You pull back the curtains
And the sun burns into your eyes
You watch a plane flying
Across a clear blue sky
This is the day, your life will surely change
This is the day, when things fall into place
The The
The caffeine from the recently acquired coffee had more than the desired effect, jolting her endocrine system with several more volts as she approached the block of flats, she took in some water to reduce the impact of those little Brazilian beans, to no avail of course; adding water would make no difference as any Homeopathic tincture would demonstrate. She took the elevator to the third floor – no need to present herself as a sweaty Punk Rocker just returned from a CrossFit class – Flat 301 was directly in front as she exited the caged transporter, five strides in a southerly direction placed her in front of the buzzer. she pressed it with four pounds of pressure, unbeknownst to her the same weight to trigger-pull a Handgun. Twenty-nine seconds later, the door opened to reveal Jake. “Hi!”, she said, an octave higher than she expected. ‘I messaged you earlier about bass guitar lessons” she now continued in a decidedly lower octave. “Come in, “said Jake, Lisa stood dead still which precipitated the two protagonists to stand and stare at each other. “Come in please”, he hastened to repeat. Lisa shook herself from her revelry and at the same time hastily remembering to bring her teeth closer together allowing a better mouth spacing more appropriate to ice-cool punk rock bassette. She sauntered in as best as a wannabe bass guitarist could, quickly scanning the interior of the apartment for Eastern European slave trade operators. “Thank you, “she shrilled, voice octaves now clearly confused.
Jake stood there in absolute ease and amazement (to Lisa’s eyes anyhow) and waited for the next vocal pitch change. “I wish to learn to play the bass guitar”, stammered Lisa, wishing she didn’t imbibe the second double cappuccino. Damn! she thought; he’s not a fairy godmother, why am I wishing? “You wish?” asked Jake. “Yes”, answered Lisa, “You are a bass guitar teacher, right?”, fired back Lisa, albeit weakly. “That I am”, smiled Jack, which didn’t help Lisa’s rising cortisol and dopamine levels. “Glad we cleared that up”, smiled Lisa weakly. Jake ushering Lisa towards the music-sheet cluttered couch and beckoned her to sit. “Thank you”, answered Lisa, whilst inconspicuously doing a second scan around the apartment for girl-friend framed photographs, any bras hastily stuffed behind cushions and more importantly; any kidnapping accoutrements – duct tape, Temazepam and stout binding ropes.
” I have this hare-brained idea to form a girl’s band” continued Lisa, “Sort of Suicide girls meet Harley Quinn, with a three-piece band musical influence from British groups like The Jam and The Police for instance” continued Lisa. “If you dress like that; you’ll have a captive audience’’, interrupted Jake. Lisa caught the brief glance of his eyes as they did a merry dance of scanning her in the most surreptitious and innocent manner. Changing tact, her next sentence started with a demure smile; “Well yes, I have thought this process through, from the name and how much skin and tattoo we should expose” she added, fully aware how quickly this conversation had turned. “Let’s say I want to bring back sexy songs without it being too obvious, “she continued.
“A noble pursuit”, smiled Jake, continuing “Reminiscent of the burlesque ditties with the dancing girls from the Thirty’s, what were they called? soubrettes I think”
“Well, aren’t you just a treasure trove of musical information professor!”, engaged Lisa charmingly (the shrill note had unfortunately returned)
“So”, continued Jake, “how good is your bass guitar playing?” Those words had the dramatic effect of ending the smooth riposte between the two verbal dualists. Lisa, quickly recovering her composure and answered, “Let’s just say I’m an uncut diamond waiting to gleam,”
“Ah, so not much I take it”, correctly deduced Jake.
“Basically nothing, though my mother forced me to play the piano”, answered Lisa truthfully.
“A truth that’s told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent.” Interjected Jake, “William Blake, though he didn’t play the bass”, continued a smiling Jake. Oh, fuck off! Thought Lisa as she flashed her most sincere Pan Am air-hostess smile, deciding that that would be all she would share on the matter. Jake sensing that Lisa was now off her stride and backed off, remembering the oft spoken words about hell and a furious woman scorned. He continued with an offer; “I have an opening right now, if that suits you”
“Right now?”, asked a now bewildered Lisa.
