Posts filed under ‘free science fiction and horror stories’
PLUMBING PROBLEMS: AN INTRODUCTION TO A SHORT STORY
Soon I will be beginning posting my short story, Plumbing Problems, published in 2004 by Hadrosaur Press. It is a rather ‘long short story and will appear in seventeen posts.
I hope you find this story entertaining. I’m a retired scientist and had fun thinking about the plot and discussing the science. There are both scientific facts and scientific fantasy in the story. I’ll let you figure out which is which.
Hope you stick with it.
INVASION: A SCIENCE FICTION SHORT STORY
This story has not been published. It was written in 2006. That was when NASA was launching probes to Mars. When to vehicle reached the planet balloon-like appendages were deployed, and upon reaching the surface, the vehicle would bounce until coming to rest.
INVASION
I am the protector of the ‘king and living god of Zyron’ and I have just witnessed the unspeakable.
We inhabitants of Zyron are a peaceful lot, enjoying our quiet lives in the planet’s interior. Fierce conditions make the surface uninhabitable for more than a short period of time. Violent storms engulf the planet, blowing clouds of red dust into the arid air, making a stroll on the surface most uncomfortable. We Zyrons enjoy the warm moist interior of the planet formed many millions of years ago when violent earthquakes opened the ocean floor draining the surface dry. Then, another few million years passed, and our surface atmosphere changed to what we have now, conditions that will not support life for an extended period of time.
On the neighboring planet, Gothor, life is less peaceful than ours. In our language, Gothor translates to blue sphere, a tranquil looking place but tranquil it is not. We have witnessed their many wars and constant conflicts. They foolishly broadcast their audio and video signals into the atmosphere giving information of their civilization to less friendly inhabitants of other planets. Gothorians know nothing of our civilization on their neighboring planet. The existence of the Zyonions is kept secret, our communications, shielded by the surface of our planet, cannot be intercepted by prying civilizations. A recent development on Gothor had given us even more information of the planet. They have developed a network that connects their computers, and with the increased knowledge we have gleaned for this network, we marvel at how much they achieve while so many of their number lack a sense of purpose, a need to contribute to their civilization.
Professions that do not, in some way, serve the good of society are shown little respect on Zyron. That is why the Zyronians find some of what they learn of the Gothians to be comical. So many of their society do nothing but serve themselves. They also require something they call self-help books to further their decline into shallowness.
When Zyronians greet one another we give our name and value to society. I would say, “I am Gorn, protector of the king. Others would give their name and say that they were the cleaners or the scientists or the meat keepers. When we Zyrons meet, we bow to one another, and the depth of the bow depends on the value one lends to society. If I were to say, “I am Gorn the poet,” the bow I would receive would be deep indeed. And if I were Gorn the teacher, the bow offered must be so deep that the small horns on our heads must touch the surface on which we stand.
We know a great deal about the lives of the Gothorians and some of the ways they spend their lives. If a Gothor revealed some of the professions that exist there to a Zyonian, the back of the Zyronian would remain ridged. If I were to introduce myself on Zyron as Gorn the telemarketer or Gorn the E Bay zapper, no bow would be given. Our cultures even have different perceptions of the same profession. On Zyron, if I am Gorn the athlete, I receive a customary bow, but the athletes from Gothor may merit a slight bend of the back, for on Gothor in many cases, the game is secondary to financial rewards.
We Zyronians know the inhabitants of Gothor are giant creatures and are yet dwarfed by less intelligent creatures that inhabit other worlds. Our king stands no more than six of Gothor inches, and his line is the tallest on Zyron. Our king and his subjects closely resemble animals known as lizards living on Gothor, but their lizards are dumb beings where we have the advanced intelligence responsible for the culture that thrives on Zyron. Unlike the lizards on Gothor, we on Zyron walk upright, and possess appendages referred to as hands, similar to those of the Gothorians.
