by H. L. Logan
“You tired?” I whispered to her.
She shook her head. “Are you?”
“Not one bit,” I said.
“Go again?”
“Go again,” I agreed.
That night, I learned just how much stamina drummers had.
Kendra continued to do her performances down at the Riverwalk, often spending the entire day there playing. Kaitlyn and Brianne joined her whenever they were free, and I would walk over whenever I needed to give my brain a break from work. In the evenings, Kaitlyn and Brianne would come over to the condo to practice for their upcoming show, sometimes with their girlfriends Emily and Margie in tow. The other girlfriends and I would drink wine, watch them practice, and then cook dinner, after which we’d all go to the garden terrace on the rooftop of the building and eat. There was a fire pit up there, and we’d lounge around together chatting about our lives. Occasionally, we invited Kaitlyn and Brianne’s group of friends to come over for dinner and drinks, and we’d all sit on the rooftop while the three musicians played for us.
Progress on my work was going better than I could’ve imagined. I was still in the planning phases, drawing out detailed charts and maps of how I wanted the system to run, but I was happy with the ideas I was coming up with. I also decided that if I was going to take this project all the way to greatness, I needed people to help me. I hired a user interface designer to help me with the visual aspects, and an assistant software engineer to bounce ideas off of for the code. I also gave Denise Hoover a call to ask if she would be available as a marketing and business consultant, and she agreed to come work on her off hours.
In the last few days leading up to the show, Kendra skipped going to the Riverwalk to stay at home and practice. I continued to work, using noise-canceling headphones so I could focus, and sometimes sat and listened to her while taking a break. Kendra was practicing her fundamentals, or rudiments, which I’d never seen her do before. The rudiments were a series of forty basic drumming patterns which formed the foundation for all the more complex stuff. All the playing I’d heard before had been loose and free, and her demeanor had matched that, but with these drills she became tensely focused. Her eyes never closed like they usually did when she got into the groove. I could see her grinding her teeth, her forehead dotted with sweat.
“Everything going alright?” I asked her, two days before the show. I set my headphones on top of a stack of prints of user interface mockups and went to the kitchen to pour the both of us glasses of water. Kendra sat at her drum set, looking weary and tired.
“It’s not perfect,” she said.
“What’s not?”
“Oh, nothing.” She sighed and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m just struggling with the higher BPMs. I keep screwing up, not getting the tempo right. Dr. Adler always used to get on my case about it. I guess I’ll always have this issue.”
“Come on. You know that’s not true. Besides, you sound fucking amazing when you play your performances. Isn’t that what matters?”
“I shouldn’t be screwing up like this in the first place. I should be nailing it every time. I don’t know why I can’t.”
I handed Kendra the glass of water. “You’re thinking about him, I bet. Your old mentor.”
“I can’t help it. I bet every student her thoughts about what criticisms their teacher would say to them when they’re playing. It’s always in the back of the mind.”
“He’s not your teacher anymore. You don’t need to worry about what he’d think. Everything you do is from your own ability as a musician. I used to think about what my teachers would say too, and I had quite a few who I really respected. But after a while I realized, what good was that doing me? I was at a point where I knew my own skills. I knew what I was capable of, and knew my ideas were valid. I stopped making decisions based on what my teachers would’ve wanted me to do, and just did what I thought was right. And you know what happened? My teachers stopped being mentors and started being colleagues. They came to me for business advice.”
Kendra nodded. “I don't know. I’m trying.”
She was being held back by this specter of her old mentor. I could tell that she’d heard what I said, but she didn’t really, truly understand what I’d meant. She didn’t how to apply it to her own situation. She was trapped in that student mindset, and it was holding her back from rising to the next level in her abilities.
How could I help her understand? I was at a loss—after all, I wasn’t a musician. I could only relate my own experiences.
Maybe Kaitlyn and Brianne might know what to do. They were both extremely talented and skilled, as much as Kendra was, and surely had been through their own struggles in music. Plus, Brianne was a Beasley music student too. I knew I needed to speak to them.
That evening, the two of them came over for their usual practice time. It was obvious that Kendra was stressing out about the performance. Where their playing had been fairly effortless during all their other practices, today she would constantly stop mid-song, apologize, and ask if they could take it from the top. I was concerned that she would have troubles during the actual show, and I could see that Kaitlyn and Brianne were worried too.
After they finished, I walked the two of them to their cars while Kendra continued to practice.
“Everything okay with Kendra?” Brianne asked. “She’s been having a little trouble playing.”
“Actually,” I said. “I was hoping to speak with you two about that.”
“What’s up?” asked Kaitlyn.
“Kendra is still struggling to deal with the feeling of incompetence she’s had since her falling out with her old mentor, and having to drop out of school.”
