Josh, you're out of the band

A New Friend

I went to Starbucks everyday after my sessions with Mrs. Pearson.

I still tell her that my "poems" are going well and that I am going to start doing some readings maybe.

That day was especially awful as I remember it. The reality of my dream was starting to surface. So were my fears. I knew that no one would support me in what I was going to do. I didn't think that anyone would understand what I was trying to say in the words that I've written. There is no way it could possibly work.

But I know that my words are good. They need to be heard. I hope that they can change just one person's life like they have changed mine. They give me new perspective, new hope, a new purpose. They help me to live each day as if it is something precious. I need to stay alive now at least so that I can keep this thing alive. I need to make a difference now.

As soon as I've made this choice, I suddenly regret it though. There is no way that I could possibly form a band by myself or go solo. I have no musical talent whatsoever.

I used to play bass guitar in high school, but that was a while ago and I wasn't very good. My voice isn't too bad. I can also play some chords on the piano, but I don't really count that. All I want though is for people to hear the lyrics, not to focus on my voice. I have ideas of what the beats should sound like, but I don't think they will be very good. I don't even know how to get a gig to start performing somewhere. It seems as if there would need to be a miracle for my dream to come true.

And a miracle was what I got.

Right after I left the shop, that dreary Thursday morning, I was on my way to the bus stop like normal. I had my hoodie pulled over my eyes so the slight drizzle would be less annoying, but it was hard to see. I was going over lyrics in my head and wasn't really paying attention. With my head down, someone walked straight into me and I didn't have time to register it. For some reason, before I even said sorry, I asked if he had any musical talent.

"I'm okay on the drums," he replied with a slight smile.

I smiled back because I understood that he was not just "Okay" at the drums, he was proud to be a really fantastic drummer.

"Do you want to help me out?" I asked.

Yes, I told you right. I just asked a complete stranger to help me turn the inner most, darkest part of my thoughts into something that could possibly be beautiful.

"Sure, I've got a drum set in my garage at home. You can come now if you want. I haven't played yet today," he responded.

I was shocked, nervous, excited, and scared all at once. "Okay, You taking the bus?"

He nodded.

After that we continued to talk and discuss a bit awkwardly about what we could do as we waited for the bus to arrive. I told him a few of my ideas while we sat on the bench, and he seemed to understand. Maybe this guy would be the one life I could change with my words. I would be okay with that.

As we stepped on the bus, I asked him, "Wait, what's your name?"

"Josh Dun," he said. He had that slight smile on his face again, exactly like when he said he played the drums.