The clicking of hinges on instrument cases were the first sounds to register in my brain after class. The decades of rambling teachers were finally over and I was back in the band room. It was empty, just how it usually was during lunch time. I jammed the end of a long wire into an amplifier, forcing the other prong into the input of a guitar. I sat on top of the big black box, playing the note I was trying to reach on the steel strings.
I blew into my sax that was slung over the right side of my body. It sounded flat, me playing the note on the guitar again to register what I was aiming for. I turned the loop on the amplifier, listening to the note echo through the room over and over. With little trouble I got to the top of the mountain of music, now needing to work on my control of breath so I didn't screw up the solo for the fourty thousandth time. I ran through the solo a few times, perfection coming quickly. Practice really does make perfect, and even with a little of it, can make a big difference.
I wasn't much of a guitar player, but I have picked up many techniques over the years of jamming with other musicians. I placed my fingers on the fretboard and strummed a perfect fifth. The perfect fifth, such an odd chord. Technically, it wasn't even a chord, although it is used in almost every genre of music. Rock, metal, country, blues, etc. Knowing the perfect fifth you could play rhythm for countless songs and over time people have given them dozens of nicknames including power chords, cheater's chords, and so on.
I began with the first chord progression that came to my head, looping the perfect fifths through the amp. The sound was so clean, so invigorating, that I began running through the Minor Pentatonic Scale. This scale was home base for almost every solo. Even with minimal guitar skills, one could play a simple lead part on the guitar using this scale alone.
I took my hands off the guitar, the looping of my progression still playing in the background. My palms wrapped around the brass of my saxophone, my lips blew on the reed, my fingers pressed the keys as a fluster of butterflies came out of the barrel. The music was intoxicating, my face had no choice but to make awkward but soulful expressions.
I soon became high, under the influence and the saxophone being my supplier. After several measures of tasty licks I switched my hands over to the guitar again, this time letting the music flow through me. I disregarded the Pentatonic Scale, not thinking about what I was playing, letting the music drift out my fingers. I tapped harmonics, swept, hammered on, pulled off, all just in the matter of fun.
I finished my jam session with a slap of the sound hole. The loop stopped as I looked around the empty band room. Sweat dripped down my neck, my breath thick, my heart beating at light speed. That was amazing, and yet, no audience. I let out an enormous sigh as I placed the guitar and sax back in their cases.
I exited the band room staring down at my shoes as I awkwardly walked down the corridor. The crack of a door on the right side of me interrupted my thoughts, a smooth voice cooed “Hey Andrew, mind helping me with a few things?” The voice was recognizable, the choir director Mrs. Phillip. Freshmen year I took her guitar class and since then I remained a helpful aid to her when I was around.
“Yeah sure.” I responded walking through the choir room and going with Mrs. Phillip into her office. On her desk lay dozens of papers sprawled out over the oak. I knew what she wanted me to do, because I was the only one who knew how she liked her papers organized. She was a very busy woman and she helped me out a lot so I didn't mind.
“Okay, I'm sorry about this but I was just wondering if you could organize these for me. It won't take long and if you are late to class I can write you a pass. I need to run across town really quick to go do something for my husband.”
“No worries I got you covered!” I said with a genuine smile. She grinned back, thanking me before walking out the door. I was now alone as I took a seat at her desk rearranging the papers into a precise order. After a few minutes of silence a female face poked her head in through the door.
“Is Mrs. Philip here?” A honey-sweet voice poured like liquid satin. I looked up from the mess as I laid my eyes on one of the most intriguing girls in all of New York. Her locks were a blonde and ebony Niagara Falls flowing from the roots of her scalp to the midst of her back. Her features so angelic and captivating it was hard for one to turn their head away. Her eyes were as gray as a stormy sky, an hourglass taking the place of her torso, and her skin a polished porcelain.
