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About This Author
 Kiya is a young woman with many interests. She's got a degree in Computer Science and Registered Nursing.
She's an avid reader and considers Stephen King one of her favorite authors.
She's also been known to pen one or two stories here and there, and as a proud moderator of Writing.Com, she invites you to check out her portfolio (and even better, to sign up today!).
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The Bradbury Chronicles #1091697 added June 17, 2025 at 2:15pm
Restrictions: None
Echoes of ’55
Bobby Sheridan stared at his reflection in the mirror.
The monkey suit — as they fondly called it — hung a little loose on his lanky frame, but the gold buttons still gleamed under the soft light as his trembling fingers smoothed them down.
Outside, the muffled chaos of tune-ups filled the air.
He could already picture Timmy Two-Tone fumbling with his oboe, polishing it for the umpteenth time — his obsessive precision legendary.
Maria Sanchez would be testing the strings of her precious violin, Magdalena, eyes closed — because that was the only way she could truly hear the music.
Then there was Sneaky Sanders, the big guy with the big heart, whose bass guitar could set toes tapping within seconds.
Roofy Rick — unpredictable but brilliant — still had the magic to make his drums sing, if given the right push.
And in the corner would sit Allison Smithers, part-time librarian and full-time piano prodigy. Her fingers danced across the keys with a finesse that should have earned her a place at any elite conservatory — if only her family hadn’t been too poor to send her.
At least the town had been lucky to keep her.
The cello, tonight, belonged to someone new—
“Ready, Bobby?” came a sudden voice, pulling him back to the present.
He turned to find Simone Bailey’s youthful face. At just sixteen, she had inherited her grandfather’s love for the cello and was stepping into his place for tonight’s performance.
They all missed Art “The Master” Bailey, but his legacy lived on in her bright eyes and steady hands.
“In a minute, my dear,” Bobby replied with a shaky breath, tugging his jacket lapels. “Forgive me — it’s been a while.”
“You’ll be amazing,” Simone smiled, brushing invisible lint from his shoulders. “The whole town missed you guys. I’m so glad you decided to reunite.”
Bobby blushed at the praise, swallowing the lump rising in his throat.
He picked up his conductor’s wand. After running a hand through the few wisps of grey hair left on his head, he nodded.
“Showtime, my dear. Let’s give them what they came for.”
His arthritis made the walk to the stage slow, but as Simone led the way, he felt a familiar surge of energy — not just from the unseen audience behind the closed curtains, but from the men and women beside him, all clutching their instruments, eyes fixed on him.
Suddenly, it was the summer of ’55 again.
A gang of misfit music nerds, escaping the ordinary, showing off their talents beyond the classroom. Bobby had formed the club, and while most had joined quickly, it had taken months to convince Sneaky — real name Alan — to come aboard.
His skin colour had made it complicated back then.
But when they played, none of that mattered.
Under the mentorship of Mr. B. Shears, their school’s music teacher, they spent every spare moment perfecting their sound — most often in Bobby’s garage, where their music drew curious neighbours and, eventually, the mayor, who invited them to perform at town events.
They called themselves The Lonely-Hearts Club.
“Sounds depressing,” his mother once said. “Why that name?”
Bobby’s throat tightened as he gazed at the last surviving members of the club. Why that name? Because that’s what they were — a group of outcasts who found each other through music.
Their bond had never broken.
Even after disbanding more than twenty years ago, it was Simone’s idea — her determination — that had brought them back together.
Bobby’s eyes found her again, now seated behind her grandfather’s cello. Faded signatures — the club’s legacy — still adorned the wood. And for a moment, he saw Art in her place, beaming with approval.
It was time.
Bobby stepped into position and lifted his wand, smiling at his beloved band.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC’s voice boomed, “back on stage after twenty long years, let’s welcome the legendary Lonely-Hearts Club — performing for the very last time!”
Let’s make it a show they’ll never forget.
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Word Count: 659
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