The night is the key, man, and tonight the key is A Major.
It's late at night when I take out my lady. I keep her in her case in my closet. Looks like an old-timey suitcase, or something. Whatever.
I open the case and there she lays on red velvet. I loop the chord around my neck and attach it to her body, then I put the mouthpiece on, listening to the cork squeek against the metal.
Then I sit and hold her for a minute, drinking in the smooth contours, the sexy curves, my fingers light upon the keys. It's like that old blues-man, the one who used to busk down on Dega Street told me, "Son, you gotta talk to her, but in her language, not in yours. Ain't no words, just sit quiet and listen to what she tells you."
I miss that old guy. He was cool.
After a couple of minutes of sitting and listening, I bring her to my mouth, taking the mouthpiece between my lips, and exhale my feelings into her.
Wood vibrating against plastic, amplified by the body, shaped by the contours, changed by the opening and closing of sound-holes, until it escapes the bell, and gives voice to my innermost feelings.
Not many people know about my ritual. Jesse does, so does Janie. Max and Monique know. And now, so does Daria.
She was staying with Janie the other night when I visited my lady. Janie tried to convince her the house was haunted, but Daria's a rationalist. She didn't buy it.
Mom did. Still does. We'd set her straight, but it's kinda funny watching her run around, trying to "commune with the poor, sad spirit." When she's here, that is.
Anyway, I'd asked Janie not to tell Daria about my high school days. Janie loves me. She'd do anything for me.
Anything except keep a frickin' secret.
Where she hides those damned annuals, I don't know. She knows I'd rather have them cremated in Mom's kiln. "It's for your own good, young man! You'll thank me for it later."
She used to use the same argument on Penny. It was a lot funnier when Penny's on the receiving end. Unfortunately, Penny's not around much anymore.
Anyway, this is how I caught them. I was in my room listening to some serious music with my headphones on (the better to catch every subtle nuance of Kurt Cobain's performance. The man's a god, I tell you.). But, as usual, I had drifted off. So I got up to see if there were any coffee left over from yesterday.
And there the two of them were, demolishing some pizza and pouring over my high school career. Daria at least had the decency to look embarrassed. Janie just nodded a greeting and told me there was a fresh pot on.
That Janie. She always knows my weak spots.
Well, there was nothing I could do about it now, so I got a cup, sat down and grabbed a slice. "Any questions," I asked Daria.
She swallowed hard. That crush she has on me is awfully cute. Heh, high school girls...
"I, um, never knew you played... um..."
"The saxophone?"
"...Yeah."
"Yeah, I love the sax. Very expressive instrument. Very personal, too." With the last I shot a look at Janie, who just grinned back. "I don't think I could ever play it professionally, though."
"Why not?"
"Too personal. Well, the guitar's personal, too, but not like my sax. You know, whatever."
"You were first chair your senior year." I could tell this surprised her.
I looked at the picture. There I was, standing in line, wearing the same dorky uniform as everyone else, with the same dorky feather in the same dorky hat. I sighed, then my eyes fell on Jesse, third chair, third section, and laughed. It always gets me, seeing him form the bird on his sax's keys.
"Very subtle," said Daria. "I'm surprised they didn't notice this."
"Heh, they say Li didn't catch it till after we graduated. She threw a fit, but it was too late for her to do anything about it."
"Did you like band?"
"Nah, I hated it. The director was incompetent, most of the students were suck-ups and dweebs, the uniforms were ugly, and our concert season showpiece was 'Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown.'"
"Then why did you do it?"
"Got me out of PE."
She nodded, then looked at Janie.
"You can't take art and band at the same time," she explained.
I didn't want to join the band. They don't play the right kind of music, they don't teach the right kind of instruments. If they'd have offered rock guitar, I'd have snatched it up in an instance, but they didn't.
Plus you have to march, man.
It took precisely one year of calisthenics, running laps, and dodge ball to convince me that marching wouldn't be so bad after all. Besides, Jesse and Max were in it, so I'd at least have friends there.
Well, I guess it didn't suck as much as other subjects. Didn't suck as much as math, for instance.
I didn't know what to play, either. Dad had a saxophone lying around for some reason. He never played it.