We view the Gothorians as having a hostile purpose towards our planet. Many times they have sent missions to our planet, devices that orbit our planet seeking information. We had developed a ray that disabled many of their machines, but we could not doom them all. One day a machine landed on the surface of Zyron, bouncing uncontrollably until it came to a halt. The device opened, revealing another machine that set forth on the surface of our planet. This was a true invasion, our planet violated. We Zyrons observed the machine until we detected no further transmissions to Gothor, we then retrieved it for examination.
Since the first bouncing machine landed there have been other probes sent from Gothor to orbit our planet with instruments, taking photographs and other measurements of our surface, trying to detect our presence but the Gothorians will never discover us and will probably succumb to some other civilization of some planet waiting to use the vast resources contained on their blue sphere.
Then one day it was decided that we would attack Gothor, and I was a witness to the catastrophe that precipitated this decision.
Our beloved king, on occasion, would roam the surface of our planet and gaze at the stars and wonder of the world his ancestors inhabited so many million years ago. It was on one of the ventures to the surface that the most horrible fate beset our king.
I, along with two other guards, accompanied the king on his journey to Zyron’s surface. We walked a short distance when the king halted and gazed at the stars in the cold Zyronian night sky. We guards followed the king’s example when we all detected a strange movement in the blackness. A speeding light approached, it flamed, and then the flames extinguished but still the light approached. It grew in size until the realization of another invasion from Gothor became apparent. It was another bouncing machine. It landed a great distance away, then began its haphazard bouncing along our planet’s surface. The king and we guards ran, scattering. Once the device came to a halt we reformed but could not find the king. We separated, searching for our ruler. I will never forget the wail of the guard who discovered our poor monarch. The huge bouncing device from Gothor had squashed him. We carried his limp body, for most of his bones were broken, down to his kingdom and placed it on his throne.
His son, our beloved prince, was enraged with grief and full of hate for Gothor. “Enough of this invasion of Gothor,” he yelled. “I seek revenge.”
Zyron had developed a ray, a death ray. We kept the ray for use against attacking civilizations, and now the new king demanded, “Prepare the death ray; we must retaliate.” All Zyronians knew that any planet exposed to the ray would suffer grave consequences. The area of the sphere exposed to the ray would be destroyed.
There was a fringe of land from which the Gothorians launched their devices. This would be the target. The new beloved king waited for Gothor to revolve, exposing the target.
THE END
UNWELCOMED GUESTS: A GHOST STORY
On one side of my property, some eight to ten feet deep, is a gully. I was told some time ago that this gully belonged to a railroad. I have seen an arial photo, taken perhaps in the 50’s, showing tracks at the bottom of the gully. I’ve also been told that they were either train or trolley tracks. I began thinking, What if there was ever an accident down there?
Unwelcomed Guests was accepted for publication by Necrology Shorts in February 2010.
UNWELCOMED GUESTS
Will Trizma was a writer of ghost stories and mined the local countryside for legends and their settings. The area abounded in both. His wife, Joan, acted as his editor and sounding board for his ideas. At times, the only comment she would make is, “You’re sick.”
Not only did he write ghost stories, but he also dreamt of them. One night he conjured a most vivid story; a story from the future. But unlike most of his dreams, he could not remember this tale. The only recollection he had was that it was horrifying.
* * *
It was the evening of August 15, 1949. The time was slightly before ten as a train made its way toward West Chester. There were fifteen souls aboard, counting the crew and passengers on this quiet summer night. The steam locomotive was pushing a caboose and two passenger cars. The weather had been stormy for days and up ahead the foundation of the bridge spanning Ship Road had been undermined by runoff. Jim Purvis, making his last run in a fully loaded fuel truck, slowly crossed the bridge. As he reached the span’s center, it collapsed leaving the truck astraddle the tracks. Jim could not believe he was still alive considering the load he was carrying. Although injured, he managed to climb out of the ravine and go seek help.
As the train slowly made its way into a depressed section of track, the conductor, Ben Elliot, sat on the caboose’s platform and began filling his pipe thinking about sharing a late dinner with his wife. He looked down to light the pipe, and once achieving a satisfactory burn, he puffed contently, and then looked up. The sight before him made his scream, “Holy sh…! He never finished the expletive.
