Travis Starnes
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Playing by Ear (Country Roads #1) - Chapter 14
🕑 Added 2020-09-14 12:31:22 +0000 UTC
For the second week in a row, I'd managed to end up on an amazing high. Saturday night, when I finished my set, I found out Rhonda had convinced Hanna to keep Jordan occupied for ten minutes, so she could drag me around the side of the building and show me exactly how much she liked my surprise. Somehow I’d gone from a sweet first kiss to making out in a dark corner in just a week. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t particularly proud of myself.
I got a second surprise on Sunday. The day was going amazingly well, with the kitchen staff being really nice to me, until Chef yelled at everyone to get their heads focused on their work. I could see he was proud of me too, which really made me feel great.
The capper was right at the end of the night. Since I had school and was one of the younger people to work in the restaurant, Hanna and I were always the first cut to go home. As I was heading out, some of the audience that had been there last night saw me and shouted out to Willie to let me play some stuff like last night. Willie was nice enough to offer me to come up for a song, and I didn’t have to be asked twice. I ended up playing two songs, but they were the two newest songs from the ones I’d played the night before, and once again, I got a really good reaction from the audience.
Monday, we pulled into the school parking lot and I had to remind myself that the weekend had been a different world. Being on stage, even a small one, had been an ego trip. At Carr, I was still basically a nobody. Worse, a nobody who had a teacher who hated him. The last thing I needed was to have my good mood shattered again by Coach Bryant.
I managed to make it through his class without getting chewed out or ruining my mood. At lunch, I went outside with Rhonda. Part of me, a pretty narcissistic part I wasn’t proud of, wanted to sit and eat lunch with Hanna and Jordan, hoping they’d tell everyone else about my playing at the Blue Ridge and all the attention that would bring, but I was getting a lot more attention from Rhonda than I had previously, and the male half of my brain won out.
While trading glances with Rhonda in between reading the first few pages of The Crucible, I'd decided I’d rather just spend my time with her. We’d been on two dates and Saturday’s had ended hot and heavy. Admittedly, it wasn’t anything more than kissing, but it had been some intense kissing, with her pulling me against her hard, my body smashing hers against the side of the building. I managed to keep my hands still, one against the wall to keep from crushing her and one on her waist, but hers ran freely, under my shirt and over my back. I’m sure some people would still consider it tame, but it was intense for me.
After we finished eating, Rhonda lay across the bleachers and put her head in my lap, looking up at me, and asked me to sing to her. I was still a little embarrassed, because singing on the bleachers was very different from singing on stage with a band, but there wasn’t anyone close to us. I kept my voice low, which probably messed up my tone, but she didn’t mind. I softly sang songs to her while running my hand through her hair, stroking her scalp. I swear I could feel her purring by the time we had to stop and go back to class.
I swear by the end of the day I’d forgotten about all the other problems I had, Coach Bryant, problems with school work, all of it. I got a sharp reminder as I headed out into the parking lot to Hanna’s car.
She must have had to stop and do something, because she wasn’t anywhere around, which wasn’t unprecedented over the last several weeks but was pretty rare. Instead, as I started getting up to her car to wait, I saw Paul Adams, one of Aaron’s little henchmen, making a beeline for me.
I got to the car before him and dropped my backpack and crutches, to get my hands ready, just in case. He saw me tense up and slowed down, stopping just out of arms reach.
“You don’t have any teachers to keep you from getting your ass kicked now,” he said.
While I wasn’t afraid to stick up for myself, I usually tried to keep a cool head. After that first fight, I’d managed to not be the one to throw the first punch or escalate anything the few times I’d run into Aaron. Paul’s problem was that I’d had a great weekend and wasn’t feeling like being the one to back down.
“You don’t have Aaron or any of your other buddies to back you up today. Do you really think you’re enough to kick my ass by yourself?”
“What, you forgot what happened to you last time?”
“You mean the time I managed to drop two of you before the third got me on the ground? No, I haven’t forgotten, but I think you have. If it had just been you that morning, how do you think you would have done? Because I remember dropping your ass in the dirt.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” he said, taking a small step forward.
