by TL Travis
“I’ll go apologize,” I rose, but when I turned around, they’d disappeared into the crowds.
As I sat back down, the talk turned to the bands we’d seen so far and before we knew it, the sun was setting, and Marilyn Manson was being announced.
When we stood to run off toward the lawn area, Uncle John said, “Meet us back here when it’s over, guys.”
We waved back to them, letting them know we’d heard what they said before merging into the crowd heading toward the stage area. We wove our way through to try and get to the front of the lawn area. Ricky and I were about the same height, tall for our ages, but still nowhere near as tall as the adults surrounding us. After pushing our way to the front, we found ourselves lost inside a cloud of smoke.
“Dude,” Ricky whispered to me, “I think that’s pot.”
All of this was new to us, but we had a couple of kids in our eighth-grade class that got suspended for smoking it on campus. While we knew what it was, we’d never really been exposed to it firsthand. But it didn’t take long before someone passed a joint our way. We politely declined, and they didn’t ask us again.
As soon as Marilyn Manson hit the stage, our hands flew in the air, proudly turning our digits into horns and waving them wildly while screaming at the top of our lungs. By the time they played their final encore of The Beautiful People, I was wiped out. But there was no way I was missing my favorite band…Korn… Not on your life. To this day I’ve seen them perform live seven times.
We rushed to the bathroom, grabbed a bottle of water and did our best to get back to the front of the lawn area before they took the stage. This was it, I was finally seeing the main band I came to see. My heart was racing, I was tired, practically voiceless and yet didn’t give a shit. Korn was coming up and I was determined to sing along with the lyrics to every song they played. This was what I lived for, music.
When Fieldy’s bass pumped out those first few chords of Blind, I got my second wind. Ricky and I looked at each other, screamed as loud as we could and then broke out with our air guitars and headbanged until we thought we’d vomit. This was un-fucking-believable. I was finally seeing Korn with my best friend and nothing else in the world mattered right now.
“Look at all you crazy mother fuckers out here tonight!” Jonathan Davis, Korn’s lead singer and front man screamed into his microphone.
He has the coolest fucking mic stand I’d ever seen. It was a naked lady with a head that looked like something out of the Alien movies. He was my idol, I wanted to be him so badly that it wasn’t even funny. We screamed along with the crowd, waving our horns in the air while impatiently awaiting his next words to the crowd.
“I hear some of you fuckers even camped out in the parking lot last night. In-fucking-sane. But we appreciate your enthusiasm and hope you enjoy the show,” he continued as the screams increased in volume. The chick behind us was up on her boyfriend’s shoulders flashing her tits as though Jonathan himself would be able to see them. Ricky and I laughed having just seen our first set of boobs.
“Alright, this next song is about our favorite pastime – sex,” he growled into the mic.
We screamed louder, knowing what song it was by that one, single word.
“I want all you mother fuckers to sing the chorus along with me.”
As he finished that last word, the band broke into A.D.I.D.A.S. Our screams went unheard, blending in with the rest of the crowd, but we didn’t care. We heard them and that was all that mattered. But when he came out shortly thereafter playing the bagpipes and wearing his kilt, the crowd went freaking nuts. I’d heard he did this, but to see it firsthand was beyond stellar. The man was a musically gifted genius.
As soon as they finished with their second and final encore of Somebody, Someone, we walked off to meet Brett and Uncle John. Our ears were buzzing, our bodies were beat, but our minds refused to shut down. We talked non-stop on the ride home, which due to the number of fans at the concert took us the better part of three hours to make. This night, would be forever ingrained in our memories. This night was the night that set our future aspirations in motion.
Chapter
Four
The following night, we were sitting at the dinner table at Ricky’s house talking to his mom about the concert. Well more, animatedly and loudly sharing while she laughed at our excited antics. At one point, we both started playing imaginary air guitars and rambling on about learning to play for real.
“If you boys want, I could ask Brett if he’d be interested in teaching you how to play. I know he gives lessons on the side,” she told us, as though it were nothing.
We dropped our forks shouting, “YES!” scaring the crap out of her.
“Okay, okay,” she raised her hands defensively in front of her, “I’ll call him tonight and see what he says.”
“We’ll do the dishes, so you can call him now,” Ricky told her.
We jumped up and started clearing away the dinner mess. Mary walked away, cracking up while we got busy loading the dishwasher.
“Guitar lessons would be sweet,” I said, rinsing off a plate and handing it to him.
“It’s like a dream of mine. After watching Munky play last night, I knew what I wanted to do. Could you just see it?” Ricky said, strumming the plate like it was a guitar.
“Yeah, what would be really cool would be to have our own band someday,” I said, staring off, picturing it in my head.
“Dude,” he gripped my shoulder, shaking me from my trance, “you had me at band. Say no more, we will do it.”
We finished washing up and ran into the living room. Mary was still on the phone, smiling and she looked so happy. When she spotted us, she told Brett she’d call him back later that the brigade had just arrived.
Ricky was bouncing on his heels beside me, I stood there with my hands buried in my front pockets to try and contain my nervous energy.
“Well, what did he say?” Ricky spit out as though it were one word.
