We're Human, This At Least We've Learned.

Last night I intended to play at an open-mic night of a bar near campus. As I was loading into my car, I received a call letting me know that they weren't doing it tonight. So all of my friends who made plans to go and see me decided that we'd hit up Sonic for tasty treats (Lemon Berry Creamslush is among my favorites) and then we'd head over to The House to hang out and perhaps music would still be had. The House is the name that is currently given to the house at which I live - along with Eric, J.A. Barr, Spencer, & Matthew. I could tell you about them all but I would feel like Jack Kerouac. The descriptions would consist of weird occurrences where you weren't and so you probably wouldn't get it - that's not to say that you wouldn't find them all as fascinating as they are...I'm just saying...

Back to the story................

So when one - and by one, I mean me - plays guitar for people, he's very conscious of the fact that people tend to ask to hear songs but once they make their decision, their assessment, critique, they either fake enjoying it or truly do. And he's been in situations wherein someone keeps playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and playing and it feels much like you were just now in wondering how many times I was going to type "and playing." Well, he doesn't want to be that guy. That party guitar guy. Always leave them wanting more! That's what we say.

So even though he really, very deeply wanted to play music and wanted for his friends to hear it he didn't bring it up as if he wanted to play slide show from his trip to wine country for them that they'd endure. So once they started asking, and not just one but a choir of voices asked to hear his songs, he got out his guitar.

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Spencer is a musician thru and thru. He's a writer. He's a thespian of life. But he'd hate to think that he was described in this manner. Talking to him feels like talking to a man who's been at sea for too long and broken more hearts than I've ever known. One who's seen dark places and even dwelt there. Cynical about the world and people who control it. He lives life as best as he can. I don't know if these things are true of him, but that's what I feel. I love being around him.

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Spencer came in and picked up his guitar and made his upright bass ready. He made drunken comments - not that it mattered if he was drunk or not. That's another trait of Spencer. And sadly, the most boring part of the story is it's climax. They played music and there was applause after each one. People saw a side of him that they'd never seen. They had probably started to wonder "what does this kid do, anyway?" Well, he showed them.

So Spencer and some of the others went out side while the rest of them sat inside and even asked for more. Harmonicas were used and lyrics were forgotten but laughter was there as well. It was a good time. And he realized that it was better to play in this setting because it showed that these were true friends and good people who care about him.

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While at Sonic - which I commonly & incorrectly refer to as Sonic's - one brought up the common realization of "how far you've come in a year." I sat there, knowing that I've been thinking about this past year quite a bit lately. He named people in the group who he knew at that point and who he didn't and everyone took a turn at this over top of each other. I wondered how many of those names have come to take someone else's spot.

All of these people I know who I call friends - I didn't even know they existed six months ago. One of them I even had a class with but he doesn't remember. I am thankful for these people. These people who teach me things daily even though I may not see it until reflection or drunken revelations.

But I think of those who have come and gone in my life and how difficult it is to picture their faces or imagine their voices. It's always a little low or has the wrong timbre. Haha, like trying to remember the first line of the 2nd verse in that song last night (Which is: "When it rains will you walk beside me." Oh the things remembered in the shower.) I had to make it up. Like I do with you. The unfamiliar things which used to be so familiar will never be again. And this isn't all bad as that's the way life works. The trick is to not forget it all but remember those who leave a mark and touch your soul.

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I've come a hell of a long way in these twelve months. I've been in places that I never thought I would. I've done things that I said I never would. I am where I never thought I'd be. But I am happy. Each day J.A. makes me laugh as if I'm drunk, to which he replies in a way that only he can, "Are you drunk?" And I just laugh more and even have to question if I am or not.

I have laughed and cried with people that I may never even talk to again. But it's not all sad. I just hope that they remember me as a part of their past like I remember them.

But days turn to weeks and weeks to months. Leaves fall and rise back to their place. Old men close their eyes and babies cry. Things come to an end - good and bad. And life goes on. You can't blame mishaps of your life on others. Just watch your own skin but don't be afraid to bleed. Because it's in those moments that we realize we're human. This at least we've learned.