The caboose rammed the truck, followed by the cars. The locomotive cut through the wreck until it reached the truck exploding the gas tank and turning the wreck into a funeral pyre.
* * *
Writing is a lonely profession, and years ago Will sought out a local writer’s group for support and editorial advice. During a Christmas dinner attended by all the writers, Will and Joan suggested a summer party and volunteered to hold it at their house. As the day of the party approached, one spouse or two became sick and others were called away unexpectedly on business.
Will and his wife greeted their guests, their thirteen guests.
Their dog, Millie, a lab mix was her usual excited self with the arrival of every new visitor. Once everyone was there, she settled down and dozed in the sun.
The conversation was lively with all the creative minds present, and as dusk approached, Will was called upon to tell a ghost story. “Not dark enough yet,” he answered.
Dessert was served, and when there was no longer a hint of sunlight, and with the patio bathed in twilight, Will deemed the time right for his tale and went into the house. He returned with candles, one for each table, after extinguished all the inside lights. “Now we have the right atmosphere,” he said. Will began his story and even Millie appeared interested, her eyes reflecting the candlelight.
The weather had been rainy the last few days, and at ten as he began to read, Will noticed a mist begin coming out of the gull bordering one side of his property. A few guests had asked him earlier about the gully and he answered that it had once harbored a railroad track.
The mist became denser and soon overtook the yard along with the guests. One by one they all fell asleep, including Millie. As the wall of fog enveloped all present, fifteen human shapes began to form. The specters slowly made their way to the dozing, and one by one, entered their bodies.
The next morning, they awoke from their deep sleep and knowingly smiled at one another. Ben Elliot looked around, and Will’s eyes filled with tears. “We’ve waited sixty years for this moment.”
Millie awoke and growled. She knew there was something terribly wrong with her master.
THE END
GENISIS: A SCIENCE FICTION SHORT STORY
This is an unpublished story.
Even endings need a beginning
Genesis
Dan Holbrook spent hours of his life looking up at the night skies. It was his job and his passion. He taught astronomy at a small university located in the high California desert. The location offered spectacular views of the universe, a universe that was about to change his life and the future of the planet, forever.
Dan was thirty-six, tall and lean, with a scruffy appearance, not a slave to fashion. He married his college sweetheart, Amy, right after graduate school ten years ago. Now they were a family of four with two daughters: Jenny age eight, and Heather six. His daughters loved exploring the desert during the day with their mother, searching for minerals and lizards. At night they studied the sky with their dad.
With a PhD in astronomy, along with the reputation for making significant contributions to the field of asteroids and comets, Dan earned a small amount of personal time on the telescope at Caltech. On one clear winter night Dan was studying the asteroid belt beyond Jupiter when something caught his attention. It was a fuzzy dot where none had been before. When he brought it into focus, he realized that it had passed Jupiter, and was now closer to the Earth. This was not unusual, for asteroids were often found between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter. He made a record of this sighting in his notebook and snapped a picture. He noted that its apparent magnitude, or measure of brightness, was +25 – extremely faint.
Dan decided to keep track of the asteroid remembering how in 2002 Asteroid 2002-MN passed within seventy-five thousand miles of the Earth. It had been the size of a football field. He doubted there was any danger, but he always believed ‘better safe than sorry’.
The following year, Dan once again was given the opportunity to observe the heavens from Caltech. Early that day, he reviewed his notes from the previous year’s observations. He had forgotten about that faint speck between Jupiter and Mars and wanted to observe it once more. That night, peering through the telescope he easily found his quarry, but now it was slightly brighter with an absolute magnitude of +20. Dan became excited, and said out loud, “Holy shit, I may be witnessing an important event.” He knew he had to follow its progress and write it up for a journal article, needed to ensure his notes were meticulous, and then contact other observatories to confirm his sighting.
The next year he published an article describing his findings and continued to keep track of his discovery, and at every viewing the object grew in brightness. There was only one explanation for this. Dan decided to contact a colleague and friend, Ralph Warner, to explore ideas.