“How is Thursday after he gets off work for your first lesson?” she tossed out.
Ricky ran across the room, tackling her on the couch. “Thanks, Mom,” he yelled, hugging her before running back to me.
“Um, we don’t have any guitars,” I regretfully reminded him.
“Don’t worry, Joey, he has enough for an army and said he’ll bring a couple with him for you guys to learn on,” Mary shared.
“Yes!” we shouted, hi-fiving each other.
“Okay dude, I’m gonna go home and tell my dad. This is so sweet,” I said. “In case I haven’t said it before, thank you, Mary. For everything.” Suddenly I’d become bashful.
Her eyes glassed over, and she grinned. “You’re more than welcome, Joey. You know I think of you as my son too.”
I nodded, swallowing back the lump that had formed in my throat and headed for the door before I made a fool of myself by crying in front of them. Ricky and his mom meant a lot to me, they helped me through so much crap. First with my mom leaving and then with my dad’s shit. Luckily, my dad came around and we have a pretty good relationship now. One I think I owe Mary for.
After running to my house, and barreling through the front door I started yelling, “Dad. Dad?”
He came hauling ass around the corner. “What’s wrong, Joey?”
I was desperately seeking much needed air into my lungs, which freaked him out and he ran to my side putting his hand on my arm. “Are you okay? What happened?”
I held up a finger to stop him and once I was able to speak, I spurted out, “Guess what?”
“What?” He backed up, eyeing me from head to toe. Probably looking for blood or some sort of bodily trauma.
“Brett’s gonna give us guitar lessons!” I shouted, striking my fist in the air.
“Jesus son, you scared the shit out of me. I thought you were hurt.” He took a deep calming breath. “That sounds great, but maybe next time take it down a notch – or two before you give the old man a heart attack. Okay?
”
I laughed. “Sorry Dad, I was a little excited.”
“A little? That was a lot. How much is he charging you for these lessons? We’ll probably need to work something out with him to pay for them.”
I could already see his thinking cap was on, needing to figure out the financial situation in order to make it work.
“Um, I’m not sure. But I’ll do it, Dad. I don’t care if I have to mow lawns or rake all the neighbor’s leaves. I’ll pay for it,” I assured him.
“Ha-ha, well if you’re going into the landscaping business you’ve got my vote. You and Ricky have been doing a great job with our yards. But how are you gonna learn with no guitar?” he questioned.
“Mary said he has a bunch of them so he’s bringing a couple to her house for us to use. Our first lesson is on Thursday after he gets off work. But I’ll probably start saving for one of my own right away,” I told him.
“Good idea. Well, congrats then. You seem pretty excited, but keep in mind, you’re starting high school and your classes are going to be harder and you’ll need to keep your grades up,” he warned, using his dad tone.
“I promise, Dad, I will. Um, I’m gonna go shower and go to bed. Night,” I said, heading for the stairs.
“Night, Joey.”
Thursday couldn’t come soon enough. Ricky and I spent every day that week listening to music and making a list of the songs we wanted Brett to teach us how to play. That afternoon we literally sat out on the front porch waiting for him to drive up. When he finally pulled into the driveway, we raced over to his car.
“You guys seem a little excited, is everything okay? I can go back home if you need me to leave,” he teased, pretending he was getting back into his truck.
“No!” we hollered at the same time.
He was laughing so hard, he could barely get the back door of his truck open. We ran around to where he was, wanting to help him unload the guitars and carry them inside.
We each walked in the house, carrying a guitar case feeling far cooler than we probably looked. Mary held the door open for us and I caught her giving Brett a kiss.
“Where do you want us to set up?” Brett asked her.
“You guys can have the living room. I’ll go in the kitchen and get dinner started. Any chance you’ll stay and eat with us?” she offered, shutting the door behind him.
He smiled. “I’d love to.”
We sat on the couch, while Brett took a seat on the coffee table facing us. Intently we watched him first unpack his guitar before mimicking him with the ones he’d loaned us. He handed us each a pick, and then placed the guitar across his lap. Once again, we followed his lead.
“Okay guys, the first couple of lessons are going to be boring to you. I know you want to get up and start diving into your favorite songs, but unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. Your fingers are going to be sore until calluses form, but if you’re serious about playing you need to push through the pain.”
We nodded.
He continued, “These are six-string acoustic guitars meaning they don’t need to be hooked up to an amplifier to be heard when you play them. I see by the way you set them on your lap, that you’re both right handed which is a good thing, since these are both right handed guitars. I forgot to ask ahead of time which hand you were.”
He pointed out the components of the guitar to us one by one: body, bridge, neck, tuners, head, fretboards, fret dots and what the job of each piece was.
“Now, take your pick and follow along the strings with me from top to bottom. E, A, D, G, B, and E. Take the pick and lay it on the lower E string and press it down until it gives.” We did as he told us, then grinned at each other having just strummed our first chord. “Good. Next, take the fingers of your left hand and curve them like so,” he showed us how to place our fingers on the neck, “and place them directly behind the fret you’re playing.”
“Alright, now let’s pick each string in conjunction with the fret above just to get a feel for using both hands at the same time.”