“You should be. I’ll give you this one chance, walk away now, or I will pound the shit out of you and you’ll have to explain to your friends how you got your ass beat by a guy on crutches. Of course, if you think you can take me, let’s go.”
I was working on remembering the few lessons I’d learned from Chef while ignoring the very first one, that the first rule of fighting is you should try and avoid fighting whenever possible. He’d hammered home that as soon as the first punch was thrown, you had a chance for things to go wrong no matter how much more skilled you were than your opponent. One piece of bad luck for you or good luck for the other guy could make things turn uncontrollably.
Instead of trying to talk Paul out of a fight, I was basically challenging him to throw down right here and now.
I got my stance set, with my bad foot back, to keep it from being a target. Chef said that having a good stance was to make sure you were rooted and didn’t get knocked down easily, but while my foot was messed up, I needed to keep it out of harm's way. Solid footing but an injured limb where an attacker could get to it was more likely to take me down than poor footing.
I don't’ know if Paul had fought before and recognized that I was actually getting set up to fight, or if the lizard brain part of him inherently recognized the potential danger and took over, but he backed down.
“You’re lucky the coaches over there can see us,” he said, taking a step back.
I didn’t turn to look, but I had noticed the baseball coaches earlier. They were on the baseball field, which was way the hell on the other side of the track. You could see them from here, but they were far enough away I couldn’t have told you who was who if I’d known them.
It was a lame defense, pretending that they would somehow break up a fight even if they saw us, but Chef’s voice in the back of my head finally broke through.
“Sure. Next time bring some friends,” I said, also backing up.
“Count on it,” he said as he turned and walked away.
I would have been worried that he’d follow up on that, except that a fight with Aaron and his pals had already been building. This incident might only make it happen sooner, since it was almost a certainty by this point.
I got to the Blue Ridge just as it started raining, canceling out any chance of working with the bags again. The weather had been pretty nice the last few weeks, so I wasn’t sure how we were going to handle it or if we were just going to take the day off.
Not that I really wanted a day off, but Chef made it clear a little rain wasn’t going to slow us down when he sent me up to his apartment to wait. I found that he’d moved most of the furniture in his front room back to clear a big open space, which meant we’d be doing it here instead.
When Chef made his way upstairs, I came clean about what happened with Paul that afternoon.
“Charlie, if I’m going to teach you, then you need to listen to me and take what I say seriously. If you can’t, we’ll stop. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“I get it. I was a young man once and I know what it’s like when you’re challenged. There’s a part of you, deep inside, that wants to stand up and prove you’re a man. It’s only natural, but you need to be smart about it. Reputation comes and goes, but your health never does. Every time you get in a fight, you have a chance of getting hurt. While your foot is in that boot, the chance is even higher. Do you want to get it injured worse and spend more time in it than you already have?”
“No, Chef.”
“If you have to fight, you fight to win. You don’t have to back down or run away, but don’t actively make the fight more likely.”
“I know, Chef. I really did think about that. These guys are classic bullies. If there were three of them again, they wouldn’t have hesitated. If it was just Aaron, he would have taken a swing at me, but the other two are pure followers. They won’t do anything when it’s one on one.”
“Maybe, but once you challenge his manhood, he might feel he has no choice but to prove himself. Either way, what’s done is done. What we can do about it is to continue to talk about how to defend yourself. Since it’s raining, instead of working on your punch, we’re going to talk a little defense. Stand here in the center of the room.”
He stood an arm’s reach from me when I got into position.
“Now, I know if you see movies where people are fighting, they stand like this,” he said, arms slightly outstretched with his hands in fists.
“Yeah.”
“Have you ever watched any boxing?”
“A little.”
“Have you noticed they hold their hands up? Can you see the differences?”
“Your hands are closer to each other and your body, kind of in-between your face and the person you’re fighting against.”
“Correct. The reason is that, unlike a movie where you need to see the actors face, a boxer is actually trying to protect himself. When your hands are up here, and an opponent strikes, you’re in a position to deflect the blow with minimal effort.”