After a few attempts, he finally reached Ralph. “Hey, buddy, how you doing? I’ve got something I’d like to pick your brains about. I’ve spotted a distant asteroid and wondered if you could study it using your telescope access?”
Ralph said, “I read your article just the other day and found it interesting.”
Dan asked, “Can’t you just take a peek at Jeneather?”
“What’s that?” Ralph asked.
“That’s what I call the asteroid, named after my two daughters.”
Ralph had limited access to the Hubble and Chandra orbiting telescopes. It was with these instruments that Dan wanted Ralph to ‘take a peek’.
Ralph answered, “Dan, do you know how precious time is for the Hubble and Chandra? I can’t just peek at things. I know this was your discovery, but the opportunity to observe it has to stand in line, a very long line.”
“I appreciate how valuable time is on the orbiting telescopes, but your observations may be able to figure out exactly what this object is and, more importantly, determine its future.”
Ralph replied, “Dan, follow its progress; when you know more – maybe then.”
Dan could hear the frustration in his friend’s voice, but he harbored just the hint of hope that Ralph might try to ‘take a peek’. Neither of them would know that in the future, all eyes on the Earth would be following the course of Jeneather’s progress.
One night the following year Dan had his daughters in the backyard looking up at the sky. He enjoyed pointing out the constellations to them and the visible planets. Their enthusiasm warmed his soul. The two girls, now eleven and nine, were in awe of the sky and would compete to see who could name whatever their father pointed out.
While looking skyward, Jennifer asked, “Where is Jeneather, Dad?”
Dan said, “Honey, you can’t see it without a telescope. Then he pointed to a region of the sky where someday he thought the object might appear.
Jenny screamed, “I can see it, Daddy. I can see Jeneather.”
Dan stood there, perplexed. The asteroid, which should not yet be visible, was there. He knew that was it, for there should have been nothing else in that little piece of the sky, at least not visible with the naked eye. He told his daughters, “Let’s go inside, it’s almost bedtime and Daddy has a lot of work to do.”
Both girls protested, “We want to look at Jeneather,” but Dan had much on his mind and the girls were ushered inside.
“Time for bed girls and Jeneather will still be there tomorrow.” Leading his daughters into the house, he yelled, “Amy, could you get the girls ready for bed? There’s something I need to do.”
Without waiting for a reply, he went to phone Ralph. Ralph was expecting a call from Dan; he picked up the second ring. “Ralph, you can now see the asteroid I discovered in the night sky without a telescope.”
“Yes,” Ralph said, “The object now has a brightness of -5, as visible as Venus. I’ve been expecting your call. Things are being kept quiet for now, but soon the entire planet will be watching the sky. Dan, you discovered a rather significant asteroid.”
“Dan, the speculation from the scientists who have closely studied this object is that the asteroid you discovered collided with another asteroid in deep space. That collision resulted in a change of both their orbits. Your asteroid is on a journey through our solar system.”
Dan paused, and then said, “That’s what I thought. It’s heading toward us. That’s why it’s getting brighter. And that’s why we can now see it in the sky. How close will it come to Earth?”
There was a long pause from Ralph, and then he said, “We’ve been tracking the asteroid’s progress. Right now, we feel it will pass between the Earth and the Moon, closer to the Moon.”
“We’ve dodged the bullet.” Ralph could hear the relief in Dan’s voice.
“Dan, this asteroid is irregular in shape, but at its widest part, it has a diameter of over 500 miles.”
“Christ, Ralph, what will that do to the tides and the tectonic plates?”
Ralph was quiet for a while, and then said, “We are still trying to estimate the scale of the damage this asteroid might cause, but between you and me, we’re in for a rough ride.”
“I just can’t believe it. Life could be changed, forever”. Dan’s voice was shaky. “Thanks for the update, and please keep me informed.”
Ralph responded, “I’ll tell you what I can, and keep this to yourself for now until we have a better handle on what we’re facing. We don’t want to cause undo panic.”
The conversation ended and Ralph sat silently in his office.
