Modo Soda’s “Forgotten Pages”

The on stage swagger studded persona of Stu Strokes, Moda Soda’s founder and lead singer, was marvelous and impervious to distraction. Stu’s moxie, his presence and panache transcended the ordinary rockstar legend. His performance matched the incendiary feel of that music which took the world by storm in the summer of ‘97.

But as 70,000 adoring fans readied their lips to sing the renowned chorus of Modo’s seminal hit “Forgotten Pages”, the unflappable front man fell, crumpled to his knees like tissue paper.

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Stu Stokes, born Herman Francis Marc was raised by a single mother who, due to a tumultuous and oddly coursed life, was a beautiful amalgamation of traditional values and progressive ideals. They didn’t have many others to depend on but as he would explain to interviewers, they didn’t need anyone. She was madly in love with her son and he was endlessly fascinated by his mother. More than anything, she worked to instill in him value for selflessness in every choice, integrity when no one is looking and above all, “big picture gratitude,” as she’d call it.

At her funeral Herman decided that the way he’d interact with the world would be a testament to her, a sort of project he could feel she was working on with him, through him. But in this moment, the confluence of emotions was a train wreck leaving an undecipherable mess of humanity within.

“WHO THREW THIS?!” He exclaimed forgetting, everything.

70,000 fans froze in curious horror wondering what exactly had transpired. No one could see the little black book Stu was huddled over. Simple and old, a faded blue shoelace tied tightly around it.

He caressed the cover gently in disbelief and awe as though it were his first lover stretched nude before him once more, he turned the book over and back over again. His fingers slid down its front. Hesitating, Stu grasped the shoelace and gave a tug. An old drivers license fell out beside an old, folded note.

He stared breathless for a moment then snatched the license and loose paper up, sprung to his feet and dashed off stage.

Racing through the walls of concerned and confused fans, friends and associates he grabbed a random stage hand close to his dressing room, pulled him inside and slammed the door yelling “UNTIL YOU FIND WHO THREW THIS, LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE, PLEASE!” Barely a moment went by before a polite though still intimidating... “THANK YOU!” Bellowed from behind the closed door.

Several minutes later a young woman was escorted to the dressing room by an entourage of security.

Jacob (Stu’s oldest friend and drummer) knocked.

“I SAID LE...”

“Stu, Stu we found the person who threw the book.” He said as gently as possible, “she seems quite nice. A lovely young lady from just outside Philly. Her name is Marla.”

“Carla.” The young woman said,

“Huh?”

“Carla. My .. my name, it’s Carla. With a C.”

“Oh ... right, Carla. It’s Carla Stu, not Marla. With a ....”

The door flung open. Stu shoved out the stage hand who was holding some disheveled papers and yanked in Carla before slamming the door again.

“DO EXACTLY WHAT HE TELLS YOU!” Stu barked.

Looking terrified, the stagehand gave Jacob half the papers and said, “Is there a Mindy here? Mindy? Good with computers Mindy?” A sheepish young woman appeared, “Stu said he’ll give you $20,000 if you can have this ready in 30 minutes.” She looked at the instructions given her.

“30 minutes?”

“Um, ya... he...” On her heel, Mindy spun and took off.

The stagehand turned to Jacob, “He said to tell you, ‘Mindy is going to stream the concert to millions of people. Stop staring at the stagehand and go learn the song he just gave you.”

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“Sit!” Carla fell into a makeup chair.

Stu paced furiously stammering, stuttering. Questions began but ended as assertions and vice versa. Something about the human quirkiness of it all made her feel awkwardly at ease.

“Would you like to know where I found it?” Carla interjected. Stu stopped, stooped down nose to nose and stared right into her eyes.

“OH I KNOW WHERE YOU “FOUND” IT! That bastard Chuck stole it from me in 1997! Prick always was jealous of my music, I’ll never...”

“No.”

“What?!”

“I don’t know Chuck. It was behind some loose bricks in the basement of a farmhouse my family bought.” Stu froze and fell into a daze. “Mr. Strokes ...?”

Aghast, Stu collapsed into the makeup chair beside her. He began to mumble which turned into quite a ramble about the history of the old farmhouse she now called home. Like painting a dream he recalled lucid details and sordid stories so as to deliver a context and answer what Carla had not asked: how this little black book came to be forgotten behind some bricks in the old basement.

Stu fell silent again for some time all the while staring at the book as though afraid to open it.

“My name is Herman by the way. Herman Marc.” She looked at him in the mirror, he was staring at her. It was unnerving at first but then, it was Stu Strokes. The famous, the untouchable, wondrously wonderful Stu Strokes broken, foolish and frail beside her. He was real after all.

Her heart broke for him as it was his words which had given her so much strength, so much hope so many times before and now, she could think of nothing to say, nothing to give back.

“So, you know what this is huh?”

“I think so, ya. It’s the book isn’t it, the one you sing about in “Forgotten Pages?”

“Ya. Ya. It is that. Ya. My uh, my ma gave me this book. For my 18th birthday but, she actually passed just before.”

