21. Leo
November arrived and brought with it a new rhythm of life.
I had done an exceptional job of playing the professional.
At least outwardly. I couldn’t control my thoughts or dreams.
The midnight chat in the kitchen was a confusing combination of gratitude and sleep deprivation on Mari’s part. I wanted her. I had incredibly deep feelings for her. And I was patient. To me, Mari and I were more than a fling that would be shameful in the light of morning. But releasing her that evening had been one of the most difficult things I’d ever done.
Three weeks ago, just before Halloween, she got the news that her car was officially totaled and was written a check by the insurance company. She had yet to drive to Knoxville to look at cars.
“It’s just too much of a time eater. And this is still working,” she had said, repeating my phrasing from when I first started driving her.
It was more convenient as she, Cath, and I had to drive up to Devlin’s house a few times a week. She’d gotten in the habit of staying there to work on various tasks as Cath and I sat in the drum room to rehearse for two hours. There was a comfort in looking up and seeing her lost in thought.
We had made it clear that we wouldn’t be crossing any physical lines, but we could still enjoy each other’s company. And enjoy it, I did. I liked her peppy morning energy and our daily stops at Daisy’s. I still hated mornings, but it wasn’t as bad getting up in the mornings when you had somebody to get up for. I loved hearing about her and Cath’s days as we drove up to Bandit Lake.
After Halloween, Mari was busier than ever, preparing for the end of the year and all the associated holiday performances.
Every morning, I picked her up to take her to work; she smelled sweetly of whatever shampoo she used, and she chatted happily. Every afternoon, we either went up to Devlin’s for Cath’s practice, or I picked her up later in the evening, and she would come over for dinner.
She protested at first, but soon, the offers of free, consistent food were too much to resist. It became a routine. Some nights, Janice was there; others, she had plans. I secretly enjoyed those nights the most. I doted on Mari and cooked for her. Most weeks the only night I didn’t see Mari was bunco night. Try as I might, the women wouldn’t budge about letting her in.
“You were the only exception,” Maxine said. “I told y’all this would happen. It’s a slippery slope. You let in one, and they bring in all their friends.”
“Who are they?” Janice asked.
“Your son and all his youthful ilk. Can’t we have anything just for us?”
I let it go, and Mari insisted that she always had plenty of things to do anyway.
After bunco night, I would call her and fill her in on what I learned. She’d insist she didn’t care to hear the local gossip, but we would stay up on the phone talking for hours. She laughed at my terrible jokes and filled me in on what else I had missed around town in the past decade or the antics of her students.
My absolute favorite part of the new routine was learning about Mari and sharing music with her. I didn’t have much, but I did have a massive music knowledge base. I’d share new-to-her artists from all different decades and genres. Occasionally, she’d share music with me, and we’d discuss how and if our favorite songs would translate to marching band sets.
I thought about her all day when she was in school. I thought about how luscious she felt pressed against me in the kitchen that night. I cursed myself for having the appropriate restraint. But having her in these glimpses was better than not having her at all. And if she gave too much too soon, my gut told me she wouldn’t have agreed to be driven around.
The lessons with Cath were becoming something I looked forward to. Slowly but surely, she was opening up to me and even unleashed a sarcastic barb from time to time. I took that as a compliment, since sarcasm was a teenager’s love language. I’d not seen any sign of Vander and the band and stopped looking over my shoulder every lesson. I suspected Devlin had something to do with that.
The vibe was off today. Cath was quieter than normal, and Mari kept shooting her worried glances. When Mari tried to get her to talk in the car, she only received one-word replies. The harder she pushed, the more Cath retreated into herself. Eventually, I lightly put a hand on Mari’s knee and shook my head subtly. She sucked in her lips and nodded.
Now in the drum room, with Mari on the other side of the glass, Cath was half-heartedly playing the same jazz selection she’d been playing for weeks. She was technically perfect, but her energy was not there. If I knew better terms and words for music, I’d be able to pinpoint what was wrong. I wasn’t making anything better.
“Okay. Stop,” I called midsong.
Cath froze before lowering her sticks. “Why?”
“What’s going on?” I asked her.