He could not tell his friend the truth; he was sworn to secrecy. The asteroid would be a catastrophe to the Earth as it passed. But that was just the tip of the destructive iceberg. Once it passed the Earth, this massive asteroid would impact Venus, perhaps obliterating the planet, or perhaps propelling Venus into the sun. This would cause a change in the influence of the gravitational pull of the Sun on all the remaining planets. The Earth could possibly change its location to replace Venus.
Unless measures were taken, unprecedented for an endeavor where all people must work together for the benefit of mankind, humanity was doomed to extinction. Even now, all the major industrial nations of the world were in secret talks. They knew the timetable. They had five years to save mankind.
THE END
THE GIG OF A LIFETIME, PART VIII; A SHORT STORY
It was late Friday night, sometimes early Saturday morning, and Mac was closing up his club he would pause and listen. Lately, he always made sure he was alone when he locked. For those nights were special. Just before he turned the key in the door he would stand there, with the door slightly ajar, and listen. From afar, he could hear the sweet sound of Sweats playing his sax. But it wasn’t just Sweats playing. There was also a tenor sax, drums and more. The music was the sweetest Mac had ever heard. Mac lived for closing on those nights.
Hope you enjoyed the story. There will be more posts coming. Short stories, poem, both published and nonpublished along with some thoughts and observations. Hope you stay tuned.
THE GIG OF A LIFETIME, PART VII; A SHORT STORY
The following Friday night the air was the same – electric. Everyone in the band was smiling, joking and having the time of their lives. They were “on” again, their boss, Mac, knew it and the audience knew it. Halfway through the evening, during a piano solo, Sweats once again scanned the crowd. He blinked his eyes in disbelief. There sat Miles Davis again, out in front. Beside him was someone Sweats also recognized. The man wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. Sweats could easily hear his gravelly voice. It was Satchmo. Louis Armstrong was watching Jerome Connelly play. Sweats was numb with excitement and fear. He had no doubt that he was looking at two dead men. They were his idols, but they were dead. When it came time for Sweats’ sax solo, he flubbed the piece. His playing was terrible. There was no way he could concentrate on playing his sax with Miles Davis and Louis Armstrong in the crowd.
When the night’s work was over, Leroy walked over to Sweats and said, “Don’t worry kid. No one is on all the time.”
There was no way he could tell Leroy why he was off. He avoided all contact with Joe. Sweats walked home doubting his sanity.
Another Friday night and Sweats was living up to his name. He usually calmed down after he arrived at the club. But now, even the club wasn’t his sanctuary. There were dead men watching him play and he couldn’t tell anyone about it. He always found solace in his music. Now even that was gone. If dead men kept showing up to hear him, his only sanctuary would be destroyed.
The band began to play. Sweats didn’t dare look to the front of the audience but couldn’t help himself. There, at Miles’ table, sat Louis Armstrong, along with Duke Ellington and one of the greatest jazz drummers of all time, Gene Krupa. Sweats could tell they were enjoying the music. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he played his heart out. They were part of the audience and deserved to be entertained. He never mentioned the patrons of the ghost table again. He just played as well as he could for them.
The next Friday was the last Sweats ever played with the band. The ghost table had a new member. It was John Coltrane. He sat deathly still, just staring at Sweats, his gaze never wavering. When the band was done for the night, the ghost crew was still there. Sweats was totally unnerved. John Coltrane was motioning him to the table.
As Sweats left the stage, the lights of the club dimmed, and a milk-white haze enveloped all but the ghost table. Sweats sat down in the only empty seat.
In a quiet voice, no more than a whisper, Coltrane said, “We’ve been following you Sweats, not only your music, but also your life. We want you to join our group. It will be the gig of a lifetime. We have an audience that spent their whole existence loving jazz, living it. Say yes, and the fears, the streets you dread will be gone forever.
Sweats agreed and was never seen again.
