Blood and Guitars (7 page)

“Where are you?” I asked, realizing that I
sounded as desperate as I felt. She didn’t answer right away, and I
was suddenly aware that this part of my dream was new. Up until now
I had only been remembering things as I did them again, but I was
distinctly aware of the fact that I had never called out to her.
Eager to see if my new attempts might bring about a change I called
out again. “How can I find you?” I asked, scanning the hallway
carefully with my eyes as I walked back toward the end where I had
come from. “Is something keeping you from me?” I urged, praying for
a response. I heard a whisper of something I couldn’t understand,
like a breeze that passed by too quickly to enjoy. I closed my eyes
and took a deep breath, trying to clear my head, but when I opened
them again I was staring at the empty can of an energy drink that
was still sitting on my nightstand from two nights ago.

I groaned and rolled over, burying my head
under my pillow and wishing I could go back to sleep. I had been
close this time. At least, it seemed I had been closer than I ever
had to finding her. True, she hadn’t answered me when I’d called
out, but I could definitely feel that something was coming. And her
voice … it was Aurora’s voice. It had always been Aurora’s voice.
At least, it seemed that way now. My mind was racing at the thought
of it, but unfortunately so was my heart, which meant that I
probably wasn’t going to be sleeping again anytime soon. I sat up
reluctantly and ran a hand through my messy hair. A glance at the
clock on the wall told me it was already one o’clock. It had been a
late night last night, but I hadn’t expected to sleep so long. A
scratch on the other side of my bedroom door let me know that
Cowboy, my miniature pinscher, had been patiently waiting for me
wake up. I sauntered to the door and opened it, bending over to let
him jump into my arms.

“Hey boy.” I laughed as I tried to keep my
face as far away from his tongue as possible. “Have you been
good?”

My stomach led me to the kitchen and I saw
that he’d done minimal damage while I’d been in my coma-like state.
He was still a pup, and although he was getting better at not
destroying my belongings, we still struggled at times. I saw the
remains of a Rolling Stone magazine on the living room floor and
rolled my eyes at him. “If you’re going to eat a magazine,” I said
in the best authoritative voice I could conjure, “at least pick the
Sports Illustrated that keeps coming in the mail even though I
didn’t subscribe, okay?”

He cocked his ears back and looked at me
expectantly, letting his tongue hang out. I took that as a mutual
agreement and set him down. I checked to make sure his food bowl
was full and then made myself a sandwich which I chased with a
bottle of water I had in the refrigerator. I’d been craving a tall
glass of cold milk, but now that we were hitting the studio again,
it was time to take care of my voice and milk was out of the
question.

I showered and threw on some jeans and a
tee-shirt. Cowboy followed me down to my in-home studio. The scent
of guitar polish I’d used in here yesterday still lingered. The
smell was oddly comforting as I walked toward my Ibanez acoustic
guitar. It was nestled comfortably in its stand, waiting to be
played. Not only was it my first guitar, but it was pretty much the
only thing I had from my dad. He’d given it to me just before the
divorce, but it was months before I could bring myself to pick it
up and teach myself how to play. I’d viewed the instrument as a
useless object at first because all I’d really wanted was for my
dad to be around. It hadn’t taken long to realize that the old
guitar wasn’t the enemy, but rather a way to channel my frustration
into something productive. Although this guitar was now my
favorite, it was only one of the many guitars I had stashed in this
room. The closet (because this was actually intended to be a spare
bedroom) was full of guitars. I’d remodeled the inside to include a
mahogany rack to keep them safe and organized. A little
overindulgent, perhaps, but collecting guitars had become a hobby
of mine ever since I’d made enough money to afford it.

I snatched up a pick from the pile of them on
my computer desk and sat down on the stool in the middle of the
room. It took several moments of listening for the beat of the
strings on the guitar before I had adjusted them so the instrument
was in tune with itself. Then I began strumming chords. I played
for about fifteen minutes before I fell into the familiar magic of
a hook forming. I was humming along, but realized I needed to give
life to the song if it was going to grow. I reached for a notepad,
something else I always keep handy on the computer desk. Once I’d
found a pen I put the notepad on a music stand and pulled it toward
me where I could lean over and write comfortably. With the dream
still vivid in my mind, words started pouring out of me and onto
the paper.

