The more he thought about losing sight of his dreams, the more nervous he became. The hours slipped by as if they were strapped to the bumper of a speeding car. The buzz of teenage voices grew louder and louder as the throng of students gorged the hallway and made their way home. Band students began to stream into the band room and wave at Chapman as he sat in his office under the pressure of deep thought. Finally he emerged with a list of practice objectives written on a sheet of paper and his baton tucked in his back pocket. He said nothing. The drum majors noticed his serious face and the firmness of his stride. The head drum major interpreted Chapman’s demeanor to mean serious business, so he blew his whistle and shouted instructions for all of the band members to report to the practice field immediately.
In minutes, the band room was vacant and everybody was on the field and appearing to be constructively engaged. The dance routine committee broke the band down into sections and began to teach the steps to the new music that Chapman had arranged. He viewed the band from a high tower located on the sideline at the fifty yard-line of the practice field. The kids called him “The General”, because he paced back and forth on high as they slaved like troops in the military. His mind raced off again and before he knew it, the time allotted for practice had come and gone like a thief in the night.
Chapman knew he needed the counsel of his best boy, so he hopped into his car and a few minutes later he drove up into the driveway of Thumper’s house. He knocked on the door and while he waited for someone to answer, he played the thoughts he wanted to share with Thumper backward and forward in his mind. Precious answered and greeted him with a big hug; the kind your largest aunt always gave you when your head was about breast high to her, and she would damn near smother you with that cheap perfume she splashed on like mosquito repellant.
“You know I ain’t one to be checking out my boy’s ole lady. But, I must continue to compliment him on the choice he made, or should I say the choice that made him,” zipped through his head after Precious turned to lead him into the house.
She told him to, have a seat, and that Billy would be home in a few minutes then she poured Chapman a glass of his favorite juice and turned the plasma screen TV to B.E.T. He thought about his own wife. “More sisters needed to act like Precious.” Sitting in the plush leather chair, with his feet up, Bobby Womack’s “I Wish He Didn’t Trust Me So Much” resonated in his ear. Startled, Chapman rushed to clear the song out of his mind. He began to look around the den, as if he hadn’t been in the house a million times before. He remembered how he used to drive those hotties crazy. Sweet Man Chapman was his moniker. Sitting up straight, Chapman tried to convince himself that he had done the right thing when he brought his running around to a screeching halt.
Thumper used to be the co-King of The Hotty Slayers. He never even seriously toyed with the idea of getting out of the freak game. Chapman didn’t want to hate on his friend, but he couldn’t help but envy the outcome of Thumpers decision to not quit the game, in contrast to his situation. Precious appeared to love Thumper’s dirty stinkin’ drawz. Thumper is a good provider and he treats Precious like a queen. Privy to the fact that Thumper still peeps into a stray hole every now and then, Chapman sensed it didn’t have a negative impact on their relationship. “I must be the sucker of the month. I look at what he appears to have and I can’t seem to come up with any advantages to living like I am living.”
Thumper entered the door as the green-eyed monster was beating the hell out of Chapman. Thumper is a happy go lucky brother who would give you the shirt off of his back.
As he entered the den Precious cut him off and gave him a big, wet kiss. “I thought you were never coming back,” she purred in a low, sexy voice. She pinched him on his butt as he walked away from her.
“What’s up, Black Man?”
“You Thump, you.”
“So what brings you by me casa this afternoon?”
Chapman dropped his head and said nothing.
“I know you got some more funky music on paper by now.”
“You know I do.”
“Shit...Man, I can see right through your ass.”
Chapman knows he can’t lie to Thumper. Thumper motioned for him to follow him out into the tool shed, actually, his music studio and cigar smoking room. It is the only place where Precious won’t bother him about smoking. Working the combination to the padlock, and opened the steel door to the shed.
“Watch your step. I don’t want to lose a friend over some damn homeowner’s insurance, or the lack of homeowners insurance.”
Chapman flopped down into the big leather chair and kicked his feet up on the footrest. Thumper positioned his body in front of the wall safe and dialed in the magic numbers. With a snap of his wrist, he opened the safe and withdrew a little wooden box. It was one of his prized possessions. His humidor was packed with cigars from everywhere in the world. He said he started smoking cigars when he first picked up the bass guitar. Experiencing the smoke in his eyes when he played his bass, made him feel more in the mood. He’d confessed to Chapman that he used to smoke weed to get the same effect, but his daddy slapped him upside the head when he caught him smoking out in the back of the house in high school. His dad took the bass from him for a month and that was enough to cure that brother of the want for weed.
Pulling out two cigars, he closed the humidor and placed it back into the wall safe. The sight of him preparing the cigars was almost poetic…The way he ran each stick under his nose, checking the aroma for freshness. He pulled down two short glasses and poured about a quarter cup of cognac in each of them. Using a V-notch cigar cutter, he opened the end of the cigar to ensure a nice even draw and an even burn then he laid them on the counter so each of them could breathe.
“Alright boy. Judging by the look on your face, we need to smoke these Cohibas. I had them soaked in cognac and cured them till they were just right. Here, light up, sit back and relax. Tell the Thump Man what’s on your mind.”
Thumper passed Chapman a cigar and butane lighter. Then passed the length of the cigar under his nose to smell the sweet stench of tobacco and Yack. Thumper turned the stereo to the local radio station that played old school slow jams in the evening.
“Pretty soon, that’s going to be us,” said Thumper with a half-hearted laugh.
“If I have anything to do with it, it’s going to be sooner than you think,” shot Chapman.
“So, what’s eating at you, school, them damn kids, or music?”
“None of the above.” Chapman exhaled with a large puff of smoke, as if he were an old train billowing smoke preparing to pick up speed. “What’s your secret Thumper? When I find out your secret, I believe life for me will be much easier.”
Thumper said absolutely nothing as he looked at Chapman like a specimen under a microscope.
“It’s like this. I have an opportunity to make forty thousand dollars more than I am making right now. The opportunity looks good on the surface, but I don’t know.”
“Shit, that’s simple math to me. What don’t you know?”
“Well, teaching is not what I set out to do. But, I do like what I have been able to accomplish in these ten short years. The job would take me out of the classroom and put me in an office down in the school board building.”
Taking a drag from his cigar, and then shaping his mouth like the letter O, Thumper produced a perfect smoke ring. He took a small sip from his glass of Yack, and then held it in his mouth; he could taste the warm, smooth liquid as it chemically reacted with the nerve endings inside on his tongue, then swallowed. Shaking his head, he adjusted his crotch. “All them young sweet thangs in short dresses,” Thumper mumbled under his breath.
“Anyway! I don’t know how it would be. Will I like working with all of those adults? Will I like sitting behind that damn desk all day long? Shit, the only thing I like about the job,