“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 meanhell, 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.”
