Daron's Guitar Chronicles: Volume One

by Cecilia Tan

  "How about here?" I stopped in front of a place with psychedelic murals on the walls. A sign read "Tonite, 18+" so I knew the door wouldn’t be a hassle. We showed our IDs and they fastened a plastic bracelet around Carynne’s wrist. They stamped the back of my hand with a smudge of ink. "I guess this means you’re buying," I said, once we had cleared the entryway.

  I don’t really remember what bands we saw. I mostly remember circulating from one bar to another inside the club so we wouldn’t seem like total lushes, posing ourselves under black lights as we watched the crowd go by, and nodding and smiling at each other a lot in the din. By midnight I thought I should have been good and buzzed, but mostly I just felt edgy and nervous.

  Carynne was trying to say something to me.

  "What?"

  She put her mouth against my ear. "Hungry! Want to get some pizza?"

  "Not really," I said, but she acted like she didn’t hear me and started for the door. I held my ground. She turned back. I saw her mouth You-Promised. I followed her.

  We went back to one of the pizzerias near the subway stop and had slices. We sat in a formica booth next to the window. "I think I could live here," I said, watching people coming out of the pub next door.

  "Are you going to move here when you finish school?"

  I shrugged. "It seems better than New York, and there’s lots of clubs. Maybe I will."

  She chewed on the ice from her soda and watched me watching the people. "Well, if your band ever needs a road manager, give me a call."

  The neon sign made crazy stripes in her shiny red hair. "I’ll do that," I said, surprised by my own sincerity. I did like her, I realized, I just didn’t want to sleep with her. "Thanks, by the way, for trying to cheer me up the other day." I liked her smile. "I’m really sorry about... losing you in New York."

  She smiled. "That’s okay." She offered me some ice, I shook my head. "But you have been acting really weird the past couple of days."

  I shook my head. "Wait, how do you know what’s weird and what’s normal for me? I mean, I might be like this all the time for all you know."

  She chewed on that for a minute. "So, what’s your point?"

  "My point is..." I didn’t know what my point was. "Just, how do you know what’s weird."

  "So you’re saying weird is normal for you."

  "Yeah. No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying suppose that were true." I stood up, feeling irked but still smiling. "Look, this is dumb, we’d better try and get the train." I walked out of the restaurant without looking to see if she followed.

  She did. She was saying, "I think we’ve missed the last one already."

  She was right. When we got down to the turnstiles the gates had already been closed. We went back up to the street and looked around. "We could get a taxi," I said.

  "Nah," she pointed at the skyline. "Boston’s not that big. We only rode three or four stops on the green line."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah." She started up the street. "If we get tired, then we can always call a cab. But really, it’s not that far."

  "How do you know?" I followed her.

  She smiled and wiggled her head at me. "I go to B.U."

  "You’re kidding." I knew she went to school but I hadn’t thought about where. "I thought you were from L.A."

  "I am." Her step got a little more smug and we walked in silence for a while, but only for a while.

  "So, why have you been acting so weird?" she asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I dunno, just, you seem real quiet."

  "Haven’t I always been kinda quiet?"

  "Yeah, but... well, how about you tell me why you ditched me in New York."

  I walked a little faster. "I don’t know. I just couldn’t deal."

  "With what? Me? Or yourself?" She was looking more at me than at where we were going. I hoped we were going the right way.

  "When did you become my analyst?"

  "I just want to know, that’s all. Naturally curious."

  "Nosy, you mean."

  The banter dropped out of her tone, her face serious. "Look, you’re the one who disappeared in the middle of the fuckin’ murder capital of the East Coast." Her cheeks got red and I looked away from her face.

  "I said I was sorry."

  She gave an angry snort, and then went on more calm. "What did you do while you were missing?"

  I had forgotten she was Ms. Persistence. "I wandered around a lot. I went to a dance club in Alphabet City. I came home and wrote a song. I went to sleep. Story of my life, you know." Something clicked—all of a sudden I had the lyrics to the song, or most of them, anyway. I started humming to myself. Story of my life, you know.

