Dedication Takes a Lifetime

“Stop it,” I said for about the eighth time in the past hour. It was just a day after Kal and I had decided to go through with the band idea and we were sitting in my living room. We’d decided to only do covers for the time being and we were trying to figure out which songs we both know. We both knew the songs we definitely had in common, but every time she started playing one I would cut her off.

“Come on, Annette!” She smacked her hand against the overstuffed cushion of the couch, irritated, “You know all the words to every All Time Low song. I know all the chords to every All Time Low song. Two plus two equals what-now?”

I sighed and began shuffling around some papers on the table, “I know. It’s stupid, and I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

She wrinkled her nose and took a sip of her iced tea, “No, I’m sorry. I understand completely. You’re doing this to show him up, and prove that you can make it; I guess it sort of means nothing if you have to use his songs to get started.” She put the glass down and started absently plucking a few more strings.

After listening for a moment, I perked up. “Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, Mister Columbus, Mister Columbus.”

Kal’s fingers stopped and she stared at me, a small smile creeping across her face. “You are not,” she said slowly, “A Grace Potter & the Nocturnals fan.”

I gave her a look and went to the bookcase by my entertainment center that held all my albums. I grabbed This Is Somewhere and Nothing But the Water and held them up to show her. “I am, indeed.”

“Brilliant!” She said in a mock British accent and began strumming out the tune again. I took her hint and picked up where I’d left off.

“Get up, get up, get up, get up
You gotta help us, you gotta help us
Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up
‘Cause there ain’t no way around it, no way around it
Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, I
I think we found it, I think we found it, I think we found
We found the edge of the world”

Kal stopped, holding up a finger and scribbling something down on one of the blank pieces of paper I’d put out. “You,” she told me, throwing me a blue-eyed look of awe, “Have some pipes on your, princess; Camellia Ridge obviously did you good.” She put the pen down and plucked three chords in succession. “All right, when it gets to ‘we found the edge of the world’ and you start really projecting, try to even your voice; you know, sing without the vibrato.” I nodded; Professor Hillman had always told me the same thing. Control the vibrato.

“And,” she went on, still messing with her guitar, “I’ll fill in that area with something badass and intricate, since they have more than an acoustic guitar in there. I need to compensate,” she said with a matter-of-fact nod. She wasn’t kidding when she told me she didn’t mess around about music; she was dead-set in having it perfect.

So dead-set, in fact, that I ended up singing “Mister Columbus” at least six times, each with the slightest variations, and then we moved on to a few other songs, to which she gave the same level of attention.

Four hours later and it was getting dark. My voice was just about raw, despite the near-constant intake of hot tea with lemon juice, and I was ready to call in a night. I was tired, and still needed to eat dinner and finish my homework, not to mention I had to be at school by six-thirty for SAT prep.

“One more,” Kal insisted, eyes begging me in a way that made it impossible to say no, though I was trying my damnedest. “And we won’t even break it down,” she rushed on, “Just go through it once. We have to do this song.”

I sighed, relenting, “Fine. Which one?”

She smiled smugly, “’Big White Gate.’ And when you get to the chorus, I want you to be insistent, like you’re spitting it right in Alex Gaskarth’s pretty-boy face.” I shot her a glare and she laughed it off easily, “What? Him being a Douchey McDoucheDouche doesn’t mean he’s not hot, and you know it.” I did, but to hell if I was admitting it. I just crossed my arms across my chest and started singing the first part of the song, which had no music.

“My body’s achin’ from layin’ in this bed
I went singin’ in the rain and the cold got to my head
I don’t know who’s payin’; I just know what the doctor said
Eighty-four years of a sinnin’ life, and in the morning I’ll be dead”
Kal joined in, tilting her head with her eyes closed, strumming her chords gently, peacefully.
“I had three daughters; a new man for every one
And the only man that I ever loved left me with my only son
I was a no good mother; I was a no good wife
There’s only one thing that I did right in this godforsaken life”

Kal played a little more heavily know, barking a quick, “Spit it,” as I transitioned into the chorus. I did my best, pouring every ounce of emotion--every strand of bitterness and hurt I felt toward Alex Gaskarth, and the unending desire to prove him wrong--into the song.

“So Saint Peter, won’t you open up the big white gate?
‘Cause I heard about forgiveness, and I hope it ain’t too late
Oh, I ain’t no holy roller, but you go tell your king
That all the folks up in heaven might like to hear me sing”

The music stopped abruptly and I turned to see Kal staring at me with a pleased look on her face. “Brilliant,” she said in that accent once more, “Just like that, every time. I felt it, Annette, and it only proved how retarded he really is. Because you’re gonna go all the way sister.”

“And you’re coming with me, right?”

“Of course I am.” She reached over and patted my knee, smiling in a way that made me feel so comforted. Though barely acquainted and knowing next to nothing of each other, we were becoming such close friends already.

She nodded to me, as if hearing my thoughts and confirming them. She gently lowered her guitar down to its case and her voice took on its previous business-tone, “But!”

“Uh oh,” I feigned a gasp, “Not a but!”

She laughed and started shuffling through the papers we’d taken to scribbling on for the past few hours. Her notes were written in blue ink, while mine looped and twined together with hers in black. I knew what she was about to say, because we’d both noted it several times, “We need help.”

I sighed, “I know.”

“A full band.”

“I know.”

“Drummer. Bassist. Maybe a tambourine.”

“No tambourine,” I told her pointedly, “And I know.”

She stacked the papers and carefully clipped them together with a bobby pin from her hair. “We should have auditions soon, while we’re still fresh and can work alongside other people, instead of already being determined and just bossing them around.”

I sighed, quickly formulating a plan in my head, “Okay, okay, I’ve got it.” I wrestled my Blackberry Tour out of my back pocket and started flipping through my contacts. “I can call my cousin Lenny; she’s in a band and would probably let me use her equipment for a week-end. They’re on hiatus anyway.”

Kal’s eyebrow shot up, “What kind of name is Lenny for a girl?”

“Eleanor,” I told her, rolling my eyes. I found my cousin’s name and sent her a quick text message. Knowing that her mobile was never out of earshot, I wasn’t surprised when she replied almost instantly. “She says it’s fine as long as I transport it and make sure nothing gets damaged.” I chuckled, remembering the time Tomas had used her coveted drum set for a stage prom and had busted the drumhead. She’d nearly choked him to death by the time I got her off of him.

“Sweet,” my friend said in a high-pitched tone. “When are we going to do this?”

I shrugged, “You said that sooner is better, right?” I sighed and looked through the living room to the kitchen, and the door that led to the two-car garage. “Guess I’ll have to pay Tomas to clean the garage out before the week-end.”