THE GIG OF A LIFETIME, PART VI; A SHORT STORY
When Sweats arrived home, his mother was waiting for him. She waited every night he worked with a hot meal. As he sat eating, she said, “You know, honey. I was reluctant to let you quit high school, but then you got your job, and the extra money is helping out. And you seem to be happier than I’ve ever seen you. You’re a man now, and I’m proud of you.”
Sweats sat quietly eating, thinking. How could he tell his mother that his life was still a nightmare while he lived in this neighborhood? How could he tell her that all he wanted was to play his music? Nothing else mattered.
There was an uneasy quiet as his mother watched him eat. Sweats decided to tell her what happened at the club. “Mom, tonight I thought I saw Miles Davis in the audience. Joe said that he’s dead. Is that true?” He knew his mother loved jazz, had been to the club a couple of times to hear the band play. Then she would walk him home, talking about his music and how proud she was of him.
“That’s true, baby. Miles died a few years ago. It had to be someone who just looked like him.”
Sweats just nodded and went on eating. He was sure it was Miles.
THE GIG OF A LIFETIME, PART V, A SHORT STORY
The following Friday night, the band was setting up when Joe turned to Sweats and said, “Can you feel it, Sweats? The air is electric. We’re going to be right on tonight.”
Sweats looked at Frank, Fats and Leroy, who nodded in agreement. As soon as he walked into the club that night, he had felt it too. He just didn’t know what “it” was.
As soon as the band began to play, Sweats knew that Joe was right. All five members of the band found their groove and inhabited their own musical heaven. During Frank’s drum solo, Sweats looked out at the audience. They were clearly enjoying the band. His eyes drifted to a table in front. There, sitting alone was a man he recognized. The man smiled broadly as his head bobbed back and forth and his hands rapped on the table, keeping time with the music.
After the performance was finished, backs were slapped, and high-fives passed around the band. Frank said to Joe, “Man, were we on tonight, or what?”
Joe said, “Shit, man. We were beyond on. We were on holy ground!”
Frank, Fats and Leroy walked to the bar to celebrate. After they left, Sweats approached Joe and asked, “Say Joe, did you happen to get a good look at the audience tonight?”
“Sure, kid. I gave them a look. There were some sweet women out there. That what you talking about?”
“No,” answered Sweats. “There was a man sitting out front. I recognized him. I can’t believe he came to hear us play.”
Joe asked, “You mean a friend of yours came to give us a listen. He sure caught us on a good night.”
“No, Joe. It wasn’t a friend of mine. Sitting there in the front row was Miles Davis.”
“Shit, kid, you must be crazy.”
Sweats insisted, “No, Joe. I’m sure it was Miles Davis. I recognized him from his CD cover.”
Joe stepped back and looked at Sweats, then said, “I don’t know who you saw, but it wasn’t my man Miles. He passed away about two years ago.”
“But, Joe, I’m sure…”
“Go home and get some rest. And next week, if you see Satchmo in the crowd, let me know.”
THE GIG OF A LIFETIME, PART IV; A SHORT STORY
Sweats had been playing with the band for a few weeks when Joe approached him, as he was getting ready to head for home. “Hey, Sweats. Good session, man.”
As he packed up his instrument, Sweats said, “Thanks, Joe. I love playing with you guys. The best time I have is when I’m up here on the stage.”
Joe said, “I’ve got to tell you, kid. When I first laid eyes on you, I had my doubts. Shit, they were more than doubts, but you proved me wrong. Telling you honest, we all play better since you joined the group. Hell, Mac hired us to provide background music while folks sit out there and drown their sorrows. But you notice something about the people now?”
“No, sir,” Sweats said. “Can’t say I do.”
“They’re listening to us play, Sweats. When we start up, the room quiets down. You’re good and playing with you is making us better.”
Sweats responded, “Thanks, sir. I appreciate that.” But he was embarrassed by the praise, and deep inside, knew he still had a ways to go.
He made for the door, then turned and said, “Thanks, Joe, for the encouragement.”
