Looking over at him, I noticed that his mind was somewhere else. I’m not sure, but I thought I saw one lone tear. “It’s emotional when we finally find our soul family,” I said. “I’ve gone my entire life feeling that I don’t belong. Then suddenly, one day, we are presented with such a beautiful gift of belonging. Emotions can’t be kept at bay.”
He smiled at me and said, “What are the chances to come across two family members during the same lifetime? We are both so incredibly fortunate.”
My heart felt warm and full; I was finally part of something. My entire life up to that point, I felt as if the party was happening somewhere else and I was never invited; all the personalities that I was supposed to meet would never be forthcoming, and I would live the rest of my existence alone and without connection. This had changed.
Chapter Nine
We arrived at the Six-Star-Studios around three thirty, and my heart was racing as we entered studio C. “This is Frank, our base player. Erik’s on the drums; Stan, keyboards and backup vocals.” The introductions were quick and to the point, and they all surrounded me like I was a new puppy.
Frank was the first to speak up. “Mr. Munk, would you mind signing a copy of your book?”
“I don’t mind at all, but please call me Bradleigh.” He pulled a well-worn copy from his bag.
After signing it, I said, “Here you go. I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride.”
“Yes, very much. Thanks.”
Taking me over to the drum kit, which was sitting in the far corner of the studio, Richard said, “Here, sit down. Let’s see what you have to offer.”
I froze in place, saying, “I have no idea what I would do. I have never even picked up a set of drumsticks. I wouldn’t even know how to hold them.”
Erik came over and handed me a set of sticks, then said, “Sit down on the stool.” Standing behind, he showed how to handle the long pieces of smooth wood and then gave a short course on what each drum part was used for, after which he walked away.
Thinking out loud, I said, Oh great, this can’t be good. I’m only going to embarrass myself.
Standing next to me, Richard said, “It doesn’t matter what you sound like. You just need to see where those beats will take you. Think of it as therapy.”
Taking a deep breath, I started slow and then gradually increased the intensity and speed. In my mind, the surrounding room became dark, and everyone faded into the woodwork. I was alone as I pounded out the beats running throughout my mind. I felt at home holding the drumsticks, as if I had done this my whole life. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a hand touched me on the shoulder, snapping me back to reality.
Richard asked, “Where did you go? You started to hit the drums and instantly went into some kind of trance.”
“The whole room disappeared. All I could see were sound beats floating in the air. The beats then started to arrange themselves into groups and subgroups. I chased after them, and they all burst into something I could understand and play. Did it suck? I wasn’t really listening.”
He didn’t say anything and took me over to the bass guitar. “Here, try this.” His face was serious and without emotion. Again, I felt like I was in a vignette photo. The darkness would close in the longer I played each instrument. Finally, he sat me down in front of the piano, all eighty-eight keys smiling back. The darkness surrounded me as I tapped out the ever-changing beats that were forming in my mind. Feeling as if I had run the course for the day, I rested my arms in my lap and sat there silent for a few moments. When I turned around, the entire crew was staring in disbelief.
Stan asked, “What was that you just played?”
“If my YouTube memory is correct,” I said, “I think it was called ‘Resurgam’ by David Hicken, or I think it was written by him. I have always liked his interpretation on the piano, and he does it with such grace and a lack of ego.”
Richard then asked, “I thought you said you couldn’t play any musical instruments.”
Looking over at him, I said, “I don’t, I can’t.”
“Well, something’s changed. Looks like you need to reevaluate your career,” he said, still smiling in disbelief.
The next few hours were spent with me stepping back and letting his bandmates practice for the upcoming tour. By two the next morning, all of us had finally made it back to the hotel and split off at each person’s room as we passed in the hall.
Standing in front of my door, I said, “Well, it’s been some kind of day.”
Walking to his room, Richard said, “Yes, it just keeps getting stranger the more time we spend together. Do you want to come in and talk for a while?”
“Sure, not too long though. I’m exhausted.” I followed him into his room and closed the door behind us. We both lay on our respective beds, staring up at the ceiling.
Richard finally said, “I’ve heard of these things happening after a person has had a head injury.”
“I’m not sure what I think about it,” I said. “One thing I do know is that it was incredible sitting at the piano and escaping into the void, feeling safe and protected from this crazy world.” I got no response from this, so I looked over at him; he was just looking at me with a blank look on his face. “What’s with the long face?”
Waiting a few moments before responding, he said, “I thought you had already found your safe place.” He sounded a little lost himself.
Responding, I said, “That’s just an expression. What I should have said was, during the time I was involved with the instrument, I felt safe. It was temporary and didn’t last. That couldn’t replace what I have here with you and Grace.” Looking relieved, he patted the spot next to him, and we both retired for the night.
Before we fell tightly asleep, Richard suggested that his friend bunk with him the remainder of his stay, saying, “It doesn’t make sense to be paying for two rooms. We have been getting back so late, and you end up sleeping here anyway.” I agreed, and the next morning, I released my room and moved in with my friend.
*****
The next several days I spent with the band, and it was fascinating to see the processes they went through to hone their craft. A good portion of the time was repetitive, and I found myself sitting away from the group on the couch. I felt great; my life was finally on track, and I was making great progress with my next novel. After a long and grueling session, Richard came over and sat down next to me. “I hope that this is not too boring for you. We needed to refine a sound that we will be using on the tour next week.”
“It’s not boring at all,” I said. “It’s great fodder for an upcoming story.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to put this in your book.”
Laughing, I said, “Not just any book, it will be the book of the century.”
Realizing that I was pulling his leg, he slapped my thigh, saying, “How much did you get done?”
“I have three proposed chapters, fifty pages. If all goes well with my rewrite, I could be close to having half the transcript complete.”
Looking