I was just about to tell the man giving them out that I hadn't paid for this when he was gone. What the hell was happening? I travel back in time to exactly where my favorite band is playing a show, alive and well, and I get handed a backstage pass for free? I almost started laughing from how random this all was. I wasn't complaining. But why were they giving these away for free? And why didn't they just hand them out to anybody? Or hold a contest?

The realization hit me like a slap in the face. 

Oh...

I wasn't exactly dressed like a nun for this concert and I was apparently not too young to be let in. Knowing good and well what the rock and roll scene entailed, I was shaking in my sneakers. Snooping around for...participants, I see...I'll show them...

My fingers ached from gripping the pass tightly. I couldn't drop it. This was my chance to see them in person! A whole foot away! I may not be able to supply them with what they want but I can still get what I want. 

A good story. A good, real, truthful story. Experience.

After the show ended most of the crowd either left or went to the bar for a drink. I still didn't see Marie or her friends anywhere but I couldn't imagine they had been given backstage passes, they simply looked too young. The band had left behind a curtain but nobody else was getting in that way. They were slipping around to the back of the bar and slithering around the corner where the beer and cigarettes were. I smiled deviously. I could slither too.

I am after all, a groupie. 

Strutting casually toward the backstage entrance I coughed on the smoke. Peering around the corner I saw a good handful of people sitting around and talking over cigarettes and beer. It was a lot quieter down here than it was among the crowds of people in the bar. My ears were still ringing a bit from the concert and I suddenly remembered why I don't frequent concerts. I held my pass up where anybody could see it in case some security guard tried to throw me out. 

All I saw were men in black t-shirts with AC/DC written on the back and lanyards around their necks. There were a couple of other guys there, probably concert goers as they wore regular clothes. There were a few nicely dressed women too, a couple of them in homemade t-shirts with the band member's names written across the chest.

The band themselves were nowhere to be seen. I dared to venture further backstage, hoping I wasn't drawing any suspicion. But why should I? I paid for my ticket, I had a free pass in my hand. If I was correct in my theory, the band wanted to see me. A few other lucky people had passes similar to mine. Others had regular passes hanging around their necks. 

A couple of young boys were launching spit balls from straws at each other. There was a young girl with them who smoked a cigarette and rolled her eyes at their behavior. I took in my surroundings. I had never been backstage before anywhere and I wanted details for my story. 

There were huge stacks of crates that carried equipment and instruments all over the place. Dirty towels that used to be white littered the floor soaked with sweat. Cups, cans, bottles, ash trays, cigarette butts, and even a sock took up the rest of the space. It wasn't really its own room, it was only separated by a curtain from the rest of the bar. But it felt closed off. Nothing fancy, but cozy. Hardly any place to sit except maybe a few chairs. I wasn't looking for a place to sit. I was looking for a band to write about. 

"You lost?" I whirled around to see one of those men in the black t-shirts holding a pile of wires resembling spaghetti. He had very long hair and frighteningly blue eyes. 

A roadie...

I quickly held up my pass and stood my ground. "No, I know where I am," I said. 

He nodded upon getting a good look at my pass. "Oh, you're one of the lucky ones," he said. "Well, band's that way if you wanna talk to them." He walked off with the wires and crammed them all in a large black crate. I looked in the direction he mentioned and heard voices. Some female, mostly male. A bit of laughter and a sneeze. I froze on the spot. 

They're right over there....just a few steps away...

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. I came all this way for nothing. I failed my mission. The Wattpad story is canceled. They sent the wrong woman. Just as I was about to turn around and run for the hills...

"Come on, don't be shy." The roadie found me and escorted me to where the band was. 

I almost threw up. 

They were all sitting down with the exception of one man who was taking photos. He had a badge on his shirt and a cigarette in his mouth. I steered clear of him, not wanting to interrupt any of his artistic shots of the band. 

Would a photo of me from 1978 end up circulating the internet in 2024?

