I felt a cold knife to the thigh. The band was cutting me off. I was no longer good enough. 'I had other commitments, more important commitments.' Whatever the dressing the band was cutting me off, letting me go.
I’d sensed it for some time, the occasional silences. Now here, in Henry and Lol’s house, it was put into words.
Through a perceived need for ceremony, or because that was all they had in the house, Lol entered the room carrying a silver tray. It held five glasses and a green bottle of Dry Martini. A drink I’ve never had since.
Over drinks and desultory gossip nothing was said. Then Henry led me aside. “They want you to leave the band.” He said it like he didn’t.
I forget my reply.
Then he offered an olive branch, possibly more of a twig. “We want new members, more weight to the band. We want do more and bigger concerts.”
“And with my present teaching commitment…impending marriage.”
“Exactly.” His Viking features eased into an expression of remorse and relief. “You understand…You’d always be welcome to play with us in smaller venues – the occasional ceilidh.”
“You mean leave ‘Devil’s Elbow’ for ‘Devil’s Finger’”.
He laughed as though it was funny.
“No thanks,” I said.
As divorces go it was amicable, bitter-sweet. The band had their interests to pursue and I had mine.
Blogs rarely confess failure. Who wants to read it? Who wants to confess it? Never moan or complain. But Blogs should be truthful, and the truth is that rejection happens to everyone, and always it hurts.