How Not To Be A Groupie

All the clothes I had bought in the seventies were still in my bag. I dumped the bag out on the floor and rummaged through them, adding to the massive mess that was already there. A sudden giddiness washed over me, knowing I got to keep my vintage purchases. It vanished when I tossed them all aside for the notebook, praying to God it was still there.

Flyers, newspaper, backstage pass, notebook and all. Everything I collected during my travels were still here.

My money was gone, however. My pockets were empty, all the Australian currency disappeared.

Standing up from the floor I flopped onto my bed, exhausted. Suddenly I shot up, feeling around my body for any signs of change. My hair was still the same length, my legs were still shaved. My teeth were still straight despite having no retainer for a month. I grabbed my phone and checked the date.

It was exactly the same as when I left. No time had passed in 2024.

There was only one message on my phone. One from my friend, asking how I was. I replied immediately, apologizing for the shitty way I treated her before I left. Every inch of me wanted so bad to tell her about the amazing adventure I just went on but knew I should wait. Right now, the most important thing was making up with her and making sure she was okay.

I'd tell her in a couple days.

Knowing she was probably asleep, I tossed my phone aside and flipped through my notebook, rereading everything from start to finish. Some things made me laugh while others brought out fresh tears. My interviews with the boys seemed ages ago. Seeing their words written down was like they were still here, talking to me. My hand brushed over the flyer, the paper crinkling under my touch. The newspaper, looking only a little faded, informed me of things only remembered by those who lived it. History in my hands and it only cost me a little mustard on my shoe.

I got what I wanted. I got my experience. Now what to do with it?

I wasn't about to tell the whole world what I'd done. Call up a news station and claim I went back in time to see AC/DC, gets tons of attention? Absolutely not. 抖阴社区 a book about my travels and publish it, making tons of money? Nah. I wanted to be subtle. Confide in people without making such a big stink. And that's where my fanfictions came in.

Flipping to the first page of my notebook, I set it on my desk next to my laptop. Mr. and Mrs. Young's address along with the others' was hidden under a t shirt, and I plucked it out from the pile, pinning it to my cork board. Even if my plans of using it were interrupted, I could still have it to look at, couldn't I? Sitting down on the chair and stretching my arms out in front of me, I checked around on 抖阴社区 for the story I never got to write. There it was, the page still blank.

What could I call it? I wanted something catchy and reasonable. Something different. My brain considered every possible name it could think of and nothing caught on. My eyes flitted to the backstage pass on my bed. The only reason I got that pass was because I passed off as a groupie. And despite being a lousy groupie, it was still a hell of a lot of fun.

I considered that for a moment, and began to write.

This story is for all of those groupies who dream of chasing the music that makes us happy. Those of us who wish to escape the boring and mundane. Those who want to break the chain and not just be another dehumanized conquest for the rockstars to brag about. But if getting chewed up and spit out by rock and roll is what you're after, then here's some advice on how not to be a groupie.

The End.