“No...” my hands grew clammy, my stomach sank to the bottom of the ocean, and my ears turned to burning embers. “...she just left a few minutes ago.” Kate nodded in approval.
“Well I am just going to practice some choir stuff so don't mind me if I'm being too loud.” Kate responded. She took her place standing beside a seat on the circular rising floor levels, running through a quick vocal scale. Each note was so precise, so perfect, the ear candy was a lovely saccharine. She finally belched out in song, her voice as alluring as presents on Christmas morning. My heart began stitching itself together as my jaw hung slightly open to the sounds resonating from Kate Gerrete's mouth. She was a one woman quartet, an a capella that was meant for the ears of kings.
One thing that was extremely charming was her actions. She stood up for the ones not as socially fortunate as her. When paper wads and globs of spit were being flung at the ones who were “losers,” she put the terrorist in their place. Some of my favorite lines being:
“How would you like if someone picked on you?”
“Why don't you mess with someone your own size?”
“Who says you have the right to mentally and physically abuse someone?”
She was quirky, a nerd trapped inside a model's body. I have spotted her around school reading comic books, one of my favorite past time hobbies. When no one was looking I'd see her pull out a Gameboy and start up Pokemon. Once I witnessed her drop her binder and Yu-Gi-Oh cards came spilling out.
Even the world's most finest diamonds have flaws, hers showing up just in time to ruin her beautiful melody. Chance Warsaw and Kate Gerrette, the red carpet couple of New Amsterdam Heights. “Where were you last night?” Chance began to raise his voice after the doors he entered from slammed shut. “You know I had to accept the Homecoming Crown alone?” He began approaching Kate with balled fists.
“I was busy. I had stuff to do.”
“Stuff more important then your boyfriend? And you didn't even call me back?”
“Tough shit Chance. Sometimes things come up that are more important then planned.” That response made me chuckle. I put my hand over my mouth in attempt to contain my laughter. Chance looked my way, realizing Kate and him weren't the only ones in the room.
“What are you laughing at Gay-hem?” Chance barked.
“You obviously.” I felt a bravado coming on. “It's hilarious how the lean-and-mean-killing-machine gets so upset over a worthless crown. Are you kidding me?” A mocking smile came to my lips, me realizing what I had just done. Someone as scrawny and defenseless as me should never mess with a guy as big and beefy as Chance. I was now a time bomb waiting to explode.
Kate hysterically smiled at my comment, tiny shreds of laughter leaking from her lips. “You better watch yourself Mayhem.” Chance responded, obviously not wanting to do anything drastic in front of his girlfriend. Perhaps I could use this to my advantage and get out of here before I was squashed like a bug.
“Okay well we should get going now.” Kate interrupted the furious douche as his face was growing red hot. She picked up her binder, Chance looking down at it.
“Want me to carry that for you?” Chance asked. Kate rolled her eyes.
“I think I got it.”
“No, I insist.” Chance began prying the binder from Kate, her pulling back on her own personal belongings not wanting to let go. After seconds of tug of war the binder slipped between their grasp, papers flying everywhere as pencils lay on the floor.
Kate was balling her fist now, her yelling “Chance just go!” She pointed at the door as Chance's jaw dropped wide open. He didn't hesitate, not even attempting to help her pick up her things. He left, leaving Kate on her hands and knees scrambling for her belongings. “Don't get involved... Andrew Mayhem doesn't need this crap.” I thought to myself.
The natural gentleman in me had me standing up, walking into the choir room and gathering several loose papers that had scattered. Soon we had all her belongings as I handed over a stack of papers. She looked up from where she was standing on her knees, her eyes glistening in the light of the room. I opened my mouth to say something, but I couldn't find words. I was speechless. My heart was racing, and my wrists began to quake. “Thank you.” Were the two simple words that Kate whispered, me barely able to hear. I nodded, unable to even say 'You're welcome.' I left her then to gather her thoughts, me walking out of the choir room and heading towards my next class.