It was 7 p.m. at the Oak Ridge Community Centre’s “Multi-Purpose Room B.” Forty seniors sat in folding chairs, faces expectant, or perhaps just waiting for the fruit punch and biscuits promised for 8 p.m.

The band stood behind the velvet curtain, nervous about their first gig since high school, 50 years ago.

“Remember,” Eleanor hissed from behind her drum kit, “no matter what happens, keep playing. If Bill’s pants fall down again, it’s part of the ‘glam rock’ esthetic.”

The curtain slowly pulled back with a mournful, mechanical groan.

“Sounds like my husband getting up in the morning,” muttered Monica.

“Good evening, Oak Ridge!” Xavier shouted into the microphone. “We’re the Hip Replacements!”

“Do Smoke on the Water!” yelled someone from the back row.

Bill leaned over to Monica. “Do we know Smoke on the Water?”

“We know the first four notes,” Monica replied. “In rock and roll, sometimes that’s all you need.”

“Stick to our set list,” Xavier commanded.

They kicked into “Born to Be Wild.”

The energy was there, but the physics were questionable. Xavier’s first power chord was so enthusiastic, his bifocals slid off his nose and dangled from one ear, leaving him effectively blind for the duration of the song.

On bass, Monica was in the zone. She was “head-banging,” which for a woman with a fused cervical vertebra looked more like a series of rhythmic, intense nods.

Charlie accidentally toggled his keyboard from “Classic Organ” to “Calypso Steel Drum.”

Suddenly, the hard-rocking anthem of 1968 sounded like a biker gang taking a Caribbean cruise.

“Charlie!” Monica hissed over the din. “You’re a pineapple! Change it back!”

“I can’t hear you! The steel drums are very soothing!” Charlie yelled, happily tinkling away at a tropical riff.

The audience’s reaction was a mix of confusion and genuine delight. Mrs. Gable, age 87, stood up and began a slow, wobbling version of the Twist.

Bill decided it was time for his big move. He’d seen a video of a rock star playing the guitar behind his head.

He swung his vintage Fender over his shoulder. He did not account for the limited range of motion in his rotator cuff. A sickening pop echoed through his monitor.

“I’m stuck!” Bill screamed, his guitar now pinned against his shoulder blades. “Xav, I’m a musical turtle!”

Xavier, blind, didn’t notice. But Eleanor did. Without missing a beat, she stood up, reached over her cymbals and used a drumstick to whack Bill’s shoulder back into alignment while simultaneously hitting a massive crash cymbal.

“Thanks, Ellie!” Bill gasped, sliding the guitar back to his chest just in time for the final chorus.

As they reached the crescendo, Xavier grabbed the mic stand and leaned back for the final high note. Unfortunately, the stand wasn’t weighted for a man of Xavier’s determination. It tilted, then buckled.

Xavier went down. The mic stand went down. As he fell, he grabbed the tablecloth of the refreshments station.

The song ended with a triumphant drum fill from Eleanor and the majestic splash of six gallons of sugar-free fruit punch hitting the linoleum.

Silence. A single tea biscuit rolled across the stage.

Then Mrs. Gable started clapping. Then Mr. Henderson. Within seconds, the room was a roar of dentures and delight. They hadn’t seen anything that exciting since the blackout of ’03.

Xavier looked up from a puddle of red punch.

“Thank you, Oak Ridge!” he croaked. “We’ll be in the lobby signing autographs and taking Tums!”

“Hey!” someone shouted. “You only played one song!”

“So?” Monica shouted back. “Admission was free!”           

© Peterborough Examiner