jace

August: 20 Questions for a Soloist

thursday
My mom left early in the morning and had been gone most of the day, which was surprising as she hated when I was home alone, abhorred it even. She would always talk about how terrible things could happen and that I was much better off with someone to protect me. She pulled into the driveway at 4:32 to take me to my session with Dr. Carmichael and she seemed a lot happier than usual.

I trotted out to the car and got in, wrinkling my nose at the strong musky smell that seemed to touch everything. I leaned over and sniffed my mom's shirt, nearly choking on the thick cologne that had weaved itself into it.

Mom raised an eyebrow, "What are you doing?"

I frowned, "You smell different, you smell like cologne." I went to sniff her shirt again, but she waved me off, scooting over in her chair.

"Your dad wears cologne."

"He doesn't wear cologne that strong."

She scowled, "Yes, he does."

I stared at her blankly, because I wasn't sure what she was trying to accomplish. "Okay."

The ride was long, probably because I was inhaling toxic fumes the entire time. And I wondered just how stupid my mom thought I was, because I knew my dad's cologne--it was a reliable Father's Day gift--and that ridiculous smell wasn't it.

Dr. Carmichael was at his desk when I entered, shrugging off his blazer. "Good afternoon jace."

I took my usual seat in a chair close to the window, watching him ready his pad and his ears to record everything that I said. "Hello."

"How's your summer vacation going?"

"Well, I read a lot and sleep a lot."

"That sounds fun."

I shrugged, "Yup, it's what dreams are made of."

He furrowed his brow and leaned forward in his chair, "Huh?"

"I was attempting sarcasm, I don't think I'm very good at it."

We rambled awhile and then my mom was back to pick me up. Dr. Carmichael's mind seemed to be elsewhere as he didn't speak to my mom at all. He shook my hand before I left and he smelled a lot like my mother.

Or maybe it was the other way around.

monday
On the first day of marching band camp about 100 of my peers were scattered around the school parking lot with susaphones and drums and things of the like. And they were dressed in what my sister called "sweatout clothes" and the organized chaos was at it's finest.

"jace!" Jacob waved at me, holding his trumpet high. Garrett nodded at me, holding a pair of  drumsticks in one hand and a drum harness in the other. "Get your ass over here!"

I ducked and dodged between people and instruments until I reached Jacob and a folder full of music was slapped against my chest.

"We have to memorize all of this shit by next fucking week. Can you believe that?"

I flipped through the one-dozen pieces of sheet music and shrugged, "We can do it."

"Of course we can, but do we fucking want to? No."

And then Garrett told Jacob to shut up because all he did was complain and Jacob said he did it because he was good at it. And I smiled because as much as I hated to admit it, I'd missed them over the summer.

A whistle blew loudly and all talking ceased and eight people wearing clean white shirts emerged from the school, one of which was the band teacher Mr. Ashbury. He made a welcome speech that involved a lot dramatic pauses and then designated each section a part of the parking lot.