The Adventures of a Scrawny Musician and a Compulsive Liar

3. Solos and Name-Calling

Above the staff, below the staff, sharp, flat, whole, eighth—it was bittersweet pandemonium. Notes like little dashes of color—bright, dark, murky, neon—changing faster than the average human mind could process took over the instrument, squeezing sounds both heavenly and cacophonous out of it, creating a trademark, unique sound never heard before. Slowing down, the solo languidly landed on the blues note of the scale, ending with a torturous, heartbreaking resonance, before gradually dying out into a silence that was not the same as it was before. A silence that was once calm, but once disrupted, waits on edge for the next interruption.

            The soloist remained standing, awaiting any form of a response from his peers.

            He received shocked silence.

            Slowly, the conductor stands up and claps.

            Other people join, and before long, the whole room is applauding soloist, thanking him for gifting the world with his wonderful creation.

            The soloist sits.

            “Laurence… once again, you’ve rendered us speechless. Good job,” Mr. Ede praises me. The corners of my mouth lift up in a smile and I nod my thanks to him.

            “So… any comments? Questions? Constructive criticism for our brilliant saxophonist?” The question was meant, on some level, to be rhetorical, but a voice is heard from the entrance of the classroom.

            “I thought it was lovely.” The light, airy tone sounds startingly familiar and I swivel my head around to the general direction of the voice.

            The first thing I see is a long, flowing, floral-patterned skirt, then the disheveled blond hair, and lastly, the unmistakably wide smile. It was Alyssa.

            “Wow, I’ve never heard anything like that before. I only stopped in for a listen before lunch. Do you mind if I stay for the rest of the period?” I glanced at the clock. There were only ten minutes at most.

            “Sure,” Mr. Ede not-so-discretely eyes her as she makes her way to the front of the room and sits down in a chair beside the podium. She places her elbows on her knees like a child and cocks her head to the side, waiting for us to continue playing.

            “From fifty-six to the coda. One, two, three, four.”

Clicking shut my saxophone case, I head for the door. Or, at least, attempt to, before Alyssa flits over to my side and greets me.

            “How long have you been playing for?” She asks as we walk side by side down the hall. The crisp scent of apples makes its way to my nose and it’s not long before I realize the smell is coming from Alyssa.  

            “Erm, about ten years?” Is it a question or a statement? Make up your mind, you indecisive fool!

            Her brown eyes widened in surprise. Her mouth forms a small pink “O.”

            “LAURIE!” My head whips around to the source of the interruption. Evan jogs up to me. “Dude, I just heard the craziest shi—, oh, hi Natalie.”

            Confused, I turn to look at Alyssa. Her gaze is focused on the ground which surprises me. Usually, she maintains steady, unwavering eye contact when having a conversation with me. Sure, we’ve only had two, but I’d know by now if she had problems with eye contact, right?

            “Um, who’s Natalie?” I ask, trying to get rid of the awkward elephant in the room.

            Now it was Evan’s turn to furrow his eyebrows. “You were just talking to her.”

            “No, I wasn’t. I was talking to Alyssa.” Was Evan seeing things? I didn’t know, or never would know, any girl by the name of Natalie.

            “Um, she’s right here. Say hi, Natalie.”

            Bashfully, Alyssa looks up.

            “Hi,” she says.

            I squint my eyes at her. “But your name’s Alyssa.”

            “Laurie, dude, I’ve known her since third grade, and her name’s Natalie. Natalie… Lowe? Is that right?”

            “Rowe.” Natalie/Alyssa replies softly. “Natalie Rowe.”

            Stubbornly, I stuck to the only sliver of fact I knew. “But you told me your name was Alyssa. You’re from Arkansas, you’re new here… right?”

            She gives me an embarrassed half-smile. “I lied.”

            My eyes squint in confusion again. “So… you’re Natalie.”

            “Yes.”

            “Well, then why’d you tell me your name was something else?” I ask, still not understanding the situation here.

            “Sometimes… I say stuff I don’t mean. I can’t help it. It just… happens.” She murmurs.

            We stand in discomfited silence.

            Finally, Evan clears his throat. “Well, we better get going before Isobel rips out my throat for not walking her to lunch. Bye, Natalie.” He starts pushing me from the back.

            “Bye, Evan… Bye, Laurence.” She waves, her wobbly half-smile and her red cheeks the only evidence of our awkward misunderstanding.

            “Bye… Natalie.” My brow still remains furrowed. It felt odd to address her as Natalie instead of Alyssa. After all, what is a name, right? It’s just a bunch of letters bunched together. So, why can’t she change it to something else… right?

            …Nope, it’s still weird.

            As I ate, my mind wandered off to other things that were also a bit “off” about Natalie. Like her colorful graphic ankle socks, her constantly-disheveled blond head of hair, her preferrence of wearing calf-length skirts when most girls wore booty shorts, and her unsettling aura of cheerfulness that radiates like a beacon, determined to make anyone within a two-foot radius around her smile uncontrollably.

            What a strange girl.