Drum Roll, Please

by Lisa Jenn Bigelow

  The sun was dipping low in the sky across the lake, low enough that it was in our eyes, like a spotlight, when it shone through the trees. With the firelight behind him, Damon was nothing but a shadow holding a guitar. “Welcome,” he shouted, “to the first firebowl of camp!”

  Everyone clapped and cheered.

  “For everyone who’s new to Camp Rockaway, here’s the deal. Firebowl isn’t about performance. It’s about community. We’ve delved into the instrument library and hauled out pretty much every acoustic guitar, hand drum, tambourine, and kazoo in the place. Everyone is welcome to get up front and help lead a song.

  “But I’m not here to talk at you. Let’s get started with a song everyone knows. And if you don’t, trust me: you will by the time you go home, because this is a firebowl favorite.”

  About ten counselors joined him in the front. In addition to the guitars and percussion instruments, I saw a mandolin, a banjo, and something too small to see until the counselor lifted it to her mouth and I realized it was a harmonica. As they started singing “Take Me Home, Country Roads,” kids around me nodded in recognition and joined in.

  At first I only listened. I was flashing back to practice that morning, how I’d felt so nervous when Donna made us sing. Plus, I didn’t know the words very well. Plus, I was sitting next to Toni, and wow, that girl had pipes. I’d sound like a rusty hinge compared to her. Nobody needed to hear that.

  But I quickly realized no one would hear me anyway. The way the amphitheater cupped the sound, it seemed to come from every direction at once. It was so different from the dead sound of Trolltunga or the practice stall. I began to sing, first softly, then louder, and my chest opened up. My heart swelled with the music.

  As the evening wore on, older campers stepped down to the front to help lead a song. Hands traded instruments. I didn’t know every song, but I listened, and usually by the end I could join in on the chorus or at least hum along. Without even meaning to, I started patting my knees and tapping my feet in rhythm to the music.

  “We should go down there some night,” Olivia whispered. “Not tonight, but at the next firebowl. Me on guitar, you on djembe.”

  I eyed the big, goblet-shaped drum hanging at the waist of one of the counselors. He thumped the skin with his palms and slapped the rim, the drum changing pitch depending on where he hit it. “I’ve never played a djembe.”

  “You could learn,” she said with a shrug. “There’s a percussion workshop tomorrow. I saw it posted in the lodge.”

  As the sun sank farther, the clouds over the lake began to glow bright pink. The sky at the tree line turned orange, yellow, and purple. I never saw such beautiful sunsets back home. There were too many buildings in the way.

  But eventually the colors dripped lower and lower to the horizon. The sky above was washed in purplish blue, then almost black. The fire stood out against the darkening backdrop, but even it began to sink like the sun, the wooden tower crumbling in on itself with showers of sparks every time a chunk fell. Tiny bits of ash floated up in spirals.

  The songs grew quieter, slower. The campfire was nothing but a loose pile of charred wood and a few glowing embers like blinking red eyes in the dark. Damon said, “This’ll wrap up Camp Rockaway, Unplugged, for tonight,” and started playing one last song.

  When the final notes faded, it wasn’t like the end of a school assembly, where everyone explodes back into whatever random conversations they were having before they had to learn about saying no to drugs or cyberbullying. Everyone stood and filed out of the amphitheater without talking. It was as if the firebowl had cast a spell on us.

  It wasn’t until we were all on the trail outside that the counselors flipped on their flashlights and started calling. “Carole Kingdom, over here!” “Buddy Hollow, by me!” But even as we hiked back to Treble Cliff, the hush stayed with us.

  Lying in bed after lights-out, I sank into the hollow of my cot, the darkness cocooning me. My bunkmates were whispering, rehashing the day, but their voices soon turned into background noise as surely as the peepers and tree toads.

  The frogs and toads reminded me of Adeline. When I looked back at my day, it wasn’t band practice or firebowl or hanging out with Olivia that stood out most. It was watching Adeline swim out to the raft, climbing up, and diving off with a clean splash, again and again.