I spend my days

Waiting for the night

The hours pass with fading light

She’s a poison; I’m addicted

To the sweet and secret darkness….

I paused often to strum the chords in
succession and check the timing of the lyrics I was writing. When I
looked up at the clock on the computer, I realized I’d been in the
room for over an hour. As far as songwriting goes, it was the most
productive hour I’d spent in months. All of a sudden I couldn’t
wait to get to the studio that night, but that was hours away. I
chewed on my bottom lip for a second and then put the Ibanez down,
pulling my cell phone from my pocket. O’Shea answered on the fourth
ring.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I was wondering if we could go to the studio
sooner than eight.”

“Why? What’s up? Did you finally finish that
song?”

“Uh, yeah,” I agreed. It wasn’t a lie. The
song was as finished as it was going to be until I had the band
together. He didn’t really need to know that I hadn’t started it
until an hour ago. “I’ve done all I can with it by myself,” I
added.

“I’m game,” he said slowly. “But I don’t know
where Chase and Jonas are. If you can get them there we’ll do
it.”

“Meet me there in half an hour,” I said. He
started to speak again but I interrupted, not wanting to give him a
chance to change his mind. “Just be there. I’ll worry about the
guys.”

“Whatever you say, man. I’ll call the studio
and let them know we’re coming.”

“Thanks O’Shea. Later.” I hung up the phone,
feeling more hopeful than I had in a long time. Aurora, both in
real life and in my dream, had given me what I needed to get the
creative juices flowing again: a muse.

I sent a text to Chase and Jonas at the same
time. New song finished. Studio in half hour?

Chase’s reply came only seconds later.
Texting was his preferred method of communication and he always had
his phone nearby. What about 2night?

Why wait? I typed back.

Got it. C u there.

I sat back down at the computer and quickly
typed up the lyrics I’d handwritten with the basic chord structure
and printed out enough copies for each of us and a few extras. When
Jonas still hadn’t texted me back, I sighed and punched number five
on my speed dial, listening to the Paramore song he had set as a
ringback tone while I waited. It was common knowledge that Jonas
had a huge crush on Hayley Williams. We’d toured with them during
Warped Tour, and being around her so much had only added fuel to
the fire. He was a lost cause.

Still no answer.

When his voicemail picked up I hung up the
phone. He wouldn’t be checking that if he wasn’t checking his
texts. I put my Ibanez in a gig bag and carried it down the hall
toward the kitchen. I found my keys on the countertop and hollered
for Cowboy who came running around the corner so fast that he slid
across the tile for a good foot and a half. I laughed and patted my
leg to show him where I was as I opened the door into the
garage.

“C’mon boy. We’ve got some work to do.”

With Cowboy sitting happily on the center
console, I put my Mazda in reverse and backed out onto the road.
Jonas’s house wasn’t far, and I was soon pulling up alongside the
curb in his front yard. I couldn’t tell if his vehicle was there or
not, because he had a two car garage. But there was a light on in
the house. I grabbed Cowboy and carried him with me to Jonas’s
front door where I raised a fist and banged loudly. The doorbell
had never worked, at least not while Jonas had owned the place. The
door opened to reveal a young woman in her early twenties.

I greeted her with my best smile. “Hey Tara.
Is your brother by chance hiding in here somewhere?”

She held out her arms to take Cowboy and
invited me inside. “He’s in the theater,” she said as I walked past
her.

A few strides into the house and I realized I
could have located Jonas on my own. I could hear the sound of a
familiar Eric Johnson song playing loudly. Tara followed me,
carrying Cowboy, as I made my way around the corner and down the
three steps into the home theater where Jonas was playing ‘Cliffs
of Dover’ on Guitar Hero.

“You really are a dork,” I yelled over the
music, shaking my head at the wireless guitar he was playing,
complete with star power guitar pedal.