As soon as he left the club, he broke into a heavy sweat. The excitement of playing with the band initially blocked out the fact that he would still have to walk the same dangerous streets he walked to school, but now at night. His mother’s words came back to him. He felt a new level of terror as he walked the streets past midnight. On the way home, men he knew by reputation had approached him. During the day, they were around but kept a low profile. Nighttime was the time they owned the streets, when the fears that gave Sweats his name became reality. The only time Sweats felt alive and safe was when he played his music. Feeling the frustration of his life, he shouted into the night, “I just want to play!” He was tired of his life bouncing between the deepest fear and greatest ecstasy.
What Sweats didn’t know was that his plea was heard.
THE GIG OF A LIFETIME, PART III, A SHORT STORY
The four band members began filtering in at eight o’clock, nodded to their boss, and began setting up the stage.
Mac walked up to the stage.
“What’s up, boss?” asked Joe the piano player.
“Might have a sax player for y’all.”
Frank, the drummer, said, “That’s great! About time somebody saw your damn sign.” The other band members laughed as they nodded in agreement.
“Don’t get too worked up,” said Mac. “He’s just a kid. I’m sure he lied about his age. But there aren’t many musicians in this part of the city, and those that wouldn’t work in a dive like this. Hell, by this time of night, there ain’t many sober folks of any sort in this part of the city. He’ll be here at nine. We’ll see if he has anything.”
At nine sharp the door to the club opened and Sweats walked in carrying his sax in a beat-up case.
Joe took one look at Sweats and muttered, “Shit.”
Sweats walked to the stage.
“So they call you Sweats,” Joe said. “Does your mom know you’re here, little boy?”
Sweats’ forehead instantly grew a glistening sheen.
After studying Sweats’ face, Joe said, “I take that to be a no. Well, boy, I’m sure it’s going to be a waste of our good time, but we’ll give you a try.”
Sweats hurriedly took out his sax and scanned the sheet music handed to him, while Joe introduced the band. Pointing to each member, he said, “This here is Frank. He plays drums. Leroy, over there, plays brass and Fats plays bass.” The musicians looked Sweats up and down. He could see the ridicule in their eyes.
The band began to play the first set. Sweats was nervous at first and made some mistakes, causing Joe to wince. But halfway through the second piece, Sweats fell into his groove and took off. The rest of the band had to work to keep up with him. One by one, the band members stopped playing and listened. The conversation in the club died down. Only the sweet sound of Sweats playing his sax filled the club. Sweats was lost in the music. He was at a level the band members tried for but never attained. At that moment, his entire world consisted of his sax and the notes it produced. When Sweats was done, he was drenched; the club was silent. Slowly, the audience began to clap. The enthusiasm of the crowd picked up with shouts for more.
Joe handed Sweats more music and the band played until one. As they were packing up, Joe said, “See you at eight tomorrow night, kid. We play Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays. That okay with you?”
“That’s fine sir.” Sweats was getting ready to leave when Mac called out his name and motioned him to the bar. “Looks like you got yourself a job, kid. I got to tell ya’, kid, you fooled me big time.” He handed Sweats two twenty-dollar bills.
He had totally forgotten that he would be getting paid to play. However, his euphoria ended when he thought about going home and facing his mother. He knew she would be home before him, probably waiting for him now.
Sweats made his way home on the darkened streets to the apartment he shared with his mother. Entering quietly, he locked the door behind him. He put down his instrument in the hallway and walked into the tiny kitchen. His mother sat at the beat-up table drinking coffee.
“Where in the hell you been, boy?”
“I got the job, Mom,” Sweats said as he laid his pay on the table and pushed it across to her.
“What kind of job, and where you working?” she said as she looked down at the money.
“Playing my sax, Mom. I’m getting paid to play. Shit, I’d play for nothing if I had to, but they’re paying me.”
“Watch your mouth, boy”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“Listen, Jerome, the streets around here aren’t safe during the day, never mind at night.”
“I’ll be careful Mom. I’m playing with a band, and I love it.” As he said this, Sweats pushed the money closer to his mom. She looked at the money. Sweats knew they were barely making it.
“Oh, Baby,” said his mom.
Sweats knew he had her, again.
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