He did set his lower lip when he played the bass. His\ndaughter pointed it out to me. We had been friends for a long time. She was one\nof the few friends I could trust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Thing is, most of the time I didn’t see him. He was playing\nthe bass behind in the seat behind me as I played the piano.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He had a band, and he played really well. He played at home,\nwith an amp and a guitar out in the living room. He was the real thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sometimes I would get to go to some of his band’s\nperformances. They played Christian music, of course. But I loved it. I loved\nbeing near the performance, done by people I knew. Impossibly cool.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He encouraged me, and told me how to be in a music\nteam–that is what it was called when we played the songs at church. But it was\nkind of a band. And I was the lead instrument. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
That’s what he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I wanted that to be true. And it was true, when we all\nplayed together. I wanted to be a real musician, but I had no idea what that\nwas. I’d taught myself how to play, and even though he said I was the lead\ninstrument I was sure that I was secretly deficient in all kinds of ways. As if\nI had huge hole in the back of my pants but could never quite see it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I practiced, all alone, learning what I could on the Casio\nkeyboard I’d bought from Costco. I was alone and ashamed, but I did all I\ncould.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I asked him, the one who knew, “Is this how it works?\nThat I will get to a certain level as a musician, and then I’ll stay there?\nThat I’ll be set?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He cocked his head, trying to understand my point of view. Then\nhe shook his head decisively. “No, you keep getting better.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“You do?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Sure. I practice, and I think I’m better than I was\nlast month. I know I’m better than I was a few years ago.”<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I looked at him, wanting it to be true. Wanting there to be\nsomething I could be good at and get better and better. To have something in my\nfuture that I could count on and look forward to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I trusted him. He was a full-on grown up. And he said I was\ngood. Probably he was saying it to be nice, but when we all played together, it\ndid sound good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
But then things happened and we didn’t play together\nanymore. And I became a grown up and I\ndidn’t play much anymore. Life has a way of catching up with all my time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This year, I decided I had to do something creative. I had\nto make time. I wanted to write more. I also gave myself permission to buy a\nnew keyboard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And it was there. In a way that writing was not. I\nremembered how to play the keys. The way I had learned to play never left me,\nand I could play something new every single time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was right there. Practically where I left it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And I remembered. I thought about Bill and his bass. I\nwondered if I could find people to jam with. Maybe I could find a band.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Somewhere between the chord changes, I thought maybe someday\nI’d get to play with him again. That would be incredible! I’d kept in touch\nwith his daughter. It felt good to imagine that bass behind whatever\nprogression I was working out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then I heard the news. Bill’s heart gave out. It’s done.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I owe him. I owe him big. I wish I could tell him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He made room in his life for creation, for music and\nperformance. I didn’t know then how hard that could be for grownups.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I want to get better. I know I’ll remember him as I do.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
He did set his lower lip when he played the bass. His daughter pointed it out to me. We had been friends for a long time. She was one of the few friends I could trust. Thing is, most of … Continue reading