Wheels of Steel, Book 1

by Pepper Pace

  They talked music and beats and mixes and not much of anything else. They surprised her by bringing up names like J Dilla and Common. Obviously, they were heavy into hip hop. He looked at her for the second time in twenty minutes. “Ready?”

  She nodded and gathered up their trash, dumping it in the bin. He then led her out of the cafeteria. “Robin, it’s time for the bathroom.”

  “Ok.”

  When they reached the facilities her mind was already in a blank place. Would she need to go into the men’s room with him? “Just stay out here.” He said. “If I need you, I’ll call you.”

  “Ok.”

  “I’ll be a while. I’m not super fast when it comes to cleaning myself but I can do it.” He seemed to be waiting for a response so she nodded, not offering to help if he didn’t ask for it.

  “Ok.”

  He snorted and then rolled into the restroom. He was right. It took forever; almost as long as lunch had. She checked the time. It was almost one pm and she was really tired.

  When he returned he took in her slouched posture. “What’s wrong, college doesn’t agree with you?”

  That comment had hit so close to home that she was momentarily speechless. Then her green eyes flinched and she looked at him coldly. “I’m fine. What’s next?”

  He didn’t say anything immediately. “One last class; computer science.” This time he had his own table, as did everyone else. His was empty while others had computers. She set up his laptop quickly and then sat down in the chair next to him.

  He put on headphones, but so did others. She watched him pull up YouTube and navigate to an account; the name of which she was unable to catch. His head began to bob as he began moving around the screen. Everyone was quietly working and the teacher hadn’t even told them to do anything! She couldn’t hear anything since she didn’t have headphones but at least she could tell that he was building a web page. He was pulling images and music from other sites, moving confidently around the web.

  Robin didn’t have much interest in it and she began to zone out again. Soon her eyes closed without her realizing. She was in a place that was next to sleep and probably would have been in the middle of snores, but for the constant and irritating tapping sound that woke her up from her dazed state. Her head popped up and she looked over at Jason to see if he’d caught her napping.

  Jason’s eyes were rolled to the top of his head. His body was taut and stretched. It was his hand that was drumming rhythmically against the table creating the low tapping sound. Robin jumped up in alarm and everyone in the room looked at her. For a second she was near to panic. For a moment she forgot everything she knew. She wanted to call for help, except that she was the person that was supposed to be helping him.

  His head was thrown back and his adam’s apple bobbed as the tendons in his neck stood out. He was making a low guttural sound and she placed one hand on his chest and rubbed him there lightly. The other was placed against the side of his face. Her heart still hammered in her chest and she glanced up at the class instructor who quickly averted her eyes. Why wasn’t she doing something?!

  Robin continued to rub Jason’s chest. “It’s okay. I’m here, Jason. Everything is ok; you’re ok.” She continued to murmur reassurances and after what seemed like forever, his body suddenly relaxed. He hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but he was taking in deep breaths. Her body relaxed some, as well, but she could not completely relax until he opened those mean green eyes and stared at her with his usual coldness.

  Oh my god, he wasn’t moving! Was he unconscious? She was about to panic again when his eyes opened and stared at her. It took him a moment to focus and he blinked repeatedly. He had lashes longer than any man should be comfortable with. Of all the thoughts that she could have, that one was surprisingly at the top of the list. She moved back, realizing that she was in his personal space. Then she realized that she was still rubbing his chest and cradling his face and she quickly moved her hands from his body. No wonder he was staring at her.

  And his muscles weren’t jerking. He was just staring at her calmly.

  “Are you okay?” She whispered.

  He smiled slightly. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You’re as pale as a sheet. Bet you haven’t heard that before.”

  She chuckled softly. He was very strange. But at least she felt better. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I bit my tongue; pretty bad this time…but at least I didn’t fall out of the chair and break my nose.”

  Her eye grew large. “Are you serious?”

  As if in response to her disbelief a bit of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. She quickly reached into her purse for tissue.

  “Let me see your tongue.” She demanded.

  Jason slowly opened his mouth. It was a bad bite, blood was coming up out of the torn flesh.

  “Put this in your mouth and hold it against the bite.” Again he did as instructed. Then his head began to bob slightly and his fingers began clicking against the keyboard of this laptop. She gave him an amazed look. Still wearing his headphones he was bobbing his head to the beat of the music streaming from his webpage and making adjustments while her heart was still beating a mile a minute.