I didn't have time to think about it. The roadie positioned me right in front of the band and friends. "Found another one," he said patting me on the shoulder. I stared at the ground. "She's a shy one."

"That's not a problem," Bon said. Bon Belfucking Scott, the second lead singer this band ever had who was sitting right in front of me alive and in person. Not just a grainy, black and white photo with a watermark covering his face. This was him in the fucking flesh. 

I almost burst into tears. 

My emotions were launched into the air when I caught sight of Malcolm. Malcolm was actually my favorite member of the band despite all the stories I wrote. And I couldn't even tell you why. He was a great guitar player...but I didn't know a thing about guitars. I couldn't say he had great sound or technique or whatever else. So that couldn't have been it. He was a stud, no doubt about that. But that wasn't the reason either. It was like something in my DNA was coded to have Malcolm as my favorite member of the band and my favorite guitarist ever. And when I first saw AC/DC on YouTube, I took one look and said, "Yeah. I like that guy."

And that was that. 

I was rooted to my spot as someone handed me a beer. I held the can. I don't drink. 

"We don't bite, love," Cliff said messing around with a bit of tape. He was even better looking in real life....

I stepped a little closer with my pass and unopened beer and held the tears in. I was making a complete idiot of myself in front of the best band in the world and I didn't even care.

"You alright?" Bon asked. 

"Yep," I managed, choking down my feelings. "Fine, fine."

"Good," he smiled. I took notice of the other women in the area. They were all very pretty with passes just like mine. All well dressed with voluminous hair and painted nails. If I had known I'd be showing my legs off to a bunch of handsome gentlemen I'd have cleaned up a little. The other male guests with us wore denim jackets or leather. 

Hey, we match.

"Don't suppose you wanna place to sit?" Bon asked scooting over on the bench. My feet moved by themselves and next thing I know I'm sitting next to Bon who was drinking out of a bottle. 

And not wearing a shirt. 

Actually, none of the band were wearing shirts.

I suddenly felt overdressed. 

Bon nudged me with his hand and gestured at my beer can. "We'd have gotten better kinds if we'd have known we were having such company," he said smiling. I smiled back before looking at the can I was holding. Some brand I'd never heard of and can't remember now. "We're not exactly rollin' in money."

I still hadn't said anything. I'd been here five minutes and hadn't said a word. Come on, Hannah, work your groupie magic!

"What's your name then?" Bon asked. I suddenly wondered if I should be giving out a fake name. Or a nickname. Didn't lots of groupies have little nicknames? But of course I was unprepared for this and was certainly no Penny Lane. I wasn't even any Lady Goodman.

I was more of a William Miller myself.

Before I could think of something clever or witty, I blurted out "Hannah Ruth."

"Hannah Ruth...hm. I'm Bon, if ya' didn't know."

Oh, I know, alright.

He held his hand out for me to shake and I accepted it. His hand was warm and a bit bigger than mine. But probably not as sweaty. He took a long drink out of his bottle while the rest of the band talked away. I couldn't focus on any one conversation as they all blended together. Malcolm spoke with one man while Angus spoke with another. 

I needed a whole chapter dedicated to him...

Phil spoke with a couple women who couldn't take their eyes off him and Cliff had tossed aside the tape pieces and stood up to go somewhere. I felt Bon nudge me again. "How old are you?" he asked.

Did I really look that young? "Twenty four," I said. He nodded. 

"What am I now, thirty eight?" he said searching the air above him. My heart twisted in my chest even as I laughed. "Nah, probably about thirty two or somethin'..."

Keep it together...one...two...three...

"That's young," I said. 

"Should see Angus. He's..." Bon paused. "What, twenty one? Or....twenty, he's twenty." I nodded.

So we're playing that game....

For the longest time everyone pretended Angus was three years younger than he really was to sell the schoolboy image. Rather than being born in 1955, he was apparently born in 1958. But I knew better. I decided to play along. 

