The Note Heard Around the World

Saturday 13th July 1985, 6:40p.m.

The man bounced on the balls of his feet, like his Adidas sneakers were made of springs. The ripple of nerves in his belly was like the famous butterfly: a little flutter that built to a raging storm of raw energy, building in his blood and bones. He channelled it with years of practise, and the talent of a showman. His moustache bristled with it. It'd shortly meet with the tsunami of emotion brewing out there. One perfect storm in the making.

A palpable buzz leapt from person to person. Like a flea, or a virus. Every upturned face reflected it. An intoxicating cocktail of optimism, oxytocin, and anticipation thrummed in the air.

70,000 people! Even more watching live on their televisions...

Did he even know, in those moments, that this performance would be iconic, etched in history?

It was a far cry from where they'd started. Pretty far, even, from just a few years before. All those flamboyant costumes. All that hair.

Tonight was about crowd-pleasing hits standing on their own merit. Not technical on-stage shenanigans, lighting, or outlandish clothes. For this, he'd chosen faded wranglers, white vest, and a studded band taut against his right bicep. Simple. Direct. No frills. Just music.

They headed onto the stage and took their places. His at at the piano, fingers set to the keys. The opening chords were instantly recognisable. The roar out there swelled, and the emotion with it. An entity: living, breathing, pulsing, swaying. The beat.

He held it, and its symbiotic partner (the crowd) in the palm of his hand. When he left the keys to strut forward, arm aloft, they were entirely captured, mesmerised.

The last notes of the song faded, and he called out to them, buoyed up on their response. Like a spell that reverberated back, a wave that kept building each time it sloshed across the stadium. The notes belted out, reverberated around the world and down the decades.

Hit after hit, with every last body clapping, stamping, and singing for twenty solid show-stealing minutes.

The span of his life was only 5 September 1946 until 24 November 1991, but his voice will live forever.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Friday 22nd November at 22:22

The story behind the story: I hope it's obvious who and what this is. If not, if I've failed, then have a video of it. I'm a couple of days early.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 327 (!!!) daily micro-fiction story streak since 1st January.

ONLY THIRTY-NINE DAYS TO GO!

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day! Rachel Deeming Gerard DiLeo

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and I am extremely grateful for your ongoing support.

Thank you to those who leave feedback/comments.

I am still plodding away, catching up on reads. If I'm already up to date with your stories, I read someone else's!

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

Similar but different:

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Thank you again!