“Yes, “smiled Jake. The room quietened as Lisa unzipped the guitar backpack with a reluctance usually seen in a primary school classroom when the teacher asks the truant learner to take out the required homework. With a slow but deliberate focus Lisa began the arduous task of both appearing to be unrattled (by her lack of bass guitar knowledge) and maintaining a cool demeanour (keeping in line with her bass guitar character building exercise). “I’m ready”, Lisa said as she sat down at the appropriate distance from her music teacher as decreed by student / teacher protocols. “Right, let’s begin”, continued Jake. “The electric bass guitar is the lowest-pitched member of the guitar family with a longer neck and scale length with four to six strings,” began Jake, and continuing further, “It was first designed to be played horizontally in the 1930’s and what you have firmly clutched in your hands is a Fender Mustang designed by Leo Fender and some other fella whose name I can’t remember “concluded Jake.
“Yes no one remember the second person; just ask Buzz Aldrin” quipped Lisa.
“I’m impressed, not many people remember the second man on the moon” said Jake, wondering if this lesson would ever happen. “Ok”, he continued, “Get comfortable and let’s get started, are you a leftie or a righty?” Jake inquired.
“If you’re referring to my Che Guevara T-shirt, it is merely on display to off-balance despots or alternative reality millennials” answered Lisa, pleased to see that her unflappable demeanour had not deserted her entirely. “Quite like post-truth kung-fu”, she concluded. Jake stared for a brief moment in wonderment at how his morning was turning out.
“Moving right along”, interjected Jake, before Political Science 101 would be hashed out in his lounge way before his third cup of coffee. “Ok, well you’ll still play in the same position, left hand on the neck and your right thumb will rest above the pick-up, let both your wrists relax and let your index finger pull and release the top thick string, which is the E string.” coached the ever professional Jake. Lisa felt a certain amount of exhilaration with the Fender straddled across her lap as she began her first lesson. She recalled accompanying her mother to band practice as a child, in places less salubrious where the carpet could literally suck your socks clean off your feet whilst walking across the room. “Now move one string down and you’ll find the A string”, instructed Jake. Lisa pawed her way down the strings in a manner not dissimilar to a drunk fiddling with car keys in front of a car that clearly did not belong to him. Lisa’s tongue shot in an attempt to assist her fingers find the next string. Oh dear! Wondered Jake to himself, as he maintained his music teacher poker-face. That’s good!”, he prompted with further encouragement. “And the one down from there will be the D string” Good Lord! he exclaimed internally as he watched Lisa completely miss the string.
“Sorry!” she smiled, hoping Jake would remain seated and not suddenly pull out a ruler and rap her across the knuckles as Ms. Thistlewort did to her in Home Economics class in grade six. “Bravo!” he shot back with relief as Lisa made it to the bottom of the fingerboard without further straying from the fingerboard. “To remember that, recall this; Eat A Dead Grasshopper, with the E string being the thickest string at the top as I just mentioned”, instructed Jake with the patience of a saint.
” “Eat A Dead Grasshopper?”, inquired Lisa perplexingly. “Is that the best the bass guitar music department could come up with to remember musical notes?” Her piercing green eyes lasered across the room, Jake felt compelled to jump out of the way – but did not. “What’s wrong with Eddie’s A Dreadful Gangster or Elephant’s Ass Digs Grass?” Jake stared at the clock longingly only to be let down by the minute hand which refused to nudge faster than its mechanical levers would allow it to. Lisa was enjoying this repartee, if she was going to learn bass she might as well do it with sass. “Prossimo, insegnante” smiled Lisa as she recalled the Italian word for teacher. “Grazie studente “Jake replied, with an impish beam. “I studied Italian and music in Milan several years ago”, anticipated Jake in his reply. “Fuck no way!” gushed Lisa, clearly taking this all in with as much calmness as she could muster. “I’ve had a hankering to visit Italy! So much about it that clearly pleases my palette both in art, food and other desirability’s which I won’t mention right now”
Jake sat on the other side of the pupil’s couch, now wondering if this lesson would ever conclude.