"So...what brings you out here in Australia?" he asked setting his empty bottle down and grabbing another one. "You're an American, right?" I nodded. "Thought so," he grinned.

"I...came out to see my favorite band," I said. The time travel story could wait another time. They'd have me booted out of here so fast...

"That'd be us?"

"No, the Bee Gees," I said. He snorted out a laugh and cracked open the bottle. 

"I see. And did the Bee Gees live up to your expectations?"

"Yeah," I smiled. He took another long drink and I wondered if he'd still be standing by the end of the night.

"Bet you were really confused when the drunkard with the busby on his head came runnin' out." He swung his fist. "Knocked that Barry Gibb guy off the stage."

"Was that you?" I asked. He waved me off.

"Nah, that was some other bloke," he said. "Some ugly guy."

I sat there holding my can, my hands getting cold and wet. Glancing up at the rest of the band I saw Cliff returned but Malcolm was gone. Angus had three empty cups laying under his feet and a fourth in his hand. Before he could see me looking I turned away, hoping my silly crush wasn't written across my forehead in neon lights.

"So what do ya' do?" Bon asked leaning back against the wall. "Job wise, I mean."

I sat up a bit straighter. "I'm a dog sitter," I said. His eyes lit up and he nodded. 

"Really...how many you got?" I counted in my head.

"I've got three right now," I said thinking. "But I've had several others before that died."

"Aw, that's rough," Bon said. He furrowed his brow. "Man, I didn't even think of that...were they jus' old?"

"One got really sick," I said. "He was one of my favorites." Bon patted me on the shoulder and crossed one leg over the other. 

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "Losin' a pet's rough, ya' know?"

Don't I fucking know it...

Bon picked at a loose thread from a burgeoning hole in his ludicrously tight jeans. My fingernails tapped against the beer can. I felt like I should have been helping drive the conversation. Coming up with new topics, asking him questions. I had the opportunity of a lifetime. Bon Scott sitting right next to me; I could ask questions that only he would know the answer to, answers to questions biographers have attempted to answer despite never having spoken a word to Bon Scott or any of the band. 

And the only thing I could do was twiddle my thumbs. 

You idiot! Say something!

Luckily Bon was always on top of things. "What do you do for fun?" he asked. "Ya' like goin' out or what?"

"Eh..." It was time for me to face just how boring I really was. Going out and socializing was never my thing. I much preferred staying at home and keeping to myself like the hermit I am. So if I didn't go out, what did I do? "I write a bit...." I shrugged.

"You write?" he asked sitting up. "No kiddin', what do ya' write?"

I froze. What was I supposed to say, that I write fanfictions about the band on Wattpad? I couldn't possibly say that, or even make any allusions to the future. What if screwing that up got me sent home? I wasn't done yet! Quickly I came up with an answer.

"I write about bands," I said. Yeah, that worked. Not a lie, I did write about bands. Bon nodded, thinking it over.

"So you're like a journalist, yeah?" I wish I were a music journalist.

"Kind of," I answered. If I could just keep my answers vague enough....

"What magazine do ya' write for?" I could have popped the beer can in my hands from squeezing it, a fountain of beer splashing me in the face. It would have been the cherry on top to my fumbling, bumbling fib.

"It's freelance," I said quickly. 

"Any interviews?"

"Not yet," I said. Even the coldness of the can couldn't stop my palms from sweating. Surely Bon would figure it out. He knew I wasn't a music journalist, he knew I wasn't a backstage regular, he knew I was a fraud, he knew-

"Well, this can be your first," he said smiling. He nudged me again. "Go on, ask me somethin'."

My heart pounded. My thoughts raced. I was coming up blank and Bon was waiting for me to speak. Patiently. How did interviewers do this? How did they get handed a few facts about a band, listen to three or four songs, and come up with a list of questions to fill time on their show? Time, I needed time!

"Uh...." I searched frantically around the room. "What...do you think you would have done...if you hadn't been in a band?" Bon stared at me as he thought it over, me suddenly feeling very shy. 

