Page 78 of Baker

I nodded.

“Thank fucking God,” he said. “I feel better about everything now.”

He may have felt better, but I had a mind full of questions that I was afraid no one could answer.

I glanced at my watch and immediately began to laugh hysterically.

“What?” he asked.

I shook my head in sheer disbelief. “What day of the month is it?”

“Thirteenth,” he said. “Why?”

I didn’t bother responding.

THIRTY-THREE - Andy

Baker invited me over to listen to music and hang out. Spending the evening with him changed my Sunday from blah to something I was sure to cherish. Nervous about what the future held, but pleased at the growth we were both making, I sat cross-legged on the floor with my eyes closed and listened to the cleanliness of the music.

When the record stopped, I opened my eyes. “I’ve never enjoyed listening to the Rolling Stones until now. Holy crap. Listening to them on vinyl is awesome.” I opened my eyes.

Sitting on the floor in front of the turntable, he looked cute barefoot and in jeans. His head was bobbing ever so slightly, and his eyes remained closed. “Exile is a great album on vinyl. It’s got to be one of my all-time favorites.”

“Tumbling Dice was great, but I really like that Sweet Virginia song. You could tell they were really having fun with it. Music has changed so much.”

He opened his eyes. “Where’d your love of music come from?”

“Boredom. I started with an old-school cassette player that my dad had. I listened to his box of cassettes over and over.”

“Cool. What was in there?”

“In his cassettes?”

“Yeah. What did your dad listen to?”

“Everything. Velvet Underground. David Bowie. Van Morrison. Bob Dylan. Stuff he really had no business listening to.”

“How old was he?”

“He was born in nineteen seventy,” I said. “He was a January baby.”

“That’s an interesting assortment of music.” He crossed his legs and rocked back and forth. “I started with vinyl. I was always fascinated with it. That nothing more than a groove in a piece of plastic could reproduce sound.”

I widened my eyes. “I still don’t understand it.”

“It’s a mechanical representation of sound waves. Grooves are cut in the record. The depth of the groove is developed based on the changes in atmospheric pressure caused by the sound waves while recording. When it’s played, the turntable’s needle does the opposite. It sends the measurement of the groove to something that turns it back into a sound wave. Viola. Music.”

“Who turned you on to records?”

“My aunt.”

I had a mental pause when he responded. I found it more than coincidental that his aunt introduced him to music, and my aunt raised me after my father died. I didn’t want to ask, but eventually the girl in me exposed herself.

“Were you and your aunt close?”

He grinned. “She raised me.”

“Is she still alive?”