She glanced at Mari, who sat behind the glass. When I turned to look, Mari felt us watching her and lifted a hand. We waved, and Mari went back to typing on her laptop.
“Don’t worry, she can’t hear us,” I said.
“Nothing. Just tired,” Cath said, gaze focused on her snare.
“We don’t have to do this today.”
“We’re already here.”
“Okay.” I paced in a circle. “Okay. Let’s just quit with the audition stuff. It’s boring as shit.”
Cath snorted. “It’s not so bad.”
“Okay, you’re right. It’s not bad, but you aren’t feeling it and that’s coming across. It’s clear that you could play these songs in your sleep. I’m pretty sure that’s what you’re doing right now. If I can feel that, the committee will too.”
Cath frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been to concerts, right?”
“Obviously.”
“Do you think the drummers up there care if they’re technically perfect? No. Because it’s more about the show and taking the listeners on a journey. Stop playing to the teachers. Or to me. Play like you’re on a stage playing to all your adoring fans. Your job isn’t to be a star student. It’s to be a star.” I was starting to understand what her playing lacked. I wanted her to be excited to play, to be filled with that fire I had once.
“Nice speech.”
“I’m serious. What are you afraid of?”
Cath beat the sticks against her thigh. “I just want to play what I’m supposed to. Get into college and start my life. That’s the plan,” she said.
“Fuck the plan. You’re what, seventeen? Here’s a secret: nobody has a plan.”
“Miss Mitchell does.”
“Mari is the exception. Just play something you’d play if nobody was here.”
Cath cracked a tentative smile. “What should I play?”
“The first thing that comes to mind.”
She pursed her mouth in thought, looking into space for the answers. After a minute, she went to my phone, which was connected to the sound system, and selected a song. Her foot tapped as she counted off a beat in her head. After a second, she started to play, sticks hitting the cymbal and snare in tandem. The drum intro to “Rock and Roll” by Led Zeppelin was instantly recognizable. She even came in on the pickup to the fourth beat. Few drummers knew that correct entrance. This kid was so damn good.
“Nice choice!” I shouted. It was a high-energy song. The drums pulled the whole band through, as they should. The longer she played, the more her face remained impassive. She was still holding back. “Come on. Get into it,” I encouraged. I stood and moved closer to watch her. She was good but still acting like she thought she should. She glanced at the window where Mari was still working, not paying attention. Was she worried about what Mari would think?
“More,” I said.
She played louder but in the same energy, her face scrunching with the physical exertion of keeping the steady, almost Chicago shuffle–like melody.
“More!” I yelled.
Something was off, and I couldn’t figure out what.
I opened my mouth to shout when she slammed down on the cymbals, grabbing them so they stopped ringing through the air. “If you say ‘more’ one more time, I will scream.”
She was panting, and her face was bright red.
“Sorry.” I shook my head. “It just needs...”
“More? Yeah, I got that. Can you be more specific?”
My ears rang in the silence. I took a breath. What did I mean? “It’s a feeling. Are you feeling it? Are you really listening?”
“I thought I was.” She glanced again to the window. This time, Mari was watching us, the first furrow of concern on her brow. I smiled and gave her a thumbs-up, and she went back to work. “This isn’t why we’re here. We should just get back to the audition stuff,” Cath said.
“Hang on.” What about Mari being here was throwing her off? “First, just try to listen to this.”
I went to the sound system and queued up the song to play through our headphones.
“It’s meant to feel like a return to rock and roll. That urgency. Like just trying to catch up with that driving feeling.”
She raised her eyebrows. “I played it how it goes.”
“Technically, yes. But those accents in the intro, you hear how they are different once the guitar kicks in. That’s that feeling of rushing and rocking. Do you want to try it again?” I asked her.
“No.” She crossed her arms. “I can’t understand by hearing, obviously. I’ve heard this song a bunch. That’s how I learned it,” she said.
“But—”
“Just show me.” She tossed out her arms.
I froze, a sudden tingling in my palms. “I-I don’t really?—”
“How am I supposed to learn without seeing?”
“That’s the point, just listen to the song. The angst, the energy.”
Cath’s foot tapped, but her arms were crossed. She started to play along but fumbled a few times.
“Just show me!” she shouted over the music in our headphones.
