Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“Lydia’s gonna make you wash dishes,” Ellis said, pointing to my hand. Some blood from my thumb had smeared across the glass because my callus had broken open. No doubt I’d have to clean the mess off my strings as well. The life of a musician. At least for a guitarist who didn’t use a pick. I’d just never taken to one, preferring to hammer away at the strings with my fingers. It felt more organic, the music vibrating in my gut when I really got going. Some of the best musicians used their bare hands—Jeff Beck, for one—so it added an extra layer of creativeness to do the same.
The pads of my fingers had developed a thick skin, like how toes do in the summer months, and if I didn’t play for a few weeks—which almost never happened—the painful process would start all over again. Blisters turned into scabs and then into calluses. Lisa, the last girl I dated for longer than a couple of months, used to complain about how raw and coarse my hands were. But there wasn’t anything I could do about it—nor would I want to.
We finished our drinks, socialized with the remainder of the crowd, then got busy breaking down our set. We caught our breath in the silence of the room, the energy from an hour ago fizzling out of us. This was my least favorite part: breaking down mics, wrapping up cords, and loading our monstrosity of a speaker that had to weigh a hundred pounds and was probably thirty years old. Hauling it back was a pain. I’d recently caught wind of a compact amplifier that would be way easier to transport, and I was waiting for the musician to decide whether he was willing to part ways with it and post it for sale. But sometimes, we were a superstitious bunch.
Still, replacing faulty or ancient equipment got expensive. The good news was I worked at an instrument repair shop, so I was able to get stuff wholesale or used for a less painful price.
Perry’s van was a nine-footer with a second row of seats and plenty of room in the back for our equipment. Once that task was completed, Ellis and I got in the back seat so we could ride with Perry and Anthony to our practice spot and unload all over again. We couldn’t leave our things in the van, not only so they wouldn’t get stolen, but because Perry used the vehicle for his day job installing electronics equipment in homes.
So we split the cost of renting a room in a large warehouse in a commercial district, and we practiced there once or twice a week. It was the best decision we’d made. We’d been on a waiting list for this spot for at least a year while we tried not to disturb the neighbors by jamming in Perry’s basement. We sometimes recorded here too, and Perry uploaded our singles on popular platforms and apps like Spotify. But mostly, we just liked the creative process and being around live music any chance we got, which included regular outings to other local shows and concerts.
“All right, see you at practice.” It was our weekly ritual to meet Sunday night after other adult obligations. Sometimes it got changed to Monday or Tuesday, but we convened religiously.
We high-fived each other, then headed to our cars, Ellis and I driving together since we lived in the same apartment building. Last year, when I told Ellis there was an opening for a unit on the first floor of my building, which was a bit dated but had affordable rent, he’d jumped on the chance. He’d been staying with his mom and stepdad since his divorce. We all knew he and Gayle were a mismatched couple, but we’d still hoped for the best. They lasted five years and thankfully didn’t have any kids, but I knew he’d make a great dad someday. I’d never been married, and honestly, I never thought I would be. I’d dated plenty though.
Living so close made it easy to drive to practice together and have impromptu jam sessions when we hung out. Ellis was my closest friend, we’d seen each other at our worst, but we each had our own lives, and full ones at that.
Ellis’s family was as meddling as mine, but they only wanted the best for us. We’d become acquainted as adults in the music scene, but had I known him as a kid, we probably would’ve been the best of friends then too. Unlike me, he’d been on the football roster in high school and had the broad shoulders and linebacker stature to prove it, but his interests were diverse. He’d learned to play different musical instruments, finally landing on the bass. He earned his teaching certificate at the University of Michigan, whereas I never finished my bachelor’s program in music, opting for an associate’s degree. I’d worked in bars and retail before stumbling upon my current jobs, which suited me well. I enjoyed repairing instruments, and in the evenings, I taught private music lessons.