  Chapter 8

  Jason watched the numbers on his recent mix. It had broken the elusive one hundred thousand views mark on YouTube and the feedback was awesome—not considering the few jerks that made stupid comments about his use of hip hop beats. He went through the comments checking to see if any needed to be removed. He didn’t have a problem if people just didn’t like what he put together, but things like dropping the N-bomb because his influences were mostly black artists or petty arguments just got deleted.

  He didn’t even bother removing the negative comments about him being crippled or using a wheelchair. He didn’t have to bother; people that followed Wheels of Steel always fought those battles for him. The beats spoke for themselves. There were haters that couldn’t understand how he chopped an Amen beat and put it back together mixed with James Brown or Curtis Mayfield and said that he was ripping off Madlibs or Dilla. But then his listeners would jump down their throats schooling them that reforming the familiar drum beat known as the Amen break had been done for over a decade over in the UK and to stop talking about shit they didn’t know about.

  Wheels of Steel was not just Jason, nicknamed Top—for his Carrottop hair. He hated the reference to his red hair…as well as any connection to the stand-up comedian, but really no one in the group loved their nickname. Each of the four members had a pseudonym given to them by the other members; their logo an upside wheelchair over a turntable.

  There was Peter—better known as Link. He was also in a wheelchair, though not because of CP but because of an unfortunate drinking and driving accident that had left his legs useless. Link was a beast as a human beatbox as well as a damn good singer and he could play just about any instrument, therefore he was considered the missing link. Next was Belinda nicknamed Patty—as in Peppermint Patty; for the girl from the Charlie Brown cartoons that had the questionable sexual orientation. Patty and Amberly both put together the music videos; editing them in a sharp, funky way that showed an artistic quality that enhanced the music. In other words; the music was made better by watching it with the video. And as far as Amberly’s nickname; no one dared to call the sweet, overly protected girl by the name that had been given to her; Tramp Stamp. It was almost audacious to call her something like that considering that the reason she had gotten the name was because she hadn’t even known what one was. Amberly had cerebral palsy, as well, and as is common of parents with children inflicted with the disorder, Amberly had led a very sheltered life.

  Jason concentrated on responding to the YouTube questions and comments. Someone asked; ‘I always thought to "flip" a sample meant to take one measure of a piece of music and just replay it backwards. LOVE seemed that way to me. Is that what you did?’

  ‘No.’ He wrote. ‘If you use your computer, find a
slicing program that can slice up parts of a long sample -not necessarily a loop, and each key on a keyboard or piano roll (if you're using software) is a different part of the song. You can double certain parts up, rearrange parts that you think go together, reverse certain parts, raise the pitch to certain parts. What I'm talking about is what the old pros did like Afrika Bambaataa or Pete Rock.’

  He spent a while longer responding to comments, and then anxious to get back to the beat that he was currently working on, he pulled up his slicing program and pressed playback. Momentarily he felt a dull pain on his tongue where he’d bitten it earlier. This was the song he’d been working on when he had the seizure and it caused him to be transported back to that moment.

  He pictured the girl; the new aid—or ‘possible’ new aid. He didn’t think she’d stick around for long. He didn’t care one way or the other…except he kept picturing her eyes. He thought she had the strangest grey/green eyes that he’d ever seen on a black girl—or any girl, for that matter. He couldn’t stop seeing the look on her face when he opened his eyes after the seizure. Her hand rested on his chest, the other cradled his face. And she actually looked like she cared. Really, she looked scared to death. But beyond that was a concern that he wasn’t accustomed to. Good aids cared but they stood aside and let him go about the seizure as if waiting for a small kid to finish using the pottychair. They were a witness and a presence in case something went wrong, but he always knew that there was a distance between him and them.

  The new girl was different. He knew instantly when he opened his eyes that she was right there with him in the moment. The phone rang then and he almost jumped. He turned down the volume on the repetitive beat and pressed the speaker phone mic. Before he could even get out a hello, Link was already talking.

  “Dude, I want you to listen to this! We might have a hook for the new one!” He heard his skype begin to ring and knew it was Link so he pressed disconnect on the phone and picked up the skype. Link came through on video cam and Jason pressed his cam feed as well, then he hit record. All without ever saying a word he was already beginning the process of capturing Link’s newest beats. He worked with a FL Studio as well and immediately he heard a snare roll and then a hip hop drumbeat. Next was Link’s adlibs.

  Jason’s head began to bob to the beat. He closed his and when it was over he wore a big grin.

  “That was tight!”

  “I know! Can you use any of it?”

