Open Clarity

9. UNDERCURRENTS (part two)

The sun was just barely coming up – I could tell from the color of the bit of sky I could see from behind the blinds. My mind shifted back to what my aunt and I had discussed the night before. I thought and thought about what my aunt's story was all about. What that had to do with dreams, with love, with living life and why that all made her so sad. I lingered in bed for awhile and finally decided to get up and dressed. When I came out to the living room, my aunt was asleep on the couch, television on. She was in the same clothes as she had been the night before.

On the coffee table lay her small black Bible. I remembered seeing her read it from time to time. I also remembered the newspaper clipping I had once found in it when I was younger. I was curious to see if that clipping was still there. She was an early riser, but judging by how tired she looked as she slept, I decided to take a risk and quickly flip through the pages to see if the article was still there. Sure enough, it was. It was in a much more brittle condition than I had remembered it being.

"Young Life Cut Short by Black Ice." I remembered the headline. With much improved reading skills than the last time I had come across it, I quickly read through it for more details before my aunt woke up. The young man, a Thomas Mueller, was only twenty-three years old when the accident had happened in January of 1973 off the coast of northern California. The streets had been uncharacteristically icy during a winter storm, and his car had veered off the road into the center divider. He was the only one in the car. I scanned the article as quickly as I could a few more times to memorize every detail. His face in the picture stared back at me. The aged quality of the black and white picture made him look even more handsome than I had remembered. He had light hair, kind eyes and a broad smile. I put the clipping back in my aunt's prayer book and arranged the book on the table as I had found it.

I left my aunt a note and told her I was going for a quick walk. When I came back, Aunt Addie had some yogurt and fruit salad ready for breakfast. She looked freshly showered and ready for the day. I had already packed everything up and had placed my bag at the front door. After breakfast, we hung around on her couch for a bit watching television and then she drove me home just before lunch.

I found my mom at the kitchen table studying for her exam. When she saw me walk in, her face lit up, "How'd it go?" she asked excitedly.

"Well," I thought back at my weekend with my aunt. "Biking on the boardwalk on Friday morning, pizza, facials and movies on Friday night, shop-till-you-drop on Saturday and then just lounging and watching T.V. the rest of the time."

"Aww," she said disappointed, "I wish I could have joined you – that sounds like so much fun. You must be exhausted," she added.

"Not really, actually. There was enough lounging in between and after, that I'm OK. How about you? How's your studying?"

"Well, I don't think I'll ever feel totally prepared, but I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I'm just going to finish a few things up before lunch – sandwiches OK?" she asked.

"Sure," I said.

"Yeah, I figured we should eat kind of light since we're going out to dinner later."

"OK. Where's Dad?"

She sat up taller and clapped her hands excitedly. "He's in the garage," she sang. Her smile was oddly broad. "Why don't you go in and see what he's up to?"

I walked with a faster pace than usual back out to the garage. My mom had made me curious. I figured it may have had something to do with the drums, but I was not prepared for what I found. As I got closer to the window to the side of the garage, I could hear Van Halen playing faintly and the beat of the drums pouring over the sound of the music. When I came in through the side door, I realized why the music was so faint. My father had built up a corner of the garage and had sound-proofed it. The only parts that weren't completely sound-proofed were the one window that opened to the outside, and an internal window that he had created like in a sound studio, which faced the inside of the garage. As soon as I walked in, he saw me and smiled. He was pounding away to the rhythm of the song and gestured me with his head to come in.

I pulled open the door that he had created next to the indoor window. It was thick and hard to pull, snugly fit within the doorway. A blast of music spilled out, and I quickly tugged the door shut behind me. The sound was amazing. He had a small amplifier connected to our cassette player with a small shelf above it lined with our collection of music cassettes. His drum set had been polished up and was now taking quite a beating.

I had forgotten how well my dad played. I think he had forgotten, too, because he seemed to be in another world, content as he followed along to the song and pounded out every last beat. I watched in awe as every one of his limbs moved to a slightly different tempo and rhythm over the various drum parts, together delivering the soul of the song.

I stood there in silence taking a mental picture of how to place my hands and feet and I focused on the individual sounds of percussion. When the song was over, I said, "Are we going to be competing for studio time?"

He chuckled happily and asked, "So? What do you think?"

"What do I think?" I repeated. "This is amazing! How did you get this all done in such a little amount of time?"

"I had a couple of buddies give me a hand – but it really wasn't that big a deal. I had a lot of time on my hands this weekend anyway."

"Thanks so much, Dad – it looks – and sounds – really good." I clumsily made my way to the back of the drum set to hug him.

"It does sound good, doesn't it?" he admitted proudly. "I thought of the neighbors and didn't want to get any complaints. This way, you can pretty much play whenever you feel like it."

"I can, or you can?" I teased.

"Both of us can," he laughed. "I'd forgotten how much fun this was."

He got up to make room for me and refreshed my memory of how to position my hands and feet. I had a chance to pound away a bit to get a feel for the different sound each part made. We spent a few hours after lunch in there, trying a few different songs, my dad coaching me on how to keep the beat. Some songs were trickier than others, so we kept it very simple to begin with.

When it was almost time for dinner, we came inside to shower and change, and then enjoyed a meal at the steakhouse on the main boulevard. We filled each other in on the past few days and then we came home to have some ice cream as we watched television.

I went to bed content and excited for the first time about the summer ahead. I couldn't wait to practice the drums. I decided I would get in as much drum practice as I could. After all the work my father had put into making the sound studio, I really wanted to impress him and make him proud.