Page 32 of Dark Verse

Danica and I finish our mini meeting just as my energy from the last coffee break fades. I consider pushing through another hour or so of work, but my tiredness takes over in the moment. Before I know it, I’m waving goodbye to Danica and getting in my car.

The moment I turn on the car, I’m bombarded by a series of sounds. The tamed purr of the engine, jazz music spilling from the radio, and an ominous ding, reminding me that my fill tank light has been on since yesterday morning. The car display insists I can only go six more miles. My sublet is less than five miles away, but with city traffic, I will probably run the tank dry before I make it.

I want to complain and curse, but instead I just put the car in gear and head towards the exit, looking for the nearest filling station sign. I wait for the length of the stoplight, watching as fellow cars, pedestrians, and cyclists pass by. Right before the light turns red, a city bus flies past, leaving a bright yellow streak in my vision and an idea on my mind.

The next morning, I wake feeling energized. One of my favorite parts of my job is working with bands on a granular level to improve their musicianship. My notes are organized, and my mind feels sharp as I walk into House Band Featuring.

I want the Heirs to focus on training their ears. Their original and cover music suffer from the same problem. Their chord structure remains too basic. By practicing unusual interval training, they will be able to grow as artists. The Nightshades’ focus will be on more deliberate practice. I know all four of them are superb players as individuals, but their lack of coordination is hurting the overall sound.

Twenty minutes after I arrive, I hear the back door opening, indicating the Nightshades are arriving.

Good, they are early again for their 9:00 am call time. I like early.

Leaving the office to greet them, I see Cash, Octavia, and Zeke all moving across the stage.

“Knox?” I ask them.

“Coming in separate,” Zeke says. “But he was right behind us.”

Turns out right behind us means fifteen minutes late.

I look up at the sound of the front door bursting open. The entire space is filled with blinding morning light, a shadow creating a break in that brightness before we are all thrown back into the relative darkness. I don’t even need to look over my shoulder to see who it is. Knox is breathless, and he enters my line of sight, his hair seemingly still damp from what I can only imagine was a rushed shower.

Some words and general gestures are passed between the Nightshades, and I evaluate the interaction, unable to hear them from where I sit. None of them seem surprised or even annoyed by his tardiness, a telltale sign that, despite his words to me that first day, lateness is his normal state of being. This is now the third rehearsal in a row he’s been late to.

I wait until they all settle back into their positions.

Knox approaches the microphone, but I don’t move to turn on the system.

“You’re late. Again.”

“I know, I know. But in my defense, I had to turn around.”

That gets my attention.

“Why?”

Knox shrugs.

“Forgot my lyric sheets.”

A long pause.

I blink at him once. Twice.

A third time.

“What?”

“I was actually on time. But I was halfway here before I realized…”

Another long pause.

“And you turned around?”

I see Octavia and Zeke angle away from Knox, and although I don’t see Cash from this position, I’m betting he is doing the same. Looking anywhere and everywhere that’s not Knox or me.

“You said we always need to have music in front of us.”