Her Melody

Blood pounded in my ears — the stage lights were too bright, blazing heat pressed down on me. Sweat prickled at my collar and my stomach dropped into a pit below me. My mind went numb as voices whispered in the audience, my hands awkwardly holding my guitar like it was my first time ever holding one. Oh God— I might throw-up. 

Luz, my bestest friend since we were nerds back in middle school, tapped her drumsticks together. One. Two. Three. Four. She broke my spiraling Her long brown hair swayed to frame her freckled face as she turned to look at me. Her smile warmed something in my chest like a calming spell.

“You got this.” She mouthed, wordlessly, then clashed her drumstick on the cymbal. The loud bang grounded me back to reality. It’s amazing how she knew what I needed. Luz had already started the song and my slick palms barely had time to find their place on the fret before it was my time to come in. I counted the measures in my head while her rhythm rolled out like thunder.

Energy surged, building up until it was my turn to come in. The music poured out of me like muscle memory as I shredded on my guitar. I felt the vibrations somewhere deep, deeper than my soul. It drowned out the murmuring crowd. I was floating. Luz keeping the baseline was the only thing I could hear over my own sound. When we were done, we were both out of breath, sweat slicking our foreheads. That was when I finally heard the cheering. Luz and I couldn’t stop smiling like dorks. It was just a highschool talent show but this was our first big step into becoming rockstars.

We’d come a long way since meeting in the sixth grade. I’d still played on my gramps old acoustic guitar while dreaming of owning one of those cool electric ones like a real rockstar. When I’d transferred to Sequoia Middle School I’d heard that the jazz band had an electric guitar and bass. I’d never signed up for a club so fast in my life! Technically never joined a club before anyway— but still. As soon as I’d gotten into the band room my eyes had zeroed in on the amp. Hell yeah! So it was true!

No fucking way… Normally, I try to be this cool, nonchalant person, but it was RIGHT THERE! My palms itched to play. She, yes she, the amp was a she now and she was mine! The excitement that had bubbled and boiled in my blood burned the fibers of my muscles. It had taken everything in me to not scream. The amp was calling out to me, begging to be played. I’d wanted so badly to roll my fingers over the dial and just—blast the glass panes off the walls. It had taken an ungodly amount of willpower to restrain myself.

A kid had been practicing on the only drumset in the room. I’d heard her plenty of times before, nothing but a muffled sound from down the hall, though now that I stood in that room, it had been even more breathtaking than I’d imagined. She played with cool, precise confidence. The way the rhythm flowed with such rapid speed reminded me of a surge of pure energy. It was as if she was going full super saiyan.

Looking at her I could tell that she was in the zone. Her eyes were closed, head banging away, her medium-length hair a brown blur. I felt it too, this electricity that crawled up from the soles of my feet and found a space in my chest like a little rock-out demon. It was passion. The love for music. The strong urge to play. That itch in my palms grew more intense, like tingly static.

When she’d finally finished, her body had slumped back, as she’d wiped sweat off of her forehead. I’d thought she would be exhausted but somehow she had seemed even more energized. She’d been perfect.

“Wow,” the word had tumbled out on its own. “That was so awesome!”

A rosy tint had made her freckles stand out more, “Thanks.” She replied, averting her eyes while twiddling a drumstick in her hand.

“I’m gonna start a band, wanna join?”

“No thanks,” She’d said before focusing back on the instrument.

“Why not?”

“Counter question: Why don’t you ask somebody else and see what they tell you? Surely, going up to a bunch of random people would work out for you eventually.”

“I don’t wanna ask anybody else. I heard you play and I need your skills.”

“Don’t care. Besides, I got better things to do. I’m just in this class for an easy grade.”

“You’re way too good to be in this class just for the grade. You’re like- some sort of prodigy or something.”

She had snickered. “What about you? Why are you taking this class?”

I had pointed at the amp and guitar. “I can’t afford any of this stuff yet but once I do I’m going to be a famous rockstar.”

“So let me get this straight. You don’t even have the proper equipment but you want to start a band? Good luck with that.” The bell for class had rung, but I had refused to leave just yet.

“I only have an acoustic right now, but I’ll save up. Don’t you have dreams or goals for the future?”

She had played a louder beat to drown me out. “To make money. Lots of it.”

“It’s better to make money doing what you love though.” I put a hand on the drum. She stopped.

“Dreams don’t put food on your plate.”

“They can though! You just gotta work hard enough to achieve them! Believe it!” The late bell had rung. “See you.”

“Sure,” she had mumbled back as I left.