  Like throwing herself headlong into the water was the easiest thing in the world.

  Eight

  Miraculously, Adeline was right: the next day, practice went better. Caleb was happy because our new chart was “Enter Sandman,” by Metallica. I was happy because Donna made us run through “I Knew You Were Trouble” only a couple of times before we switched gears. I was more than ready for the change.

  “Enter Sandman” was sort of an old song, but it still got played on the radio, at least the hard rock station. It had all the traits of a heavy metal classic: driving drumbeat, wailing guitars, raging vocals. Lyrics-wise, though, it was a lullaby, with phrases like hush little baby, don’t say a word. Imagine the monster under your bed was your babysitter, rocking you to sleep with his band of bogeymen, and you’ll get the idea.

  The song was obviously a favorite of Caleb’s. The moment we picked up our instruments, he was zipping through the entire lead guitar part, from the catchy opening riff to the spine-chilling solo. That left the rest of us to play catch-up. Adeline, especially, didn’t seem sure where an acoustic guitar belonged in the mayhem, but she put on a smile anyway and followed Donna on rhythm guitar. As for David and me? Let’s just say I’d be spending a hefty chunk of the afternoon practicing, and so would David, if he knew what was good for him.

  Donna didn’t interrupt us as much as she had yesterday. Instead she shouted instructions over the music. “Nose out of your instruments!” was one of her favorites, when she thought we were getting too wrapped up in our own playing and needed to check in with the rest of the group. “Listen to yourselves!” was another, when she thought we weren’t wrapped up enough. And as always, “Sing, people!”

  She also kept saying, “Louder, Melly. Louder!”

  Seriously? Nobody—not Ms. Estrada, not Olivia—had ever told me to play louder. That was part of what I loved about drums. I could be loud without trying. I could be too loud without trying. I was used to dialing things back so I didn’t drown out the other instruments, keeping my hands and feet carefully under control. Now Donna wanted more from me? How was I supposed to give it to her? I didn’t think I could!

  I pretended I couldn’t hear her. Eventually she gave up, shaking her head.

  On a scale of one to ten, I probably wouldn’t have given us more than a three. But when Donna’s watch beeped, she said, “Progress.” And even though overall David was still mumbling, I was still stumbling, and Caleb was still rushing, I had to agree.

  “See?” Adeline mouthed at me.

  “I’ll never doubt you again,” I whispered back.

  “You better not,” she said, “or there will be consequences.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Yeah? Like what?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m sure I can think of some—”

  Donna cleared her throat loudly. “If I could trouble you for just a moment longer, I’d like to give you each some things to work on when you practice individually.”

  I blushed at being called out, but Adeline didn’t seem to mind. She winked at me, and my embarrassment dissolved into a grin. I didn’t even hear what Donna said next. Honestly, at that moment, I didn’t care.

  At B-flat, there was still no letter from Mom or Dad. Relax. It’s only Tuesday. The only way a letter could’ve gotten here so fast is if they overnighted it.

  But as Toni grumbled at the arrival of two more letters, my heart twinged. If they’d really cared, my parents would have overnighted me a letter, no matter how much it cost. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I knew how babyish it was, but I couldn’t help it.

  Olivia scooted around on her cot so t
hat she could put her face close to mine, only our mosquito netting separating us. “Melly? There’s something I need to tell you. I haven’t been sure how to say it.”

  Her words gave me just enough time to get completely confused and worried. The possibilities ranged from My dad has lymphoma to You need better deodorant.

  “Just say it,” I whispered back.

  “I know you and I were going to play this afternoon, but at practice, Noel asked if I’d jam with him,” Olivia said. “I told him he should invite you, too, but he really wants Brick.”

  “Oh,” I said, startled. Was that all? “I guess that’s okay.”

  “Are you sure? Because I could tell him I changed my mind.”

  “I’m sure,” I said, though I was wondering what had happened to Olivia’s promise to stick by me through the next two weeks. Yesterday she’d been so insistent we spend the afternoon together. “Does this have anything to do with your C-R-U-S-H?”

