Harry smiled as Melissa perched the daisy crown on his head. She pushed a grey wisp from his scalp. ‘These things used to stay put when you had hair.’
A clash of metal on metal made him start. The Assassin’s stage filled with light and smoke as the opening bars of Sweet Home Alabama cracked the air.
Harry adjusted his deaf aid, shifting his seat.
‘You want to stand?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll save it for Hendrix. Always thought Van Zant overrated. Can’t waste my energy.’
‘Or your pain relief.’
‘Bah. There’s life in the old dog, eh? Who’s next?’
‘After Jimmy, it’s Morrison, then Buddy, then Bolan…’
‘I’ll have my kip then…’
‘Closing with Freddie.’
Harry coughed greeny phlegm on the ground. ‘For a Brit, he’s ok.’ The old man’s rheumy eyes took in the empty fields, the wispy corn and the one tractor ploughing steadily in the distance.’
‘You think it’s bigger now than then?’
Melissa wiped a bead of sweat from his cheek. ‘I expect so. They’ve worked hard to get the old crews back for one last concert.’
Harry coughed and held his side, allowing the pain to ripple across his stomach. He watched as the song ended and Melissa put a new disc in the machine. ‘I always thought them lucky, you know. Dying young.’
‘Not long now.’
A spot picked out Hendrix as he riffed across Purple Haze. ‘Never did see Jimmy.’
‘But you said….’
‘Yeah. I lied young. Ha!’ Harry shut his eyes. ‘I’ll kip now. Thanks Mel.’
Melissa watched her father close his eyes. She turned off the music and shut her laptop. Bird song filled the air, nature’s harmonies carrying his soul to his long lost soulmates. Maybe now he’d see Jimmy play as he always said he had.