Twas The Night Before A DeadLove Concert

       Twas the night before the DeadLove concert at the North Pole. Kringle, hired us to put on a show for the workers. Well he says hired, when actually if was more like threatened and blackmailed to perform a Christmas Miracle.  
 
      Apparently, we’re big in the North Pole. Who knew that’s where those lost demo tapes ended up. Small world, huh.
 
      But that’s putting the cart before the horse, folks. This is how the whole situation went down. Some of the details are a bit foggy and horrifying at the same time.
 
      Anyways my younger brother, Garret had invited me over for a weekend back in mid October. Just to hang out and catch up. He’s the drummer of the band, folks. A band that broke up thirty years ago. I shit you not.
 
      We’re hanging out listening to music when this big black SUV pulled in his driveway. This huge mountain of a man gets out of the driver side door. I’m talking 6’7” and jacked to the gills on growth hormone, allegedly that is. I have no proof that’s the case. You follow?  
 
      So he opens the back door, and then this stocky guy gets out of the vehicle. Grey beard, big belly, and not so jolly, people. He was kinda menacing in a Mafia Godfather sort of way. He approaches us, and call us out by name.       
 
       Before introducing himself as, Kris Kringle. Yeah, that guy. With the flying sleigh. Or so he claimed to be anyhow. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his smartphone, that he refers to as his list. After informing us about our checkered pasts, in great detail.
 
      Kringle, tells us his workers are huge fans of, DeadLove. These workers are his flesh and blood. And it was their wish for the band to reform and play one show on Christmas Eve.  
 
      He also starts informing us that he makes good on his promises to his family. Then muscle guy chimes in and says, “We can do this the easy way, or the painful way. The choice is yours, friend.”  

      I inform them both, that this can never happen. Because a lot has changed in the last thirty summers. Life doesn’t always play fair, people part ways, time wears down these bodies, as our memories slowly begin to fade away. Here’s the skinny, I say.
 
      Garret DeadLove, retired from drumming. Became a bass player and has toured these States, many times over.  
 
      Damian DeadLove, I haven’t screamed and growled like that in over three decades. I got into songwriting. And being behind the scenes.  
 
      JJ Burton, our bass player. Had his own career touring these States as well. And now lives in out west with his family. Although we still keep in touch, we haven’t seen him in person in 29 years.  
 
      Gene “Rip” Sizemore, our guitarist. He passed away defending our country in Desert Storm. Without him there is no, DeadLove. In his memory we vowed to never go under that name again.  
 
      Oh, how Kringle huffed and puffed. Because he knew it was true. That vow was sacred and it was pure. DeadLove the band, was simply nevermore.
      
        Then his face slowly started to smile. With a wink he proclaimed us honorable for keeping our word, and staying true to that vow.  
 
      Before returning to his modern day Mafia sleigh. He shouted out to us, “JJ, say’s hello. I visited him earlier. Also, DeadLove will play on Christmas Eve, mark my words. Trust me, just sleep on it.”  

      …….. “Why did you close the book, Dad? Both of my sons are now staring at me perplexingly. Their curiosity peeked and wanting a better outcome to this story. “What happened on Christmas Eve? Did DeadLove play again? They shout.
 
      I reply by telling them. Uncle Garret, Uncle JJ, and I all went to sleep on Christmas Eve. And we all had the same dream. DeadLove, played that show to a standing ovation. For one night only time stood still. We were all young again, and we were reunited with Rip.  
 
      We played all the songs one last time, and it was a feeling like no other. We left it all on the stage that night. Every Christmas Eve, your uncles tell that same story to their kids.