“Why use the least amount of effort?”
“It’s not about how much you want to put into a block; it’s about having a very short amount of time to actually do anything. Unless your opponent is really telegraphing every punch, you’ll have less than a second to recognize what’s happening and act. If your hands are out here, that isn’t enough time for your brain to register a punch is coming, send the signal to your hands, and for your hands to get moving.”
He showed me the difference, pantomiming a block using both methods. While I only had vague notions of how a good block actually worked, the difference was still evident. When his hands were up and close together, he only moved them a small amount, sometimes pushing away from his body to the left and sometimes slightly down and to the right.
When his hands were extended, like in TV shows, he had to move a fair bit to get level with where a punch was coming from.
“Now, let’s practice some slow punches, so you can see how it works.”
We started with me slowly throwing a punch. As soon as my hand was close enough, he’d move his forearm out, connecting against my wrist, pushing my fist enough to make it go over his left shoulder. If I punched more inside his body, he did the opposite, pushing my hand off to the right. Sometimes he did this with his right hand pushing the punch over his right shoulder, and sometimes he used his left, pushing the punch down and to the right, past his body. Occasionally, he just put his hands between the punch and his body, absorbing the blow.
He spent the next hour showing me how to deflect punches and when to use which block. As with anything, it would require repetitions to build up muscle memory since, as he pointed out, I wouldn’t usually have enough time to think about how to block a punch. I needed to just do it.
We started slowly, moving through the action, to get used to the motion and understand why to choose a specific block for a given situation. As we practiced, he started speeding up his punches, giving me less time to react. I know he was still far from full speed, but near the end, we were going fast enough I was having trouble reacting fast enough.
He promised that I’d get more comfortable the more we practiced, but I wasn’t entirely sure I’d ever be up to speed.
I was ready to grab my stuff and head into the school the next morning when Hanna stopped me from getting out of the car.
“Today, you’re eating lunch with us.”
“What?”
“You, lunch, with us. I’m getting a lot of questions about your performance on Saturday, and I’m not your press agent.”
“I guess I can do that. Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave them all to hound you.”
She must have heard the disappointment in my voice.
“I know you like hanging out with Rhonda, but you gotta slow down.”
“Why?” I asked, annoyed she’d seen through me so easily.
“Girls like guys who pay attention to them and don’t play it too cool, but we don’t like it when a guy becomes too clingy. We don’t want to be the entire center of someone else's world.”
“I’d always thought girls wanted a guy being obsessed with them.”
“In some ways, yes. We want a guy who regularly thinks of us, does small things to show us they care, and is attentive to our needs. We don’t want someone who can’t seem to deal on their own, especially early on, when we’re only dating. Being independent is a good thing and sometimes we want to chase the guy a little bit, too.”
“You just want me to get everyone off your back.”
“Yes, but I’m also right. Two steps forward, one step back is the way to go. Hit her with a great date, give her attention the next day like you did yesterday at lunch, and then let her have some distance so she can tell her friends why she’s dating the best guy ever.”
“Her friends would probably disagree.”
“Probably, they seem like bitches, but Rhonda won’t care. I see how she looks at you. She’s sliding headfirst into the honeymoon phase and is all in right now. Later, you’ll have to be aware of what her friends say to her, but right now I guarantee none of it will sink in. It’s how girls end up dating a jackass and not realizing it until it’s too late, even when their friends warn her. Lucky for Rhonda, you’re not that much of a jackass.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure, but you also need to deal with your own fame there, music boy. Today … at lunch.”
“Right.”
I told Rhonda on the way to the cafeteria that I was going to eat with Hanna and everyone else today, and it seemed like Hanna was right. She didn’t seem to be upset, and only said she wanted me to call her after I got back from the Blue Ridge.
“There he is,” Jordan said when I sat down.
“Here I am.”
“So, what’s the deal?” Kendal said. “We heard you got up and kicked ass Saturday night, playing at the Blue Ridge.”
