Brenda’s fingers danced along the fingerboard of her cello. Her other hand bowed with lively grace, keeping pace with the violin and piano. She was playing her first concert with the Eversham Trio at Adenak Summer Music. The popular festival featured a range of musical genres and styles from mostly local acts. Brenda was nearing completion of her music degree, and the trio was her first real professional gig. The piece ended, and all three stood for a bow as the small but appreciative audience applauded.

A young man hovered nearby as Brenda packed her cello after the concert. He wore grubby, torn jeans and a black tank bearing what looked like a band logo. His hair was long, wavy, and damp with sweat. Brenda did not recognize him but figured he was a roadie for one of the rock bands playing later in the day. As she hefted her instrument to leave the stage, the man approached her.

“Miss, can I talk to you?” he asked, sounding like a shy teen asking for a date.

Brenda was surprised, but responded in a cheerful voice, “Sure, but let’s get off the stage. Next act is prepping.”

“Oh, right,” he responded.

They moved to a quiet spot beside the band shell and away from the festival crowd.

“I’m Brenda. What can I do for you?” she asked.

“I’m Merrick. I am looking for a cellist. You sounded pretty good.”

Brenda was puzzled but figured he needed a cello for a wedding or some other event. She had done quite a few of those gigs of late.

“Nice to meet you, Merrick,” she responded, “Why do you need a cellist?”

He looked nervous, but told her, “I’m in a heavy metal band called Rusted Spikes. You probably haven’t heard of us.”

“No, but I’m not exactly a metal fan. Local, I guess?”

“For now. We’ve got someone interested in our demos, so who knows.”

“Why is a metal band looking for a cellist?” Brenda asked, curiosity growing.

“We were listening to some other bands, big European ones especially, for inspiration and heard one use a cello. My writing partner and I were intrigued by the sound,” Merrick replied.

“So, you saw me playing cello and thought I might play with your band?”

“Yeah,” Merrick answered, sounding less nervous now, “To start, maybe you could sit in with us and show us what the instrument can do. Neither of us has the foggiest idea of how to write for cello. Jerry plays guitar. I play piano and other keyboards, but mostly sing.”

This intrigued the cellist. Brenda was getting tired of classics and pop arrangements. Metal had never occurred to her as an option, though. Her older brother had been a headbanger in high school, but she had never heard any cellos in his music.

“Okay, I am interested,” Brenda told Merrick, “Are you guys playing the festival? I would like to hear you before I commit.”

“Seven-thirty this evening. That’s why I’m here. Seeing you was coincidence.”

“I’ll be there,” Brenda said, “Maybe we can talk after. I need to get my cello home and change. Hate these formal clothes.”

She noticed Merrick’s gaze had been slipping lower from time to time. Apparently, he found her formal clothes less bothersome. The thought that the metal singer might be interested in her stirred something in Brenda. She smiled at him.

“That sounds great. See you tonight,” Merrick said, then they headed their separate ways.

Brenda liked Merrick. The singer’s rather shy, withdrawn personality appealed to her. She had expected a metal singer to be loud and brash, rather like they appeared on stage.

His odd idea was growing on her, too. Maybe trying to play heavy metal would reinvigorate her creativity. If she got a relationship with Merrick in the deal, so much the better.

At home, Brenda pondered what clothes to wear. She wanted to fit with the audience and also get the singer’s attention. After some thought, Brenda settled on tight denim cutoffs over a black bodysuit. It was probably the sexiest her limited wardrobe got. She found pull-up fishnet stockings from an old Halloween costume to wear as well. After letting her hair loose and putting on heavier makeup than for the afternoon, Brenda headed back to the festival. There were food trucks on site if she needed to eat.

The crowd was larger than for her trio. To Brenda’s relief, her garb looked like it would fit in. A tall, muscular youth with no shirt on strode onto the stage, waved at the cheering crowd, and sat behind the drum kit. Three more young men followed, holding guitars. They took places on stage, looked at each other, then all four started playing fast, heavy riffs. Brenda moved her body to the music, surprised by how good it felt. Then Merrick bounded out and grabbed the mic.

“Good evening, Eversham,” he roared, “Let’s ... rawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwk...”

The singer launched into rough, rapid-fire vocals, nodding his head to the rhythm. His voice was low and husky, rising to a harsh scream now and then.

The crowd joined in, banging their heads back and forth, pumping fists with two fingers extended to make the “horns”. At first, Brenda just soaked it in. Then, a bit nervously, the cellist raised her horns and started banging her head. The energy of the music took hold. Her hesitation melted away, turning to wild delight.

Brenda was breathless and excited when the song ended. The band tore into the next song without a break. The cellist listened for a moment. Then, instead of headbanging, Brenda positioned her hands as if playing her cello. The fingers of her left hand fingered rapidly while her right bowed fast and hard. Somehow, she heard the notes of her instrument mixing with the guitars and percussion.

Merrick noticed. The singer pointed and smiled at Brenda as he belted out a round of the song’s chorus. That contact excited her even more. She smiled back and started headbanging along with the band. Her hands kept playing the imaginary cello. For the rest of the evening, Brenda alternated just listening and headbanging with playing along in her head.

After the show, Merrick leapt off the stage and raced over. He was smiling, eyes ablaze. For a moment, Brenda thought he was going to hug her. She wanted him to.

“That was amazing,” Brenda told Merrick in a loud, happy voice, “Absolutely awesome. My first metal concert.”

“You looked really into it,” the singer commented, “Were you really playing air cello?

“I was. Crazy, eh.”

“Does that mean you’re interested?”

Brenda smiled. Their eyes locked. The cellist felt a rush of desire to hold and kiss the singer.

“It does,” she told him, “It felt very good. I need to try it out for real, though.”

“We have a place where we practice and work on songs. Can you join us Tuesday night?”

Brenda mentally checked her calendar. She could think of no reason not to go.

“Yes, I am pretty sure I can. Um, what are you doing now? I wouldn’t mind talking to you some more.”

She could hardly believe she asked that.

“We have to pack our gear, but then I am free.”

“Beer tent? I have my ID,” Brenda suggested.

Merrick grinned, clearly interested.

“Beer tent it is,” he said.

“Not just about me joining the band,” Brenda suggested with a wink.

“No, definitely not just about the band,” Merrick responded with a wink back.

Brenda stared after the singer as he headed for the stage. Her heart was pounding.