A few words described me. Very few. Untalkitive, gifted and smart. People always told me I was smart. Some idiotic teachers told me I had street smarts. Once a teacher told me that, and I heard her whisper, "Yeah street smarts, like living on the street." I get bad grades, I get it. Straight D's, but one class. As I mentioned I'm gifted. I can make a guitar sound like anything. I can sing with it, and I can make it sound like heaven. I'm not only gifted with my guitar, but in language arts as well. My teacher says I need to try harder in othe classes, but they bore me. My language arts teacher told me that he wanted to put me in the town news paper. He told me I could name the headline. I always wanted it to say, "Musically gifted child sells 1,000,000,000." My dream was to be big. I wanted to be as big as The Beatles. One day I will be, I know it. My teacher knows it. He knew it from the day I walked in. He saw me wearing my "Arctic Monkeys" Shirt. He loved me instantly. Except one thing. He thought I was smart. My older sister had him when she was younger. She described him to me as "Horrible" or "wanker." I liked him the second I walked in as well. He was wearing the same shirt as me. Coincidence? Best coincidence. Language arts instantly became my favorite class. I pointed out on his shirt where it said "AM" on the album art. He chuckled and mumbled something. "Study hard mate." He said to me. I listened to him, but no other teacher. It's hard to listen to someone if you don't appreciate what they do. My teacher, Mr.Fletch loves what he does, and he does it with pride. He can do anything, and he's a talented bassest. He told me I should try out for the school's band. I wanted to, but they only played classical music. "Change the rules Cris," he said. "Don't listen to the teachers who put you down, you must put them up!" He told me. I marched into the band room and talked to the band teacher that same day. It was a good feeling. "Mrs.Rocs, I'd like to join the band, but can we play something good for once?" She looked at me, stunned. The rumor was I was a rock around teachers, not moving, not talking. "Like what Cris?" I looked back at her. Amazed I had courage to do this. "Why not, Arctic Monkeys?" She looked at me confused. "Who are they?" She asked. I rolled my eyes, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I opened up google play and changed of songs. "10,000 songs?" She interupted. I looked at her and smiled. I moved to the playlist section. I clicked on "Non-AM AM." I scrolled down to "Mardy Bum" my favourite song of all time. As the music spirted out of the phone I tried hard not to dance, or sing the lyrics. I found my right hand molding into the chord shapes as the chords came up in the songs. I realized this and smacked myself. My teacher rolled her eyes and smiled. "If you can learn this song on guitar, I'll let you solo it for the school concert. If you can find a band, or even a teacher you can play with them. " I smiled. "Yes! Thank you Mrs.Rocs!" I then ran through the halls until I found Mr.Fletch. "Mr.Fletch guess what! Mrs.Rocs said I can play Mardy Bum at the school concert if I can learn to play it!" I smiled, then he smiled shortly afterwards. "That's great mate! Solo or band?" I hadn't thought of this. "Band?" I asked. "Don't ask me mate." He said. "Want to join my band!" I exclaimed. "Sorry bud, I can't be with you forever."
* * * * *
"Thank you! Thank you! Again that was 'Mafersons's Second Mosaic! Now we have one of my best students playing in a band the song, Mardy Bum!" Mrs.Rocs handed me a mic, and then plugged my guitar in. My trust old guitar. Fender 19. I turned down distortion. I strummed my first chord. Then the second, then unexplectidly Mr.Fletch came onto the stage and strummed the third. I smiled. He smiled. We played together. Me lead, him rhythm. I sang. He sand. The croud was amazed, seeing a kid this quiet get up on that stage and blow them away with a teacher pumping out the guitar. We sounded great. Finally I sand my last line, and blew my last chord, and the audience stood up and clapped. I felt so slow, but so happy. I could hear every clap, one at a time. I collapsed.
YOU ARE READING
Cris Marcs
Short StoryA below average child with a special gift. A bond with a teacher. A guitar. What can happen in middle school? Read on to find out what happens in this short story by Smashy Glarse. (Comment if you want more.)