Honestly, I don’t remember how we became friends after that. Maybe she grew pity on me?Naw, it had to have been my irresistible charm that convinced her. Either way, I’m glad to be able to call her my best friend now. She had been nothing but loyal and had my back this entire time. I can’t imagine a life without her.

⋆♪˚✮🎧✮˚♪⋆

I threw the last of my bags into the trunk of my old, beat-up bucket. I felt so light, like I had taken my first ever breath of fresh air. I couldn’t wait to get out of this hell hole! On top of my clothes and school stuff I packed my electric guitar that I had spent literally forever saving up for with my first job. A sleek black and red Stratocaster that I had named Vox. Yes, I had named her after the rock singer who was my gay awakening.

I looked back into my empty room. Propped up against the wall was Tina, my first ever guitar. Guilt twisted in my gut at the thought of leaving her here just to collect dust. What a disservice for all of the memories she gave me and how I probably wouldn’t have been as awesome of a musician as I am now without her.

When I grabbed her I remembered being a kid, growing up at my grandparents’ house. Grandma had left out a jar of sun tea to brew in the sunlight; I couldn’t wait for it to be done. The memory made the taste of the sweet tea creep across my tongue. My grandpa, Stanley, was leaning back in his chair, weathered fingers plucking guitar strings. The honey-sweet notes mingled with crickets in the afternoon heat. I almost felt like I was six years old again— chalk dusted hands, a blue dress streaked with pastel rainbow, the driveway covered in doodles.

“You wanna learn to play?” He’d ask, his voice in my head as clear as it had been that day. My cheeks had hurt from smiling so hard, and I’d nodded so eagerly my beads had rattled like rain. A Gibson acoustic had been placed in my lap. Scratches that told stories each found their spot on the wooden instrument. My little arms had barely been able to wrap around it, but my grandpa had helped. He had held the chords with his calloused fingers while guiding my hand to strum, my fingertips brushing lightly along the strings.

“I remember saving money all summer for this thing back when I was eleven. I mowed lawns, walked dogs, and did the newspaper. She was so beautiful when I saw her.” Grandpa Stanley had talked about his beloved guitar like it was his wife. Grandma would sometimes swat at him playfully whenever he acted like he loved it more than her.

“Here, hold it like this,” He propped the guitar up on my lap, it dwarfed me in size. Granted it was an instrument sized for an adult, so it would make sense that it was way too big for me. I noticed the scratches covered its wooden surface— they each probably had stories to them. My hand barely could reach the strings, but my grandpa placed his leathery calloused fingers on the neck to make a chord so that I could focus on strumming. The vibrations that echoed from the strings were beautiful; they tingled in my fingertips like magic. I loved that feeling— like little sparks that lit up inside of me as we made music together.

“Grandpa, I want a guitar too!”

He had a knowing smile. “I’ll talk to yer ma about gettin’ one.”

Sure enough, that Christmas, a brand new guitar had sparkled under the Christmas tree. That had been the only gift I had gotten that year, but that was okay, because I didn’t need anything else anyway. And of course she had been named too, after Tina Bell, one of gramps favorite artists. I wished my grandpa had stayed around longer to teach me more. I had to teach myself, but that was okay. Youtube became my teacher and my own determination. Sometimes I followed the sound of my own soul or the sound of wind brushing through the trees or even the flap of butterfly wings. That’s what my grandpa had taught me; to find music in every living thing.

I grabbed Tina, too. What’s one more instrument? Knowing Luz, she’d probably brought her whole museum of a room with her too.

“It sucks that our schedules don’t line up. I told you to register for classes early!” Luz literally did not waste time grilling me the moment we started unpacking together.

“I did. You signed up six months early! Bro, you’re acting like I waited ’til the last minute.”

“A week before the deadline is last minute, dude.”

“But hey, at least we’re in the same dorm!”

“Yippee…” She groaned, rolling her eyes and sluggishly pumping a fist up with enthusiasm.

I nudged her, “Quit acting like I’d be a bad roommate; we’ve never even lived together before.”

“No, but I’ve been in your room before,” She fake shivered, “The horror.”

“Like I’m thrilled to live with Ms. Folded Socks here.”

“I have a system and it’s way better than The Pile.” Luz air quoted, referencing the ominous mountain of laundry that haunted the corner of my room back at home. It had been residing there since probably the fifth grade, when the last of my other siblings had moved out and I had the space to— well, be more myself.

“It’s organized chaos, and his name is Greg.”

“Oh God, it has a name now? If that’s the case, if Greg is moving in with us then he’s paying rent too.”