  "Is that the song?"

  "Yeah."

  "What’s it about?"

  I smiled. "Well, now it’s about wandering around, going home lonely, and writing a song." I could hear it as Janis Joplin would have sung it. "Sort of."

  She listened to me hum for a minute before she said in a small voice, "Will you sing me some of it?"

  I almost took a wrong step. "I don’t sing."

  "Sure you do. If you can hum and you can write lyrics you can sing."

  "Well, maybe I can. But I just, don’t." Not in front of other people, anyway.

  "You mean you won’t," she said, looking at the sidewalk under her feet.

  "No." It was my turn to insist. "There are some things that I just don’t do."

  She nodded to herself and we were both quiet again for several blocks. Eventually my paranoia crept up. "Are we getting close, yet?"

  "What? Oh yeah, another couple blocks." She looked at me like she had forgotten I was walking with her. We came around the corner and I saw the hotel.

  "Daron," she said, slowing her pace without warning, "can I ask you something?"

  "Yeah, what?"

  "Are you going to sleep with me tonight? Or are you going to blow me off again?" My tongue froze up. She waited a few moments before going on. "I figured I should ask you now before we’re whispering in some hallway about it."

  "I," I began, but couldn’t think of what to say after that. The aftereffects of all the drinking seemed to hit me in a rush.

  "Normally I wouldn’t just come out and say something like this," she went on, "but after New York I think the direct approach is best." She stopped walking, then, and held me by the arm. "So, do we fuck or not? I figure if you’re going to get all freaked out I may as well have some warning."

  "Carynne." It was hard to look at her, hard to start a sentence. "I wish," No that wasn’t it. I tried another. "I mean, there are some things..." I faltered again.

  "... that you just don’t do," she finished for me. She hooked an arm in mine and started us for the hotel doors again. "It’s okay, Daron," she said as we crossed the street. "I understand."

  I wasn’t sure that she did. But I wasn’t sure that she didn’t either. And I wasn’t sure which possibility worried me more.

  All The Young Dudes

  In the morning I got through to Bart and asked him if he wanted to see a show at the Orpheum.

  "Why, whose playing?"

  "Duh, I am."

  He showed up at the hotel the morning of the show. He’d cut his hair again, so short in places that it almost looked straight. My own head had a full year’s worth of uncut growth on it. In the back it spilled over my shoulder and now it was long enough that sometimes it got in my mouth. I knew as soon as Bart got away from his parents he’d let it go and soon have the mop of black curls I was used to, but I still gave him no end of shit about it.

  Martin took a liking to him right away. We chased down Remo and Waldo and got him a laminated pass, and then everyone got in the bus for the short trip to the concert hall.

  The Orpheum was in an unlikely seeming place in Boston, sandwiched between a shopping mall and a beauty school. It was an old building that modern downtown had sprung up around. It was a bitch to find, its marquee all the way
at the end of the alley formed by two modern buildings. We entered through another alley so narrow the tour bus had to pull up two blocks away.

  As we went into the auditorium, Bart went and sat in the front row of seats. "Come here."

  I sat next to him. "Why?"

  "Because it’s probably one of the only chances we’ll ever get to sit here. Unless we win some radio station contest." He cracked a too-sober grin. "Remember this."

  "You’re weird." I stood and motioned for him to follow. "Let’s see what backstage is like."

  This was more like a theater than any other hall we’d played in that tour, with curtains separating the wings from the stage. We passed Waldo growling at one of the in-house technicians. "Why isn’t this stuff set up already? This equipment has been here for days."

  "Look," the guy said. "Squeeze didn’t get their shit out of here until this morning. We couldn’t move until they did." When Waldo started to sputter the guy went on. "Talk to the union if you have a problem."