“I’m not sure what kind of story these two told you, but you know I wasn’t up there playing all by myself. The band has been playing there forever; they just let me sit in. Hell, the least experienced guy on the stage has twenty years more experience than me.”
“Wait, I heard they let you take over and play your own stuff for a while?” Joseph said.
“Not my own stuff, it was all covers.”
“I meant like your own choices of songs. Stuff that isn’t blues.”
“Kind of my own choices. They’ve been getting some younger people starting to come in and Willie, the guy who runs the band, and the owner of the Blue Ridge, both thought it would be good to add some variety for those younger audiences. Try and expand the people that go there.”
“Not a bad idea,” Megan said. “There isn’t an option for live music closer than Ashville except for the Blue Ridge, but who wants to go listen to blues?”
“I like the blues,” Hanna said.
“Yeah, but that’s just because you’ve been working there a while and feel like you have too,” Megan said. “I’d bet you don’t have a single actual blues song on your phone.”
When Hanna didn’t respond, Megan said, “Exactly. If we had a place that played more contemporary stuff, they’d get a lot more business, I bet. It doesn’t even have to be anything cool, just mainstream pop would be enough to get some people in. I mean, it’s better than no live music.”
“Well, it’s just a test. They’ll see if it causes bigger crowds on Saturdays over the next several weeks and go from there. Could be people who actually come out prefer the blues and there isn’t any additional business, which would mean I get one or two times up, and that’s it.”
“Not going to happen,” Hanna said. “Normally the crowds are into it, but not vocal. They listen to the music, they clap, then they wait for the next song. This time people were clapping along, singing along, a few people whistled after a song. I heard the people watching, they were totally into it.”
“Still, we don’t know what’s going to happen. I’m supposed to practice with the band again tomorrow and we’re going to talk about the setlist. We might move some of the new pop off and up the old stuff from the sixties or remove the old stuff … hell, I don't know. Like I said, it’s all a test. I have no idea what’s going to happen.”
“What’s this about you singing?” Fatima asked. “Hanna said you could play, she didn’t say you could sing. Jordan said your voice was ridiculous.”
“I mean, I said it was okay,” Jordan added.
“Bullshit,” Fatima said. “I think the quote was ‘he has the best voice I’ve ever heard. If my sister wasn’t going out with him, I’d …’”
Her sentence was interrupted when a roll smacked her in the side of the head.
“Ms. Hines!” a teacher's voice carried over the noise.
“Sorry,” she said to him and lowered her head.
I couldn’t help but notice her cheeks were pink and she wasn’t making eye contact.
“Anyways, I’m okay. Willie suggests I get some vocal training, since my register is limited and I don’t have enough control yet. It limits me to fairly simple options when it comes to vocals.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Hanna said. “I mean, sure everyone can be better, but what I heard didn’t sound limited.”
“Well, except for one song, everything we picked was chosen specifically because it was in my range, and the one that wasn’t we altered to make it work for me. I’m not saying I suck, but it’s the same reason I take guitar lessons from Willie. I’ve only been playing for ten years and there are so many tricks I haven’t learned. With any skill that you want to pursue at any kind of professional level, you have to be willing to see yourself for how you are, flaws and all. People who think they know it all usually end up stuck working small gigs, never getting big.”
“Is that what you want to do?” Peyton asked. “Be a professional musician?”
“Maybe. I watched my dad, who was a better guitar player than I am now, struggle for years working shit gigs, barely making ends meet. The music industry is just as much luck as it is skill, and it eats people up and spits them out. So I don’t hold any illusions that I’ll be a huge star someday. That requires a miracle, in addition to skill, but if I could do well enough to earn a living at it, that’d be the dream. Mom’s hard against it, though. She doesn’t want me ending up like Dad.”
“You know anybody our age I’ve ever heard talk about wanting to be famous, in sports or acting or whatever, just assumes they’ll be able to get it,” Hanna said.
“Yeah, and I’m sure if I grew up in a normal family, I’d be like that, too. Most people have no idea what the life’s like if they haven’t lived it. They just see the end result and assume the person just got magically famous. They don’t see the ten years of hard work and practice.”
