Steps

And it was such a clear evening. I had rolled off the couch, tousled hair and Birkenstocks adorned without a second thought. I guess I wanted to stretch my legs, walk around, give the ever repeating sentences in my mind a chance to settle. So I took to my normal route, stomping quietly out the door. It’ll be short, I thought, no need to bring my phone, just my shabby, cozy self and my shoes. So I began trotting down my apartment driveway, past my beetle and the forgotten garden, past the dumpster graffitied ‘Honest a good Copenhagen... better than bad cocaine’, under the neighbor’s tree and down Fruth alleyway, skipping over potholes and past a fluffy milk and cookies stray cat.

Step, step, step, step.

I fell in and out of the dull thrum of my thoughts for the day. Step, step, step, step. My eyes focused in and out, I kicked out my legs, wagged my arms around in their joints. Step, step, step, step. It really was a rather nice evening. The humidity was down and the temperature rather pleasant. Step, step, step, step. The sole of my right Birkenstock caught the sidewalk and nearly took me down. Step, step, step, step.

And I think to myself, hmm, I’ll walk a little farther this time. Past the park, past the Firestation, past a tatted Austin runner. A set of stairs appeared next to me, hidden beneath the words ‘Thank you for loving me in a way I never thought possible’ in pink and red tones, and sharing the real estate with some other illegible graphics. Step, step, step, step. Should I turn left here? No, I’ll go even farther today. Step, step, step, step. Left. Step, step, step, music? I look up from my extended reverie with the sidewalk to the sound of jangling keys, bass, guitar and drums. A friendly Mercedes cruised past at a stop sign. I walked across the intersection, curious. Step, step, step, step.

I approached a quaint and colorful establishment, disguised by concrete and neglected neighboring shops. I walk myself closer. A sign plastered in bright green pinned to the door yelled at me enthusiastically, ‘LIVE MUSIC EVERY WEDNESDAY, SIGN UP HERE’. I took hold of the silver handle and snuck in. Musicians jammed just ahead, tapping on keys, plucking strings, and riffing toms.

Were they improvising?

They held a complicated tune, guitar leading and piano pattering in with secondary. Man, I thought, I think they could use a vocalist. But I sat back and enjoyed, not wanting to impose myself on this little community.

They could smell the new on me. They finished their song, and I received a directed ‘hi, welcome! Do you play any instruments?’

“I sing a little”

‘Come on up!!’

‘Well, Alright’

I walked up in my socks and Birkenstocks, couch outfit and meandered over to the mic. Could they tell I was shaking??

‘Do you guys play valerie?’

‘Sure! Grab the chords. What kind of drum beat are we talking here?’

‘Oh uhhhh, I just sing’

‘How about this’

‘Alright’

The drummer set us up. It was going to be jazzy, and the pianist found a couple chords in the right key. The bass and guitarist bent over a phone to tag along.

‘Well sometimes I go out by myself… ‘

My heart beat in my chest as I sang out the words. It was imperfect, it was organic, it was chemistry, it was different. It was Valerie. A version I’d never sung before, tuned into the strums and beats of the other players, leading with vocals and trusting its synergy. Just a little warm up with an improvised couple of belts at the end. The drums tapped us out on a cymbal.

‘Wow!! You can really sing. Let’s keep going.’

I hadn’t worked this muscle before, this, accept the clashes, the mistakes muscle, enjoying the disappearance and discovery of chords, tuned into others, exploring, finding not the right notes, but those authentic ones, rising and falling the action of the story that connected strangers by tune.

And I had never actually scatted before. But there were no wrongs tonight, just investigations, explorations, challenges and acceptances, enlightenment and struggle. After a second patting along on my thigh, grasping the mic in my shaking palm, I sang out. Not even really words at all, just joining in to unearth a melody, develop a storyline, build the rising action and share my heart with the listeners and my peers.

We played some bluesy, some minor tone. People switched in and out of guitars, pianos, mic. Some curious and smoke adorned regulars wandered in and wandered out. We grimaced, laughed, smiled, wondered.

And it was over.

We traded names, short stories, stood awkwardly to the side. An unusual bond now connected us, still strangers by nature but co-creators, listeners by association. A fist bump, a handshake, a goodbye, the flick of a lighter to a cigarette and the simmering silence of a glittering memory.

Step, step, step, step.