  “Shhh,” Olivia said, glancing across the tent at Shauna and Toni. “I don’t need the entire world to know. And no, it’s not a crush thing. It’s a music thing.”

  “Sure, sure,” I said. “Whatever you say.”

  I wondered how Noel saw it. Had he asked Olivia to play because he liked her as a bass player, or because he liked her back? Not that it mattered. Either way, I was on my own.

  “I doubt it’ll be the entire afternoon,” Olivia said. “Boys have short attention spans, right? I’ll totally make it up to you.”

  “Olivia,” I said in a warning voice. “I told you it was fine.”

  “Okay, okay. Thanks. I’ll shut up now.”

  She did. And after B-flat, she leaped up and practically sprinted for the lodge. Shauna disappeared a moment later, going who knows where. I sat, wondering what to do next.

  Toni was changing into her swimsuit. “Olivia ditched you, huh?”

  “That sounds meaner than it was,” I said.

  “If you say so.”

  “Anyway, it’s not like I’m hopeless without her.”

  “The thought never crossed my mind,” said Toni.

  Still, Olivia was the only person at camp who had a clue what my family was going through. So far I’d done fine on my own, but what if something changed? What if I fell apart?

  I flashed back to Saturday afternoon, sitting on my bed, a slammed door shutting my parents out, my thumbs poised over my phone. I wondered how to put the news to Olivia. Her parents were so happy together. Under the shouts of every argument about who forgot to pick up a pound of pork, or whose turn it was to change the baby, flowed an unmistakable current of love. Could she ever understand what was happening to me?

  Finally I typed, My parents are splitting. My fate boiled down to four words.

  Olivia responded almost immediately. WHAT?!?!?!?

  A moment later: This makes no sense!!!

  Then: I’M CALLING YOU.

  Sure enough, my phone began to ring, cruelly cheerful. “Melly! You weren’t pranking me, were you? Your parents are breaking up?”

  I gulped down my tears. “Yeah. I mean, no, it’s the truth.”

  “But why?”

  “They wouldn’t say.” It sounded so stupid. Stupid they hadn’t told me, but also stupid I didn’t know without being told. How clueless was I?

  “You don’t think one of them was having an affair, do you? Or maybe one of them has a gambling problem, or is an alcoholic.”

  “Olivia, you know my parents! They’re the most boring people alive. Trust me, they don’t have problems like that.”

  “I know, I know. But there’s got to be a reason,” she insisted. “How can we fix this if we can’t even figure out what’s wrong?”

  I knew she was right. There had to be a reason. But Mom and Dad were right, too. It didn’t matter what the reason was because Olivia and I couldn’t do anything about it. Nobody could, except for my parents, and it looked like they’d made up their minds not to. That Olivia thought she could waltz in and make things better was so typical.

  “I’m coming over,” she announced.

  “I’ve got to pack,” I said.

  “So do I, but I kind of think this is more important!”

  I imagined her flying over on her bike. Throwing her arms around me before launching into a rant about the injustice of grown-ups in general and my parents in particular. Maybe she wouldn’t even make it to my room before confronting my parents, trying to persuade them to change their minds. She’d do it without stopping to breathe. I loved her for that.

  But by then the raging pain I’d felt on hearing the news was dulling to a throbbing, bone-deep ache. I was exhausted. “Tomorrow,” I told her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” she said reluctantly, “but call me back if you need me.”

  “I will.”

  “Because I’m here for you. Always.”

  “I know,” I’d said, meaning it.

  And I did. Really. It was ridiculous to worry Olivia would forget all about me because of one little jam session with Noel.

  Toni asked, “What are you going to do with yourself?”

  “I’m not sure. I need to run through my band’s songs, and I want to hit the percussion workshop. But I can’t spend the entire afternoon playing or I’ll go crazy.”

  “Come to the lake with me first. We can dive for rings.”

  “I can’t dive,” I said.

  “Then jump,” said Toni. “You’ve got to get in touch with nature, Melly. It’ll put you in touch with your art.”