  We nosed around the backstage rooms for a while, until enough stuff was unpacked that I could start lending a hand. Once that was done, we lounged around backstage. Bart and Alex were talking about bass playing when Carynne came in and sat down next to me. "Hi," I said.

  "What’s going on?" She settled back in the couch.

  "The usual nothing." I drummed my fingers on my knees. Remo’s Ovation was sitting in the case next to us. "Do you want to hear the song, that song I was, I mean..."

  "You’ll sing it?"

  "No, but I’ll play it." I was already reaching for the guitar. I plucked at the strings—it was well enough in tune. I strummed through the first verse and then went into the chorus. She started humming then and I had a crazy idea. "Carynne, would you sing it?"

  "Me?"

  "Yeah, I keep imagining this Janis-Joplin-type voice doing it."

  She gave me a crooked smirk. "Yeah, so? I don’t know the words."

  I took a piece of staff paper and a pencil out of the case and started writing. "There are a couple of places I haven’t filled in yet." I sketched out the words and the tune on the lines.

  "Great." She eyed Alex and Bart who had quit their conversation to watch us. "I don’t read music."

  "Here," I showed her the paper. "The opening melody goes like this." I picked it out on the top string and she hummed it. "Yeah. That’s it." I went back and started the chords again, nodding my head when she should come in.

  "People, keep walking in time..." She began, then faltered. "I can’t keep the melody in my head and listen to you play at the same time."

  Bart sat up. "I’ll hum the melody, you keep the words going. Daron?" He indicated I should start again.

  "People, keep walking in time, walking in line, walking right into my life."

  Alex began patting out a rhythm on his thigh.

  "Again," I said between strums, "Keep it going, back to the first verse." The second time through was stronger. "Now the chorus, 3, 2, 1," I came in with a soft harmony, "Story of my life..."

  Carynne giggled but I kept playing. "You lied," she said, "You do sing."

  I didn’t let the rhythm break. "Let’s do the second verse."

  She was nodding her head in time. Alex pulled out another guitar and plucked out a bass part on it and Bart started tapping his fingers. Carynne came right in with it. "Sister, don’t you know it’s true, you got the groove..."

  When we came around to the chorus, we all sang. We went around again, Carynne started on the third verse, "Brother, give me a sign, I got the time..." She was putting a little raunchy punch into her voice, now, and it sounded great. We went through the chorus again, and again. And back to the verses.

  She started on the fourth and final one. "Father, don’t say it’s true..." She squinted at the paper. "You didn’t finish this one."

  "Yeah, I know." My rhythm broke, then and I had to start over. "What do you want," I said. "I got distracted."

  She smiled a private smile at me. "This is cool."

  Bart laid his hands on the strings to quiet them. "Yeah, I didn’t even know you wrote lyrics."

  "Sometimes." I felt all their eyes on me at once, then. "Maybe I’ll finish it."

  Remo spoke from behind me. "If you don’t, I will. I’m going to have that damn tune stuck in my head for weeks, now." He came around and sat down in the half circle of couches. "I just came down to make sure you were taking good care of that thing. And to tell you all it’s twenty minutes to places."

  Carynne took Bart by the hand and led him toward the auditorium, leaving me alone.

  No Time Left For You

  After the show, Bart’s face had the glow I’d hoped to see.

  "What did you think?" I asked as we headed back to the hotel suite where the party was beginning.

  He thought for a second and then said "I think I was right about you all along."

  I didn’t ask what he meant by that.

  Remo was struggling with a champagne bottle when we came in. It blew with a loud pop, the foam spilling into plastic cups held by people around him. He licked the side of the bottle. "Good job folks!" A cheer went up. I got a cup for me and one for Bart and the bubbles made me sneeze.

  Alex Mazel came and shook my hand. "I think Remo has something for you," he said.

  "Yeah, a paycheck," I laughed. But then Remo came up behind me, his hand heavy on my shoulder.

