Page 47 of Spread Your Wings

“Okay, Boomer.”

Sammy sputtered, flailing for the right words to explain he was Gen X without starting a fight. A comforting hand on his shoulder calmed him. Mustafa’s left hand, the one bearing his onyx and white gold wedding ring. Sammy glanced over at Mustafa, who rolled his eyes.

“At least,weare at the right concert. We remember the actual music, before Freddie died.” Mustafa’s accent was more pronounced than usual, a sign of annoyance.

“You need an education.” Sammy gave her his best stink eye. Behind his back, he clasped his hands. He twisted his matching wedding band around his ring finger. He’d picked up the nervous habit two years ago. They’d been one of the first couples in their county to get married after the Supreme Court ruling.

The girl with black hair glared at him. “Well?”

“Start withA Night at the Opera, andA Day at the Races. Then,Jazz,The Game, andNews of the World. You’ll recognizemost of those songs. Then, you need to watchHighlander, and listen toA Kind of Magic. Best album ever.”

“AndInnuendo, if you want to break your own heart,” Mustafa said with a sheepish grin.

“Come on, Amber. We don’t have time for this.”

“Hold on,” the girl, Amber, said. “I didn’t know they had so many albums.”

“That’s not even half of them,” Mustafa and Sammy said at the same time.

“Still start with the Opera one?”

Sammy nodded. “Listen to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’ All of it. If you hate it, you hate music.”

“Jeez, Amber. Stop talking to these geezers.” The blond pulled her to the ticket counter, and then they disappeared into the crowd.

“Look at you, educating the youth,” Mustafa said.

Sammy kissed Mustafa’s cheek. “You were amazing.”

Mustafa still blushed at every compliment, even if Sammy gave them fifty times a day. “I meant what I said. Adam Lambert’s a sad imitation if you’ve heard Freddie sing.”

“But he’s cute.”

“He’s gorgeous,” Mustafa corrected. “And sultry.”

“His bubble butt goes on for days.” Sammy waggled his eyebrows.

“Yeah, she had a point.”

Sammy took Mustafa’s hand. “Think he’s better than Paul Rogers?”

“Yes.”

“And Robbie Williams?”

“Eh,” Mustafa gestured with his other hand. “They have about the same swagger.”

“Adam’s voice, though.”

“Yeah. Adam’s better.” He sighed. “But not better than Freddie.”

“Nobody’s better than Freddie.”

With that, they entered Bridgestone Arena’s stadium seating for their fourth Queen concert, hand in hand.

THE END