“Ahh,” they both said in unison, nodding.
“She feels like she’ll never be able to play well enough. I want her to understand that she isn’t limited by what other people think about her playing, even if it is someone she respects, but she’s trapped in that mindset. I want to help her, but I don’t know what to do.”
“That’s tough,” Kaitlyn said. “I think it’s something every artist goes through. Maybe every creative person. Even the most confident is insecure about their work.”
“Yeah,” Brianne said. “I completely get it. It’s pretty common to see in school.”
“I’m worried that she won’t be able to perform,” I said. “That she’ll freeze up and have an anxiety attack, or something.”
“She played with us before,” Brianne said.
“I think that was different,” I replied. “The circumstances of that night were just right for her to get behind a drum set again. It was spontaneous.”
“No,” Kaitlyn said. “I’m not worried about her.”
“You aren’t?” I asked.
She shook her head. “I’m certain that she’ll pull through. Being up on stage, in front of the audience, it’s a different energy. The pressure will push her, and the response from the crowd will feed her. I am worried, though, that she could eventually break down if she’s unable to overcome this block.”
“It’s a fragile place to be,” said Brianne.
“What can I do?” I asked. “What can we do?”
“We can’t do anything. I don’t think there’s anything we can say to her that hasn’t already been said.”
“Yeah,” Kaitlyn agreed. “But there is someone who can do something for her.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Her old professor,” said Brianne. “I think if Kendra can get everything off her chest, she’ll have some closure. It doesn’t matter if the professor doubles down on everything she said about her, or if she apologizes. Either way, I think it’ll help Kendra move on.”
Dr. Adler. I somehow needed to convince Kendra to talk to her again. But how?
Suddenly, I had an idea.
“Brianne,” I said. “I need your help.”
9
Kendra
I continued to practice all the way to the afternoon
of the show, before a van came to cart my drum set off to Shadetree. It was kind of ridiculous how much I’d practiced, considering how casual this performance was going to be. This wasn’t some prestigious collegiate competition or audition, this was just a fun show at an art gallery. I’d done shows with far more pressure in the past, but this was my first real planned show since I’d started playing again and I was afraid I’d somehow drop the ball.
Melany did her best to calm down my tense nerves—before we left she gave me a back massage and asked if wanted a quickie, but I was too nervous.
“Kendra,” she told me as we drove to the gallery. “I want you to do something for me tonight when you’re playing.”
“Hm?” I said, distractedly, trying not to freak out when I saw that we were nearly there.
“First off, take a few deep breaths. You look like you’re going to pass out. Second… I want you to imagine that you’re playing for Dr. Adler.”
“What?” I coughed. “Oh, god. That’ll just freak me out even more.”
“I want you to imagine that you’re playing to prove him wrong. Think about all you’ve accomplished since you left. Think about the performances you’ve played that have gotten people on their feet and moving. Think about the last show at Shadetree, and how it moved the owner to set up a special show just for you guys to perform. Play like you don’t need his approval.”
I took a deep breath. “I’ll do my best.”
During lessons, I’d always played my best to show Dr. Adler I was good enough, but that was different from playing just to show him how good I was. One came from a place of hesitance— from needing approval—the other came from confidence and knowing I was good. Of course Melany would think that way and suggest that—she had to be one of the most confident people I knew. But could I do that? Could I play from a place of confidence and pretend I was shoving my performance in Dr. Adler’s face?
We rolled past Shadetree, which was already bustling with guests, and turned into the parking lot next door. Kaitlyn texted me to tell me that she, Brianne, Emily, and Margie were already inside.
“I… I think I’m going to wait in the car for a little bit,” I told Melany. I was too nervous to go in and be around the crowd. “I’ll wait till before the set to go in.”
“Okay,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I’ll wait with you.”
I smiled appreciatively, and she gave me a kiss. “You’ll be fine. You’re going to kill it tonight, I know it.”
“Thanks, Melany,” I said.
I texted Kaitlyn back to let her know I was going to wait in the car for a while to try and calm my nerves, and a short time later there was a knock on the window. It was Kaitlyn and the others.
“Hey,” she said, holding out a glass of red wine. “We brought you some liquid courage.”
“I appreciate it,” I said, “but I’m going to do this without any drinking this time.”
“I’ll take it,” Melany said.
We got out of the car, and Melany chatted with the group while I lay out on the hood and looked at the sky, which had turned a deep shade of purple. I could hear the sound of a violin and cello duet drifting out from Shadetree over the excited chatter of the guests.
Play to prove him wrong, I thought. Channel the things he made you feel into the performance. Let it all out.