“Pssh, half the big pop stars are in their early twenties,” Megan argued.
“I mean, sure, people get lucky. Although a lot of those people in their early twenties started in their early teens at least, taking singing lessons, singing in small pageants and shows, stuff like that. Look into most of them and you’ll see the work.”
“The real question is, when do we get to hear you play?” Laura said.
“I’ll be playing again on Saturday.”
“Can you work in something edgier? Maybe a little rock,” Megan said.
“Probably not. They want to stay fairly mainstream. Also, the band isn’t really set up for that. Remember, they play mostly blues. Pop isn’t that far divergent, but serious rock wouldn’t be in their wheelhouse.”
“How about country?” Peyton said, to the groans of several of the other kids at the table.
“Maybe. The sound's not far off, so we could probably fit in a modern country song.”
“Or you could not,” Megan said.
The rest of the lunch was spent offering up suggestions for songs I could play. Most were out of my vocal range or not right for the band’s sound, but I made some notes of songs to ask Willie about.
Ultimately, he was the one who decided what we’d play.
I almost thought I was going to have a repeat of yesterday when Hanna and I got up to her car. Someone was sitting on the hood of her car, bent over doing something we couldn’t see. Thankfully, he stood up before we got there, and I saw it was Marcus, the guy Hanna had gone out with the same night I had my first date.
“Hey, Hanna,” he said, glancing at me quickly.
“I don’t have much time Marcus,” Hanna said, a little abruptly. “You can call me later if it’s something we need to talk about in private.”
I’d been under the impression that Hanna had enjoyed her date with Marcus, and they’d planned on going out again, so I was a little surprised by her tone. If I hadn’t talked to her about her previous date, I would have thought she wasn’t interested in him, from the way she spoke to him.
“Nah, it’s cool. Saturday, after the football game, some people are having a party. I know you gotta work, but it isn’t supposed to start till like eleven, so you should be off by then. I thought we could go together.”
“I’m not big on parties.”
“I know, and I’m cool if you don’t want to drink or anything. I just thought it’d be fun to dance, hang out, you know, that kind of thing. It’s cool if you don’t wanna go, we can always do something else. I just thought I’d ask.”
Hanna was quiet for a moment, and I was almost positive she was going to say no. She’d never elaborated on why she didn’t like parties and the popular kids beyond saying something bad had happened, but it seemed pretty clear she wasn’t on board with hanging out with them.
“If you want, Charlie and his girl can come, too. We can double.”
My ears picked up. I wasn’t looking to social climb or anything, but I’d never really been to an honest to God high school party, and I was interested.
Hanna must have seen my response, because she sighed and said, “Okay, we can go, but if it sucks, I’m wanting to get out of there. Deal?”
“Deal. I promise we’ll have some fun. I’ll call you later.”
“Sure,” she said, getting into the car.
“I hope you didn’t agree just because of me,” I said when I eventually maneuvered myself into the car.
“No, it’s fine. He’s been asking me to do stuff, and I keep putting it off, cause it’s all … stuff I used to do. It’s not his fault I’m a stick in the mud.”
“Hanna, what happened? I mean, I know you said you had some bad experiences, but … Sorry, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“It’s fine, but I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sure. I just wanted to make sure you were okay going.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it will be fine. Marcus is one of the popular kids, God knows why he wants to go out with me. I can’t always make him do stuff I want to do. It’s not really fair to him. Plus, you’re going to win such big points with Rhonda when you tell her, which means you owe me again.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Ha, I thought that was why you looked interested.”
“No. I just thought I hadn’t ever experienced a high school party before, and it sounded interesting.”
“Sometimes, I forget how sheltered you were. It’ll be fine. We’ll go, have fun, and our dates will both be really happy with us.”
I wasn’t a hundred percent sure who she was trying to convince. Me, or herself.
Comments
Travis Starnes
This chapter was incorrectly labeled Chapter 15, instead of Chapter 14. Don't be surprised when you see the next chapter post, it's not a duplicate chapter 15.