  "I thought you could use this." He was holding the Ovation’s case in the other hand.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean I’m giving you this. Here." He handed it to me.

  "No shit?" I wondered if it was possible to sound grateful enough. "Oh my god. Thank you." Oh man, sincere thanks always sound false to me. "Are you sure? I mean, can I, like...?"

  "I got another one at home." He shrugged like it was nothing. "This’ll keep your Yamaha from getting beat up."

  At some point I noticed Carynne and Bart were missing. I don’t know if anyone else did, and I didn’t care. I let myself float in a champagne haze, thinking, tomorrow I’ll be on my way back to Providence, the City With No Nickname. I’d go on the train. I’d go to the bursar’s office in person and pay off my bill. Then I’d spend the afternoon with Roger, my roommate, and maybe teach him the new song. Or maybe not. It was hard to picture him and his honeyed drone singing it. Well whatever.

  The phone next to me rang. Remo waved his hand at it. "Who is it?"

  "I’ll get it." I picked it up. We both sounded kind of slurred. "Hello, Nomad Central, can I take your order?"

  "Hey, yeah, Remo there?" The voice was nasal and familiar.

  I thrust the receiver at Remo, panicky, not wanting my voice to give me away.

  "Who is it?" he repeated as he staggered toward me. "Daron, what’s wrong?"

  I put my finger up to my lips too late. Remo grabbed the receiver. "Yeah, this is Remo. What the hell ya want?" He sat down hard, mimed hitting himself in the forehead as he looked at me. "Where are you now? Chicago? That’s great."

  The liquor in my stomach was turning sour.

  "Yeah, he’s right here. He brought a friend up to see the show." Well, that was true. "Me? I’m heading back to LA tomorrow." He listened a few more moments. "Yeah, here. Hang on." He shrugged apologeticially at me and handed me the phone.

  I put it up to my ear. "Hey."

  The connection was good—he sounded like he was in the next room over. Which for a second I worried he was. "Daron! How you doing, kiddo? I thought I’d catch up with you and see if you’re alright."

  "Yeah, everything’s fine, Digger." Here I was, reading another line out of a script. "Classes start again in two weeks, I’m doing good. I’ve been playing some gigs and working part time in a recording studio. Uh, how about you?"

  "Don’t you worry about me," he said. "I’m working for a promoter, can you believe that? Hey listen, what’s your number? I’ll probably be taking some business trips out that way."

  "Really?" I let my panic sound li
ke enthusiasm. Now I had a choice. Give him the number or tell him a bold-faced lie. "When?"

  "I dunno. Maybe in a couple of months. All depends." He didn’t say on what. "I’ve got a pen and paper right here."

  I rattled off the number. Well, Roger and I were planning to move on September 1. When our lease was up, we’d probably get a new phone, in his name. Or maybe he’d never call. Maybe this was all an act, too, of fatherly concern, something society expected that Digger would never follow through on. I still didn’t like it.

  "Well," he said. "I’m on a pay phone. I gotta run."

  "Yeah," I couldn’t bring myself to say thanks for calling. "Bye." I hung up without listening to hear if he had anything else to add. I let my head fall back on the couch, my hands fall to my sides, like some puppet whose strings have been cut. "Oh, man."

  Remo yawned. "I told you you can’t hide from him forever."

  "Thanks for the advice."

  "Now, get out of here and get some sleep. We’ve gotta check out by eleven." He looked about ready to sleep right where he was. I stumbled back to my own room. Martin was nowhere to be found. Bart was snoring in my bed.

  Suddenly, Last Summer

  Bart had to be on the Vineyard early the next day for some family get-together so I took Amtrak back to Providence. From the train I could see a lot of the green nothing between cities, ragged thunderclouds trailing gray rain in the sunny July sky. When I arrived the pavement was wet but the sky was clearing. I discovered I couldn’t really carry two guitars and the heavy duffel and my backpack without being horribly lopsided or giving myself a wicked hand cramp. So I caught a cab.