  “Hell yeah.” He began to do some rewinding and playback. It wouldn’t be crisp but Link would know what he wanted. Then he played about six seconds of Link’s recording. Link listened and then his fingers moved deftly over his keyboard. Soon the small bit that he wanted began to play back.

  “Yeah, that’s it!” Jason exclaimed. “Send me about six seconds.”

  “I’ll email it to you.”

  “Cool. I’m going to try to work on it tonight.”

  “Give it a break Top.”

  “A break?”

  “Not the music; yourself. You need to take a break.”

  Jason chuckled. “Flipping beats IS my break.” But yeah, he could stand getting away from the computer for a while. “What do you have in mind?” He wouldn’t mind catching a movie or even having something more substantial for dinner than a nutritional shake. Anything more than that caused a choking hazard which he couldn’t risk while living alone.

  “There’s a party at the Omicron house and they want me to DJ. It’s later tonight-”

  “Frat party…dude…you know I can’t drink.” Alcohol wreaked havoc on his kidney function.

  “No shit.” Link said stiffly. “And I’m not going there to drink either.” He was very touchy on the subject of drinking and driving. Link still enjoyed drinking despite the fact that it had led to his paralysis as well as the death of many of his good friends. Because of this he never went out drinking unless there was a designated driver.

  Jason felt bad for his thoughtless comment and wanted to kick himself. That, more than anything else, is what caused him to agree to go along even though he didn’t care for frat parties. He wasn’t big into parties; PERIOD. Wheelchairs made it tough to maneuver around and you never knew what to expect inside of someone’s house. Nine times out of ten it wasn’t wheelchair friendly.

  But he’d been to the Omicron house often enough. And besides, he enjoyed listening to Link put together beats. He could use the turntables to scratch whereas Jason’s cerebral palsy did not allow him full muscle control in which to manipulate them. The Cerebral Palsy also prevented him from playing the musical instruments that he loved so much. His muscles had a mind of their own and when he tried his hardest to control them is when they betrayed him the most. The most that he could do was to tap out a simple rhythm on a piano keyboard.

  Jason didn’t much mind having CP. When it’s all you know then there is no other life for you. Unlike Amberly, his mother had pushed him to be like others and therefore he didn’t see limitations just obstacles. The biggest obstacle was other people. Jason remembered something that Yoko Ono had once said about why she never smiled. She said that everyone expects you to be that smiling Japanese caricature that nods and bows…so she swore to be the opposite. And that is what Jason decided. Everyone expects a person with muscles that jerk and lurch any which way and a tongue that moves two seconds behind the rest of his mouth to be happy and thankful for their careful attention and pats on the head. But he is quick to tell them ‘I am not fucking retarded!’

  After his phone call, he shut down his equipment, his mind still preoccupied with the new beat Link had sent and the things he wanted to do with it. Soon he was outside in the parking lot waiting for his friend. Link drove up in a minivan that had been custom painted with flames and a burning skull. Jason just shook his head. Link was so dramatic. The van had been outfitted with hand controls so that an individual with no use of his legs could drive it. Link had actually taught Jason to drive it--not that he could ever get a license, not with the seizures. He watched Link pull up alongside of him.

  “You need me to get out?” Link called after rolling down the passenger window. Translation; ‘Do you need help getting in?’

  He gave him the finger and then made a rolling motion with his hands. “Roll it down, son,” he replied. Translation; ‘No.’

  The mechanical door slid open and a lift suddenly appeared. When it was in position, Jason expertly rolled his chair into place and then reached down to secure it. “I’m in.” He said. The lift rose and slowly slid into position directly behind the passenger seat.

  He put on his seat belt and was in position. Next to him was Link’s titanium racing bike. Link didn’t behave like a man who was paralyzed. He was on a basketball team, he drove, dated, D.J’d, and did anything else that a person with full use of his legs could do. Despite the fact that he was in a wheelchair, Link was outgoing and popular. The two had become friends during a time before he had accepted his condition; back when he wished the accident that had taken away the use of his legs had taken his life instead.

  Music was blaring from the speakers and Jason thought with amusement, ‘Yes we are those white kids that drive down the street blasting rap music.’

  “Who’s that? Mos Def?” He asked, digging the mashup as his head bobbed to the beat.

  “And DJ Krush.” They pulled out of the parking space. “I made up some mixes to get me in the mood.” They listened to music and talked beats.

  “Where are the girls? You invite them?”

  “Nah. This ain’t Wheels of Steel. This is all about me, son.”

  Jason gave him a curious look. “You’re not playing any of our stuff?”