Page 106 of When Ben Loved Tim
“Yup!” Ronnie says, adjusting the strap of his bass.
They launch into one of the songs I practiced with them last week, an Ebony and Ivory original. I move close to Allison and read from a music stand where lyrics have been scrawled across the page of a notebook in Leon’s handwriting. Ebony and Ivory’s songs are politically driven, which doesn’t mesh with my personal taste, but the chorus is fun to sing.
“Inequality is paltry compared to all the gold you can hold!” I shout into the mic while springing around.
Tim grins at me while banging on the bongos. He does great, even on the next two songs when he’s given slightly more complex beats. There’s no way he has this much fun with his friends. Sure, they might party more, but Leondidoffer to get him high. Tim turned him down. So did I. The bliss I’m feeling now is all natural. And mutual, as it turns out.
“I like that one!” Tim says at the end of the song.
“Does anyone else see what’s happening here?” Leon asks while glancing around. “We’ve got a real band!”
“I’m in!” Allison says before turning a pleading expression on me.
“Yeah, okay,” I say, even though joining a band has never been one of my aspirations.
“That just leaves the drums,” Ronnie says, grinning at Tim.
“Uh…” My boyfriend looks to me for help. He doesn’t get any. “I mean, this is fun, but I can’t see myself performing in public.”
Allison smiles. “It’s not so different than baseball. That’s just as public.”
Tim squirms. “True, but there are a lot more people on the field than on a stage.” He sets the bongos aside to underscore his decision.
“We’ll keep working on him,” Leon says easily. “For now, it’s back to the drum machine. Should we try the love song? I rewrote the lyrics.”
Allison flips through the notebook on the music stand. I move closer to see. Once we nod that we’re ready, Leon cues the drum machine and starts playing a moody riff. Ronnie joins him. I let my mic hang limp at my side so I can share Allison’s, although we keep turning our faces away to check the lyrics again. The chorus is still the same, so I use the opportunity to sing to Tim, even though the words aren’t powerful enough to capture what’s in my heart. I try to put those feelings into my voice. Tim’s eyes lock on to mine and remain there, even though witnesses are around. I walk away from Allison, who has the better voice, but his head turns to follow me. As much as I enjoyed making music together, if he was our drummer, I’d probably keep my back to the audience just so I could sing to him.
“What do you think?” Leon asks when the song ends. His expression says that he’s not satisfied, which makes it easier to be honest with him.
“We have to rush the second line of the chorus,” I say. “There isn’t enough time to get it out.”
“Some of the verses rhyme and the rest don’t,” Allison adds.
“Yeah, it’s a mess,” Leon admits.
“Are you sure it’s a love song?” I ask. Like his other compositions, the music has an edge of anger to it, which is more suited to activism.
“Pretty damn sure.” Leon sounds frustrated. “If we can get this one figured out, we’ll have four songs. That’s enough to do an EP. Then we’ll really be set.”
“We still need a bitchin’ band logo,” Ronnie says. “All the greats have them.”
I look to Tim with raised eyebrows. He gives a barely perceptible shake of his head.
“The music comes first,” Leon says. “Without our own songs, we’ll just be a cover band.”
“Ben can write,” Allison supplies.
“Oh yeah?” Leon asks in interest.
“Just because I’ve tried before,” I say dismissively, “doesn’t mean I actually know how.”
“That makes two of us.” Leon tears a page out of the notebook and hands it to me. “See what you can do with this.”
“Speaking of cover songs…” Allison says leadingly.
Yes! That was the best part of practicing last week. Allison and I have been singing other people’s songs together since we first met. It’s one of our favorite pastimes, so we both eagerly lose ourselves in the next batch of songs. We coax Tim into playing the bongos again for a few tunes, but I swear he starts messing up on purpose, just like those sports scholarships he keeps tanking.
My face hurts from smiling so much when he’s driving me home.
