Chapter 1

When I am onstage, it is like everything else in the world ceases to exist.  The crowds in front of me could vanish, and I do not think I would notice.  Instead, I glance downwards as the calloused fingers on my left hand press the frets, inexpert but effective, and my right hand moves up and down in jagged motions.  My mouth is pressed up against the microphone, and I sing desperately and unapologetically, as if I am dying and this music offers my only hope for salvation.  

     To them, this is just a form of entertainment, one of the few that have not yet been forbidden.  I am just a voice, nothing more, an object provided to make lovely noises.  They do not dig any deeper, search for the meanings that are shifting beneath the surface.  Ironically, despite the fact that I sing in front of hundreds of people every week, my thoughts and intentions are as private as if they had never departed the pages of my notebook.  

     After the show, Rich and I are left in the empty auditorium, carrying our gear out to the van.  The drums take the longest, but finally everything is in - microphones, amps, guitars, the drum set, extension cords.  By the time we pull out of the deserted parking lot, it is past midnight. 

     "Not bad tonight, Jade," he says. 

     "Thanks, man," I laugh.  "You weren't too bad yourself."  

     I light up my cigarette as we roll down the highway, and lean my head partway out of the window.  Smoking is an expensive indulgence, and gets more and more so by the day, but it keeps me sane.  Rich, being a drummer, is in damn good shape and doesn't do any unhealthy crap, but I feel no such responsibility.  

     We sit in comfortable silence for the rest of the drive, and by the time we have reached the town and pulled into the parking lot of our apartment building there seems to be no point in breaking it.  I pull curtains over the van windows to hide the drum set, and Rich hauls the most valuable equipment inside.  Climb up the stairs, down the hall, turn the key. 

     He collapses into bed seconds after coming in the door, and seconds after that he is snoring peacefully.  I sit and watch him enviously for a few minutes.  Sleep comes to me reluctantly, and even when it finally does, it is rarely peaceful.  

     But sleep finally offers itself to me a few minutes later, and I lay down next to Rich spoon-style, my face pressed against his comfortingly strong back as I drift off to my messy, chaotic dream world.  

     

My mother thought that I was crazy when I chose to be a musician.  "Of all the things, Jade," she had said.  I could have done so much, according to her.  A lovely, boring job with optimal financial stability.  The employment office already had several jobs that they were willing to offer me based on my high school grades, but I turned them all down.  

     Not long after that, I met Rich.  I was singing in a laid-back bar, accompanying myself on the piano and performing ancient jazz standards.  That job was the only one I could find, and even though I hated that place and the uptight hipsters that frequented it, quitting wasn't an option. 

     He approached me one night, and asked me if I wanted a drink.  We ended up talking the night away, long after almost everyone had gone.  

     "Why are you working at this place?" he asked me, partway into our conversation.

     I rolled my eyes and laughed.  "That obvious?" 

     Somehow, this spiraled into a discussion of my life story, and what exactly I was doing in this stuffy jazz bar, and what exactly I wanted to be, and what I really wanted to sing... Something about him, even now, makes me feel useful and wanted.  He listened to me and took me seriously when everyone else was mocking me, and I think that I will love him forever because of that.  

Author's Note

i know i didn't end the chapter at a logical place, but what did you think of the story? i was a bit worried about jade's narrative sounding too formal, but that was the way i heard it in my head, so I figured it would be best to let that guide me.

Reviews

[Truman S. Booth]

It certainly feels unfinished, yes, but I like the formality. In fact, I really love your style; it's proper enough to be interesting and different in every sentence, but easy enough to read quickly while understanding every image.

Two suggestions:
1. "My mother thought that I was crazy when I chose to be a musician" doesn't need the word "that." In fact, it will flow much better without it.
2. Have Jade describe her surroundings more. I don't mean a paragraph dedicated to the layout of the jazz bar, but have her paint a little bit more of a picture for the reader. If I can see what's happening while I'm reading it, the story becomes a hundred times more interesting.

But even as it is, I really like it. Your syntax is fabulous--never boring or repetitive. I'm a musician myself, and your opening description of being on stage was powerful and real. I love your character names, and can't wait to get to know them better. Looking forward to Chapter Two. Thank you for sharing.