I’d zoned out completely when Melany touched me on the shoulder. I turned to look at her, and she leaned over the hood of the car and kissed me. “Time to go in,” she said. “You guys are up soon.”
I slid off the hood and took Melany’s hand. The group was still gathered in the parking lot chatting. Everyone looked so relaxed.
“You guys didn’t need to wait out here with me,” I said.
“It’s too noisy in there,” said Margie, Brianne’s girlfriend. “We snuck enough wine out to have our own party.”
“Yeah,” Kaitlyn agreed. “We have time to check it out after the set. I’m with you, anyway. Being in there will only make me nervous. I needed to calm down a bit.”
It made me feel better to know that I wasn’t the only one who was nervous.
The illustration work from the last show had been replaced with a mixture of fine art paintings, pottery, and photography, all done by local artists. We went to the outdoor area, and I could see my drum set sitting up on the stage, gleaming like a beacon in the lights. My heart pounded so heavily I felt like I could hear it over the sound of the crowd.
We went up on the stage, and I took my place behind my drums. I rubbed my palms on my shirt, but they seemed to immediately clam up again with more sweat. No problem. You aren’t going to screw up.
I picked up my sticks and tested out each of my drums as Kaitlyn greeted and addressed the crowd. Just like last time, people seemed to be only half interested, and most of the guests were chatting amongst themselves, enjoying the free alcohol. It was to be expected; we weren’t famous or anything, after all.
You can do this. Play with everything you’ve got. Play to prove him wrong.
I had come a long way since my life took a downturn. I’d not only found my way back to the drums, but rediscovered them in a new way. I’d also fallen in love again. Despite my fears and everything that I’d convinced myself about relationships, I’d managed to fall for Melany. I was so glad that I’d taken a chance on trusting her. I believed that she and I were meant for each other. The fact that we both felt so strongly about each other, and had both affected each other’s life so much in such a short amount of time was proof enough to me that it was true.
Fuck it.
If I was going to play to prove someone wrong, I’d do it to prove them all wrong. Max, my dad, Dr. Adler, hell, even Herschel and Brandon Miyaguchi. I’d raise one big middle finger to them all with the best performance of my life.
Kaitlyn turned back and made eye contact with me and Brianne. Brianne nodded and looked at me. I nodded to the both of them.
Here we go.
I inhaled, clacked my sticks in the air, and then let it all explode.
As soon as I made contact with the drum pads, any anxiety and nervousness I’d had vanished into thin air and was replaced with the single thought—prove them all wrong.
We opened with a cover of David Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust,” and our playing tore through the gallery, turning heads and vibrating the walls so hard that I saw a framed photograph fall from the wall and shatter on the floor. The crowd started to fill out as people made their way out from the gallery. People were moving to the music, nodding their heads and tapping their feet, and when Kaitlyn and Brianne broke into a badass alternating guitar and violin solo, the audience broke out into cheers and whistles.
When we started our second song—an improvised salsa style tune—the outdoor area had mostly filled up to its capacity.
The three of us had had plenty of jam sessions over the past two weeks, but none of them had been like this. With the electric energy of the crowd backing us, we reached a whole new level of synchronicity. We could only communicate with our eyes and the movements of our bodies, giving each other cues to how to change the song, but we did it so seamlessly that anyone watching wouldn’t have believed it was all on the fly.
Sweat poured down my face, and on a break when Brianne took over the song with her violin, I tugged my shirt off down to the tank top I wore underneath. I was flying. I’d never felt such energy while playing before.
Show them how far you’ve come.
And that’s when I spotted him in the crowd.
I nearly dropped my sticks in surprise, thinking that I was seeing things, but I managed to keep it together without even missing a beat. I looked hard, and realized I hadn’t been mistaken. It was him.
Dr. Adler was there, watching the show.
I felt the swell of anxiety rise up in me—but I quickly pushed it down. Show him.
I was in the zone, and nothing was going to take me out of it. Not even him.
Kaitlyn took over the song next, doing a
fingerstyle solo on her guitar, and then nodded over to me. I let it all out in the wildest drum solo I’d ever done.
Throughout the rest of the set, I forgot that Dr. Adler was even there. My drumming consumed me, and I was focused on listening to the music and watching Kaitlyn and Brianne for cues.
I played my fucking heart out.
It may have just been a random show, but to me, it was the best I’d played in my entire drumming career.
The crowd cheered as we waved and walked off the stage, and we were immediately rushed by admirers wanting to talk to us. Kaitlyn and Brianne started to chit-chat with our new fans, but I had only one thing on my mind. I pushed my way through the crowd to where I’d seen Dr. Adler standing, but he wasn’t there anymore. Looking around, I saw him standing near the doorway going back into the gallery, speaking to Professor Barley. I made my way over to them.