I glanced at the glass, but Mari was on her computer, not looking. I wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
I paused the music and stared at the kit. I could play. I could do that. Not a big deal. “Uh. Okay. Just. Okay.”
Cath stood and handed me the sticks. I adjusted the stool and sat down.
Except it was a big deal. I wasn’t ready. A wave of nerves tightened my stomach as I tested the set, knowing they sounded fine. I was delaying.
Cath looked hopeful, stars in her eyes. “You really want to hear me?” I asked.
She shrugged. I sighed, understanding that to mean hell, yes.
“So, I can’t read sheet music. But if this song had some, this is how you would play it, right?” I started to play. Years of muscle memory didn’t let me down. The song came right back to me.
“It sounds good,” she said, her sleeves tugged over her hands.
“It’s not bad, but listen to the song and the message and what’s happening. Obviously, you won’t be playing with a band, but the point remains the same. You’re not trying to prove that you’re technically perfect.”
“I think that’s exactly what they want.”
“But you can already do that,” I said. “Try to play like you’re the engine of a car. You’re keeping the tempo, but you’re setting the tone.”
I started again and, this time, closed my eyes. I let the memories of playing countless times on countless stages pour over me. I let myself hear the screaming fans and feel the electricity of the band playing in perfect sync. We’d been fueled by the rage and injustice we’d felt to be trapped in Green Valley, misjudged and undervalued. I remembered the first time we’d played this song, and it felt like everything had led to that moment. Robert Plant reminded me how good it was to get lost in the music.
I was sweating and moving my body. I wasn’t thinking, only feeling. It was good. It was so good. God, I missed this.
When I ended the outro, I sighed, opening my eyes. Cath watched me, smiling ear to ear.
I cleared my throat and stood. “Do you feel the difference?”
Cath nodded.
My hands throbbed as I handed the sticks back to her. I couldn’t help myself. I glanced up to the glass to see if Mari had been watching, but she wasn’t there. I squashed down a pulse of disappointment. The point was not to play for Mari; I told Cath as much. The point was to play for myself, for the music.
And I had. I almost couldn’t believe how good it had been.
I was panting and sweating. My hands smarted, but I felt amazing. I missed this. I missed the rush. I missed the adrenaline and power of playing.
Cath readjusted the stool and settled behind the kit. She glanced at the window and over to me. I gave her a thumbs-up. This time, the intro was noticeably different right out of the gate. Her playing transformed. Goose bumps spread up my neck.
“Holy . . .” I mouthed.
Her eyes were closed, her body barely able to contain the energy pouring out. Her accents were just perfect. Cath played with the emotion I’d been wanting this whole time. It was like a switch flipped. I didn’t do this. This was here the whole time, but she had been purposely hiding it for some reason.
“That’s exactly what I meant,” Mari said, suddenly at my side.
“What?” I asked her.
“When I said you would know what she needs. That. She’s totally in her element.”
I shook my head. “This wasn’t me.”
Cath continued to go and was incredible. I felt something that I hadn’t felt for a long time. That feeling of magic when music filled the room with its energy and transformed everything. It was that muse, that kismet.
It didn’t seem possible that I could have contributed to anything so powerful, but had there been something about my playing that let Cath feel free enough to share?
I swallowed the tightness in my throat. And studied Mari’s profile. She’d believed in me from the beginning. She’d insisted repeatedly, borderline violently, that I was the person who could help Cath, and I had.
Mari turned her head, probably feeling my stares. She smiled so brilliantly it made it hard to breathe. She took my hand and squeezed it.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
I felt the words on my tongue, the declaration and truth, that everything was for her. They were right there. I would give her anything she ever asked of me.
Cath finished the song, and her eyes widened when they landed on Mari squeezing my hand briefly. The song ended, and Cath stood abruptly.
“We should probably wrap up,” she said. “We are already over our time.”
As she spoke, we both noticed movement in the sound booth.
We weren’t the only people watching Cath.
There was a man with a look of surprised, impressed awe. He smiled as he looked from Cath to me, where he paused. His eyes widened fractionally, his smile fading from his face.
On the other side of the glass stood my former bandmate and best friend, Vander. All the exhilaration from a moment ago crashed to the floor.