  I didn’t know about that, but I was grateful for the invitation. I changed into my suit and slathered on sunscreen. Toni and I headed for the lake, flipping our picks on the way. A weight lifted from my shoulders as we walked the sun-dotted path to the beach. My steps felt light and springy. It occurred to me if I felt so good now, I must’ve felt pretty bad before without even knowing it.

  As soon as we shed our shoes and towels, Toni took off running across the sand. When she reached the dock, she slowed to a brisk walk. “Come on!” she yelled over her shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”

  My instincts told me to wade in slowly, like yesterday, but I remembered Adeline saying it was easier if you ducked in all at once. So I followed Toni to the far end of the dock. She grabbed my hand. “Okay. On the count of three. One! Two!”

  She yanked me over the edge. The shock of the cold water knocked the wind out of me. “You didn’t get to three!” I sputtered.

  Toni, treading water nearby, laughed her head off. “Your face! You should see it!”

  “In touch with nature, my butt,” I said. “You better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

  Toni cackled. “Ooo, I’m scared. I knew there was a tiger hiding inside that mouse of a girl.”

  The funny thing was, at that moment I sort of did feel like a tiger. I splashed water in Toni’s face. Toni splashed me back, and then we were splash-fighting all the way out to the raft.

  Nine

  Damon taught the percussion workshop himself. “Hey, I remember you,” he said. “Good to see you here. How’s the band situation?”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “I told you it would be, didn’t I?” he said. “Would you—What’s your name again?”

  “Melly.”

  “Melly, since you’re a little early, would you help me? I dragged out half the percussion instruments in the library, and any semblance of organization is shot.”

  Sure enough, there was a big pile sitting on the floor of the workshop cabin. This was only half of Camp Rockaway’s percussion collection? How did they have space to store all this stuff? There were drums made of wood, drums made of clay. Drums with one head, drums with two. Gourds that rattled with seeds on the inside, and gourds wrapped with strings of beads on the outside. Instruments you could shake or pluck or strike together. I’d had no idea there were so many kinds.

  About ten other kids, mostly boys, showed up for the workshop. Damon clapped his hands to
get everyone’s attention, and we sat in a circle. “Hey, rock stars,” he said, “thanks for showing up to celebrate my favorite family of instruments. Not only that, the world’s favorite family of instruments. Drums are found in virtually every culture on Earth, and you know why?”

  “Because they’re freaking awesome?” someone said. A chuckle rolled through the group.

  Damon said, “That’s right, man. Because they’re freaking awesome. Whether they’re part of a sacred ceremony or a halftime show, there’s something elemental about them. Something intrinsic to the human experience. And you know why that is?”

  No laughter this time. We shook our heads.

  “Put a hand on your chest,” Damon said. “Press it against your ribs. Feel what I feel?”

  Under my palm, my heart beat strong and steady.

  “You’ve got your very own drum inside you,” Damon said, “and like calls to like. When you play, you’re not just telling the drums what to do. They’re talking back.”

  He let that sit with us a moment. A few kids rolled their eyes and nudged each other, and even I had to admit it sounded pretty cheesy. On the other hand, hadn’t I felt just that way—that the drums weren’t only an extension of my hands and feet, but also of my Self?

  Damon broke the silence. “All right, enough of my New Age crap. Let’s check out this crazy-cool stuff.” He reached for the nearest drum and started telling us about it.

  For the next hour, Damon introduced new instruments, demonstrated how to play them, and passed them around the circle so we could all try. They came from all over the world. The whole thing reminded me of Ms. Estrada’s petting zoo, except the percussion instruments weren’t hiding in the corner. They were center stage. They were everything.

  I thought about what Damon said, that drums were the oldest instrument in the world, after the human voice. There’s a stereotype that drummers are stupid and aggressive—like cavemen banging on rocks with their clubs. It’s not true, obviously, not if you’re any good. But what if cavemen were percussionists, in their own way? And what if it didn’t mean they were stupid? What if they knew something amazing: what happens when you put your heart outside your body, where everyone can hear it?