The only other possibility would have been to borrow Aunt Bernice's flute. No way would I want my mouth on the same mouthpiece hers had been on. No frickin' way.
Of course, I later learned that you don't really put your mouth on a flute's mouthpiece, but it was the principle of the thing. Not to mention, any boy playing the flute at Lawndale was instant fist-fodder for the football team. So, I took up the sax.
"This is where I keep my lady," I said as I got the instrument case out. I could tell Daria wanted to say something, but she kept quite. Janie rolled her eyes.
I opened the case and gently took her out. She was still gleaming from the last time I had polished her. I could tell Daria was impressed.
I put my lady together and held her for a moment. Daria opened her mouth to say something, but Janie held up her hand and shook her head.
Only Max had ever ignored that signal. Daria remained quite.
Daria sat quietly as I played. When the music reached the ultimate fulfillment and silence descended she sat thoughtfully a moment, then said, "I'm impressed."
I smiled and nodded thanks. Janie gave Daria a curious look as Daria returned the nod.
If Janie had been waiting for Daria to effuse like Monique did, she was disappointed. That was Daria. An economy of words, a guarding of emotions. What she'd said was praise enough. Janie should have known that.
I put my lady up, then begged off for the night. It was late, and I wanted to catch the Harpies at the Zen. Or meet the guys at McGrundy's. Whatever.
"Earth to Daria, hello?"
Daria looked up from her reverie. Jane was standing before a blank canvas, squeezing paint onto her pallet from the little tubes. "What?"
You haven't said two words since we returned from the basement."
"So? I was lost in thought. You should be used to that by now."
"Okay." She picked up a brush, eyed it critically, then chose another one. "So what did you really think?"
"About what?"
"Don't be obtuse, young lady. Say what you like, he's already left the house. Be as honest as you want."
"It's hard to put into words."
"That bad, huh?"
Daria gave her a look. "What do you mean, 'that bad'?"
"Come on, Daria, I know I'm the only one who likes Trent's sax. I'm used to everybody else being underwhelmed."
Daria sat up. "What makes you think nobody else likes it?"
"Because they told me so! They were polite to Trent's face, but none of them liked it. Max said he'd rather hear bagpipes. So fess up, girl. I've got you dead to rights."
Daria sighed and raised her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. "Okay, Jane, sometimes, sometimes mind you, the Spiral do things to their instruments that are downright criminal, and sometimes Trent's lyrics border on the felonious. I've always been a little disappointed and miffed that Trent doesn't live up to his potential."
"Yeah?"
"Tonight, I saw him live up to it."
Jane bent over and scooped up the paintbrush she'd just dropped. "What?"
Daria sighed and closed her eyes. "Look, I don't particularly like jazz, especially free-form, a lot of which strikes me as masturbatory. Occasionally though, you will hear someone who knows what he or she is doing, and that can be really beautiful."
"You're serious..."
"What Trent did had depth, and an underlying structure that was subtle and lyrical, it had an emotional core from which it built and expanded but never betrayed."
"So you weren't just being polite?"
"No. But what I want to know is why can't he do that with his other instruments."
"Other? Guitar and what?"
"Voice. Okay, his singing works for what he does, I guess I mean it's lyrical content."
"I thought you liked his band."
"I do, but the point is that I always know they can do better. Tonight, like I said, Trent did."
"Well, he doesn't want to make a living with his sax. He says it's too personal. He doesn't want it sullied with crass commercialism."
"What about his other instruments?"
Jane looked at the ceiling. "Have you ever considered that me may be being held back by the Spiral?"
"Sometimes. So why doesn't he..."
"They're his friends, that's why. He's known Jesse since kindergarten, Max and Nick since grade school. He and Jesse have been in other bands, better bands even, they just enjoy this more. Cut 'em a little slack, why don't you?"
Daria blushed. "I guess I have been a little judgementel," she sighed.
"You breathe, therefore you judge." Jane smiled. "Not everyone can live up to your exacting standards."
"Well... you've got to admit they could use a lyricist."
"ĄDe acuerdo, amiga! Now hand me that phone. It's time to make that crank pizza order for Quinn's slumber party."
"Here's the list of toppings they hate, including double cheese. How many this time."
"Better just make it four. I think they're getting wise to us."
"Took them long enough."