It sounded horrible, but he had us repeat it multiple times.
“Trust me, no one sounds like Jimi Hendrix their first time around. Hell, not even on their hundredth time. I brought some videos for you guys to watch and learn from when I’m not here to work with you.”
“Boys, dinner’s ready,” Mary called from the kitchen.
“Same time next week work for you guys?” Brett asked while packing up his gear.
“Um, how are we going to pay you for these lessons?” I asked, “Also, we don’t have our own guitars to practice on until then.”
“Don’t worry about that, you can use these until you get your own. And you’re Mary’s kids, so I won’t be charging you. Plus, she feeds me while I’m here.” He grinned.
Mary’s kids… Technically I wasn’t, but it was nice to hear just the same.
We thanked him while carefully placing our guitars back in the cases and followed him to the kitchen.
“How’d the lessons go, boys?” Mary asked, passing around the basket of garlic bread.
“Pretty good,” Ricky answered reaching for the salad.
I bent my head in agreement, having already filled my mouth full of spaghetti.
“Brett gave us videos to watch and said we can use his guitars to practice on until we can get our own.” The animated way Ricky said that was too funny.
Brett smiled like a proud dad, but Mary seemed nervous.
“Are you sure about that, Brett? What if something happens to them?” she asked, clearly concerned about two thirteen year old boys being left with someone else’s stuff.
He took her hand in his. “It’s okay. I trust them and to be quite honest, those are both old. I haven’t used them in years.”
She nodded and smiled back.
Over the next couple of weeks, we practiced incessantly, memorizing the videos while Brett taught us how to properly tune and care for the guitars. We’d both started mowing lawns and doing yard work for some of the neighbors to save for our own. But by the end of our third week of lessons, Ricky was done with what he was calling “guitar chopsticks,” and was ready to learn a real song. Me, I was too busy bitching about my fingers hurting to care one way or the other. I mean, it was cool and all, but I was having more fun singing along with the radio while he played.
“Dude, can we please learn a song?” Ricky begged Brett.
“The fundamentals are important, or I wouldn’t be wasting my time teaching them to you. But you guys have done everything I’ve asked and you Ricky, can recite the damn videos word for word,” he teased.
“This is something I really want to do,” he told Brett. “For a living that is. Joey and I have been talking about starting a band.” Ricky looked over at me.
I shrugged in my normal Joey answering way and continued screwing around with the guitar string between my fingers.
“Okay. I give. We’ll start with some Deep Purple. The song is called Smoke on the Water. You guys familiar with it?” Brett asked, strumming a few random notes on his guitar.
“Yeah, we know it. Isn’t that the song everyone learns to play first?” I asked.
“Everyone I know did,” he stated, “It’s easy and it’s the same four chords. You good with that?” His question was directed at Ricky.
“I’m good with anything that isn’t playing the cords in order, repeatedly,” Ricky groaned.
And so it began as we learned to play our first song. We played until it was dinner time, after eating I went home and from what Ricky told me, he played until his mom yelled at him that it was time for bed. But that’s how he was, when he found something he was passionate about, he dove in head first and didn’t come out until he’d gotten it wrapped around his little finger. I knew without a doubt that Ricky would be famous someday.
The following week, we started our freshman year of high school. Ricky wanted us to join the school band, but I was reluctant. While I enjoyed playing the guitar, I found
I loved singing even more. But band sounded kinda cool and I liked hanging with him, so I went along with it and that was how we met Ethan and Mick.
Ricky and I had a couple of classes together first semester, including lunch since lunch hours were determined by the first letter of your last name. A-L had first hour lunch, and M-Z had second which was where Ethan and Mick ended up. But somehow the four of us wound up in the same Algebra class and of course, we had band together. By the end of week three of the school year, the four of us found ourselves hanging out in Ricky’s garage playing our respective instruments most days after school.
On the Saturday before Christmas, Mary popped in on us out in the garage. Ricky was playing his guitar, I had my headphones on and was singing along loudly to Metallica’s Enter Sandman which was blaring in my ear so I couldn’t hear myself let alone hear her come in the room.
When I looked up, Mary was standing there staring at me and Ricky was grinning. Embarrassed, I removed my headphones, “Sorry guys, was I too loud?”
“No, and you weren’t too bad either. It was just funny to hear you sing with no music playing,” she told me.
“What’s up, Mom?” Ricky asked, setting his guitar aside.
“I need you guys to hang out next door tonight. I’m going to Brett’s employee Christmas party with him and I don’t know what time I’ll be home. I already talked to Joe and he said you guys could stay there.”
“Mom, we’re not babies. We’re thirteen now,” Ricky protested.
“Yes, but if you remember the infamous Stoli incident you’ll understand why I’m reluctant to leave you home at night by yourselves,” she reminded us.
“Ha, that was during the day,” he retaliated.
“Dude, that is so not helping to win our case,” I warned him, but hearing that mentioned again made me smile. Right then I’d decided to start calling Ricky – Stoli from here on out.
“Mom, I swear nothing like that will happen again. Please?” he begged.
“Ugh, let me talk to Joe.” She turned and walked out, I’m guessing to go and talk to my dad.