Angus had come over with four empty cups in his hand and threw them away. "This your new friend, Bon?" he asked. 

I was now ten times as shy.

"Yeah, this is Hannah Ruth," he said nodding at me. "Where would you be if you weren't in a band, Ang?" Angus crossed his arms and sniffed. 

"An artist, why?" he said glancing at me. I looked away, trying hard not to giggle like a love-struck schoolgirl. 

"We're conductin' an interview," Bon said. "I'm tryin' to think..." Angus sat on the other side of me. I could have pinched myself. But I had to stay cool. I had to remain calm. Groupies don't freak out. They remain calm and collected as they charm band members into inviting them on their tours. They're smooth talking, fashionable women who are good at making friends. 

Well....I was fashionable, anyway....

"Ya' know," Bon said. "I think I'd jus' live somewhere off in the country, or somethin'. Be a lot quieter, ya' know?" I'll admit, I didn't expect that kind of answer. Where was a pen and paper when you needed one?

Angus stood up and fetched a small pile of clothes from some kind of cubby. He threw on his t-shirt and started peeling his shorts off.

I kept my eyes straight ahead.

"What about you?" Bon asked, nudging me. "If you weren't doin' all this, where would you be?" Honestly? I had no idea. 

And that scared me.

This was all I had. I clung to my passions desperately because if I lost them, I'd be lost. But Bon was expecting an answer so....

"An author?" I said as more of an estimation than a certainty. Bon smiled and chugged his drink. 

"If ya' ever write a book one day, give me a ring an' I'll read it," he said. "Angus will too."

"Huh?" he said looking at us. He was putting on a sock. Bon wrapped an arm around me and smiled. 

"Never mind," Bon said. His arm stayed right where it was and I felt ready to explode from happy disbelief. This couldn't possibly be happening right now, not to me! 

It felt like we had been there a long time before people started clearing out. The weight of a ton of bricks landed right in the pit of my stomach as logic and reasoning pushed their way into my dazzled little brain. 

Where the fuck was I going to stay? 

I only had so much money, and as low as prices were in the seventies, my chump change was nowhere near booking me a hotel room for the night. It couldn't buy me a park fucking bench. As I was choking on panic, Bon leaned in close to my ear. "Why don't you come with me?" he asked so only I could hear. "Back to the hotel, I mean."

Doth mine ears deceive me....

Well....if he insists...

Can you blame me? I had no other options! And who's gonna pass up the chance to have a little sleepover with the Bonnest of Scotts? 

I will say....I didn't expect any of the band to take an interest in me...let alone Bon. I'm not about to put him in a box or anything by insinuating he has a type...but I'm definitely not his type. For several reasons.

"Sure," was all I said. 

"Unless you have somewhere else to be," he added quickly.

"No! No, I don't." He accepted that answer and stood up, taking me with him. I quickly set my unopened beer can down on a random chair. I could feel a few pairs of eyes on me but I didn't bother checking whose they were. I mean, anybody would watch the handsome rockstar take off with a woman on his arm, wouldn't they? 

He took me out a backdoor to where a giant tour bus was parked. Nothing about it screamed AC/DC, it was just a regular green and white bus used to carry the band and crew. My eyes widened when I remembered I didn't have any motion sickness medicine on me. And it was always worse at night when I couldn't see the road in front of me.

Yeah. Some groupie I was.

Bon found a couple of seats in the middle of the bus, letting me have the window, bless him. It was warm enough outside where I guess Bon decided he didn't need a jacket. 

Or a shirt.

Little by little more and more people piled onto the bus. Angus got on with a cigarette in his mouth and a bottle of Coke. Malcolm was the last to get on along with a few other women with cameras and lanyards. 

To think how many backstage doors I could get into by simply wearing a camera around my neck...I'd have to consider that next time a magical wind blows me into the seventies.

After a few minutes the doors closed and the bus set off into the night towards the hotel. Little did I know my adventure was just beginning.