“Oh. Oh Mr. Strokes I’m ... I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.” He turned from the mirror, looked her in the eyes directly.

“You knew. Few do but you did.” She looked away in embarrassment, feeling as though she had gotten caught in some unforgivable trespass.

“I’m sorry Mr Str...”

“Herman.

“What?”

“Please, call me Herman.”

“Herman ... I’m...”

“Would you read it to me?” Carla went white. 97 pages and she knew exactly which he wanted to hear.

“I ... I can’t Mr St, um ... Herman. Please, I’m so sorry.”

“I lost this almost 20 years ago Carla. The next morning I wrote "Forgotten Pages" and now ... now here I am. With you. So, please? You brought her back to me, she wants you to be a part of this project now too.” A tear she had no idea was ready burst from her eye.

Slowly, she reached over and took the book from his hands. Pulling out and unfolding the note tucked in front she caught her breath began to read,

“To the wonder I cherish most, to my son Herman.

Happy 18th birthday Hermie,

I wish I could be with you today to give you this. I want it to be our final project together. I can not tell you the gratitude and joy, the rivers of Love you are in me. Since before you can remember I have watched your curiosity, your frivolity and care of others define you. You’ve inspired me in everything.

I know it makes no sense but you have been my hero since you were born, the person I most look up to and the life I wanted most to be a part of. I never wanted to intrude though. But, I never had to. In every chapter of your life so far you have invited me in, asked my thoughts, asked me to help. I am your mother and you had no choice in that but you made me your friend, your ally, your partner in crime and I could never have asked for more.

You saved my life Hermie. And though I don’t want you to think on it, I have to confess there is no greater sadness I’ve felt than when I think about not being there to share in yours.

I miss you madly already. I hurt for all of you that I’ll never get to share.

But make no mistake Hermie, I’ll be with you. Which is what I want you to think on every time you hold this book. For whatever ability I’ll have where I’m going, I’ll make sure that I can see what you put in it. So write to me but don’t waste too many pages on me. Write more to your future, write to your life, write to your dreams and aspirations. Make this little black book our last project together and never finish it. So, however this books serves you, make it serve your life in a way I would love.

All of my Love, my Life and my everything to you my dear, sweet Hermie. Forever your Mom,

And um ... it looks like her signature I guess.”

Several minutes went by.

“The only currency left in this bankrupt world is what you share with someone when you’re uncool. Lester Bangs said that”

“Ya, I saw that in Almost Famous.”

Herman Laughed, “So did I.”

*KNOCK*KNOCK*

“You know you could have sold this right? COME IN.” Stu yelled, “I mean, you could have gotten a fortune for this.”

“Mr. Strokes.”

“Mindy! Yes, oh dear, sweet, wonderful Mindy. Tell me tell me, you’ve got good news?”

“The cameras are getting in place. The site is live and the boys are ready with the new song.”

“What domain did you get?”

“FoundPages.Com.”

“EXCELLENT! TERRIFIC!! Aaannnd now, oi. How am I gonna face the crowd? Is anyone even still here?”

“Rodney’s been doing damage control via Twitter. There’s no real backlash, people are worried about you Stu.”

“I have a twitter?” Sparks exploded in his thoughts. “Oh. OH! OH MINDY! YOU ... YOUUU! HA, BRILLIANT MINDYBONEZ!!!” He swooped her up and swirled around twice, “#Modo97FoundPages ... Mindy, Carla has something I want you to put up for auction.”

“But Herman!” Carla exclaimed

Mindy’s mouth swung open, few knew his real name and nobody ever used it.

“Oh Carla, you just trust me and enjoy the show.” Stu leaned in and whispered to Mindy... “There is nothing more precious to me than what Carla is going to show you. Make sure my bid outbids all others, understand? When the auction is over, cut a check to Carla for however much. I owe her. Now, here’s what I want you to do ...”

The news of Stu’s collapse was incendiary. 70,000 concerned and confused fans tied together like a net cast over the attention of the world until 2 tweets turned everything inside out.

“Live stream now on FoundPages.Com, Modo Soda’s concert with brand new material, for free! ...as soon as Stu returns from the bathroom.”

“AUCTION ALERT: STU’S LEGENDARY FORGOTTEN PAGES FOUND! The legendary journal missing for over 20 years has been recovered and is up for auction until the end of the concert. Tweet your bid @ModoSoda, #Modo97FoundPages. Public and Private bids taken, DM here. Winner will be announced live after concert at FoundPages.Com. Enjoy the show!”

Over 17 million people watched that night, over 25 million bids were placed world wide. In some places, the internet actually broke.

As Carla watched from the wings of the stage, she shuddered remembering the moment she hoped to forget. That consideration of contacting some auction house, some museum to see about selling. “Maybe I could pay off my student loans,” she had thought.

Her eyes quivered as the 20+ year old lyrics were sung live for the very first time. “...baby Mama girl gone, now, angel woman gonna look after me...” it wasn’t as good as the chorus to "Forgotten Pages" but to her, there became no words more precious then the ones scribbled in that little black book found behind the loose bricks of that old farmhouse.