“Takes one to know one,” he shot back lightly
without missing a beat. Great, we’d already reverted back to being
ten year olds and we hadn’t even made it to the studio yet.

I waited for him to finish the song out since
it was almost over and then he turned to me, a smug smile on his
face. He’d beaten his record.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“You don’t answer your phone.”

“I’m good, but even I can’t manage Guitar
Hero and cell phones at the same time,” he said with a grin.

“Come on, grab your stuff. We’re going to the
studio.”

“Now?”

“No, I just came all the way over here to
make sure you made it there by tonight.”

“Okay,” he said, navigating the menu on the
screen. I let out a sigh. Apparently I need to work on my
sarcasm.

“Of course now,” I stated. “Let’s go.”

Jonas and I were getting our guitars out when
O’Shea walked into the studio. He waved to Karl, the studio
engineer who sat on the other side of the glass in the control
room, and then sauntered over to us.

“Chase coming?” He put a foot up on the couch
next to me, leaning down to pick up Cowboy who was whining for his
attention.

“Should be here soon,” I replied.

“Is it a good one?” He meant my song. I
looked up to see the hopeful glint in his eye. I knew O’Shea well
enough to know he was almost as hungry for new material as I was.
Almost.

I nodded and he grinned, needing no more of a
response than that. I’d brought my Ibanez along but once I’d
reached the studio, I’d realized just how anxious I was to hear the
song on my electric. So I went for Liza instead. We had our guitars
tuned and ready to play when Chase walked in. I handed each of them
a lyric sheet for “Midnight Poison” and a copy of the basic guitar
chords I’d typed up. If nothing else, it would help everyone follow
along. I knew O’Shea could take my basic melody and kick it into a
higher gear in no time.

“What are we working on today?” Karl hollered
from the next room. I put my guitar down and half-jogged out into
the hallway to talk to him.

“It’s brand new,” I explained. “I just
finished it so it’s going to be rough but if we could get a decent
take and go from there that would be great.”

“You want some cans?” He gestured to several
sets of headphones hanging on the wall nearby.

I nodded. “And Chase will need a metronome
click in his,” I specified. “It’s an up-tempo song, but I won’t
know the speed for sure until we get going.” I sang the chorus for
him, clapping out the beat until he thought he’d found a good speed
on his digital metronome. “Let’s start there and see how that
feels.”

“You got it.” Karl was already unwinding the
cords on the cans as I followed him back into the large sound room
where he plugged them in and handed each of us a pair to put
on.

“Give it to us,” O’Shea said once I had
strapped the Fender Strat back on.

I smiled, feeling anxious and nervous all at
once. The adrenaline rush that bringing out a new song always gave
me was incredible, but it wouldn’t even register compared to the
one I’d get from performing it live for the fans. Chase did a
double on the kick drum and Cowboy whined, hurrying away from us
and out into the hallway. I watched through the glass as he made
his way into the lounge and saw Karl bend to pick him up. The dog
was going to have to get used to studio life sooner or later.

“Okay. We should start out with just the
rhythm guitar for the first verse, or maybe just the first half of
the verse. I’m not sure.”

“We’ll try it both ways if we have to,” Jonas
piped in. “Play it like you wrote it and we’ll go over it until we
get it right.”

I nodded. Why was I so nervous? These were my
boys. They had my back. We’d work it out just like we always did.
They’d take care of my new and fragile song and it would soon
become an entity of its own, belonging to all of us.

I strummed a power chord on Liza and took a
deep breath, not bothering to check the lyric sheet in front of me.
I knew the words by heart already. I strummed the first few intro
chords and then sang the first verse. I paused after that, wanting
to share an idea before I lost it. “I was thinking maybe you could
double bass like a heartbeat during those last two lines,” I said
to Chase, who nodded as he gazed at the lyric sheet, scribbling a
note with his pen.

“You were right about just having the rhythm
for the first verse,” O’Shea offered. “Jonas and I will come in
with Chase after that.”