seeing as her thoughts should stay her own, regardless of whatever abilities he had.

“It suits you.” The rest of Allison’s thoughts went unsaid: Better than anything you got from Will’s side of the family, anyway. She was proud of him, in a way, for wanting to connect more with her family than his father’s, but that was something she’d never tell him. And he’d never say it to her, either. Garrett knew, and that was all that mattered. “Still gonna take some gettin’ used to, you know.”

“Of course. Just somethin’ I was thinkin’ ‘bout, that’s all.” Garrett let the moment linger for a second, before asking, his curiosity getting the best of him, “So, didya like it? The song, I mean.”

His mother laughed. “Are you kiddin’? You might’ve not noticed, but that crowd? Totally loved you. Won’t be surprised if you’re takin’ home first place tonight.”

Garrett couldn’t resist. He gave a little fist pump, full-on grinning. He might not be the kind of guy who was going to get straight A’s in school, go to college, fulfill all these dreams a parent might have for their kids. But he was a damn good singer, and a damn good guitarist, and now he knew what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Even if his telepathy meant he couldn’t enjoy the glow of the crowd’s applause for longer than a few seconds after the last song ended, it was all worth it in his mind.

Later that night, he counted the prize money over again as they drove out of Kansas City. Mission accomplished.