"Who knows what a Gar is?" I ask as Lona keeps playing guitar and John still beats the drums.
Our band sounds like a car wreck with a smile.
Then a miracle happens.
We've been playing the Nursing Home for a few months now ... Thursday's at 10 ... Island Standard Time ... half the crowd sing along, beat tambourines, dance, or intensely watch.
The other half sit there ... mostly in wheel chairs ... head down ... drooling ... silent ... half a foot in Heave or Hell and the other stuck there listening to us.
"Who knows what a Gar is?"
And one of the half dead crowd ... sitting in the same spot every Thursday ... in his wheelchair ... wearing a Captains Hat ... with his chin resting on his chest ... yells ... "I DO!"
Everyone stops and stares at him.
I'd certainly never heard him speak before.
Hell I'd never seen him MOVE before.
"IT'S A FISH!" he screams. "LOT'S OF TEETH! YOU DON'T SPEND TIME ON THE WATER LIKE I DID WITHOUT KNOWING GAR!"
The Captain's hat on his head suddenly makes sense.
I burst into tears.
Lona looks from him to me then back at him again.
John sits behind his drums like a Monk with his hands folded, head down as in prayer, appreciating the Holiness of it all.
We've never witnessed a resurrection before.
"Holy Shit," I mutter.
Then the Captain grins ... obviously proud of his knowledge and experience ... his eyes dancing with life ... head upright ... ready for the music.
Another half dead wheelchair imprisoned inmate hits a tambourine breaking the moment of awakening.
We sing again but everything is different.
They beat the Hell out of the tambourines, clapping and yelling and smiling.
Those who can't form words anymore scream in unspoken tongues.
The Captain smiles with his head held high, eyes full of life, shaking his one good hand to the rhythms of the music.
I've always believed in miracles.
But I believe in them more now.
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