Staying the Night

“Want anything to drink?” I asked, peering into the fridge.

“Do you have any tea?”

“No, sorry.”

“It’s alright, water’s fine.”

I grabbed a beer for myself, filled a glass at the sink for her, and sat down on the couch next to her.

“Thanks,” she said as she took a sip.

We sat in silence for a few moments.

“I like your bass. It looks real old. Did you relic it?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s just worn down from years of playing.”

“How long have you been playing?” I asked.

“Since I was five, so… 21 years.”

I would have never guessed that she was older than me. “Wow, that’s impressive,” I said.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Let’s see… I started when I was 15, so eight years now.”

“You’re really good.”

I smiled. “Thanks, when all my friends went off to college, I stayed behind and spent all my free time practicing.”

“I can tell.”

“What got you into music? if you don’t mind my asking. Not many five year olds just up and decide they want to play the bass guitar.”

She smiled fondly, “it was my big brother. He plays drums, and wanted someone to jam with, so he bought me my bass for my fifth birthday.”

“I bet your parents loved that, having a drummer and a bassist in the family.” I said sarcastically.

“We don’t have any parents. For as long as I can remember, it’s just been me and my brother. He took care of me all by himself.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

“So what kind of music do you like? Besides punk rock of course.” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I love classical and jazz!” She said excitedly.

Not the music I would have expected a punk rocker to like, but I guess that explains why she’s so harsh on herself. Those genres of music are much more musically complex than punk rock. It takes a much higher level of technical proficiency to play them and actually sound good, so it’s only natural that she would hold herself to an impossibly high standard.

“It was always my brother’s dream to be in a jazz band, so that's the type of music he always played in the house. When I was a bit older, he started taking night classes to study music theory. It’s practically impossible to get a music education without acquiring a taste for classical music, so he often played that around the house as well.” she continued.

“How’d you get into punk rock then?” I asked.

“From my ex-boyfriend.”

Somehow the thought of her being in a relationship with someone else made me feel kind of jealous. Why? It wasn’t like I had a crush on her or anything.

“He loved punk rock music; he was in a band with his brother. When he and I started dating, I joined as well. It was exciting, being completely immersed in a world that was brand new to me, an entire culture that I never even knew existed before I joined his band. Even though we’ve broken up now, I still love punk rock music,” she continued.

“Doesn’t it make you sad? Listening to music that reminds you of your ex-boyfriend?” I asked.

“A little, but not enough to make me not want to listen to it anymore. I love music too much to give it up over something trivial like that. What about you? What other kinds of music do you like?”

“I like classic rock and metal. My dad got me into music, he’s a big car guy so he’d spend a ton of time in the garage fixing up old cars and then we’d drive around town listening to 80’s music.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“It was a blast, we’d go get ice cream, or go to the beach, or do whatever we felt like. No one could tell us where to go or what to do.” I sighed. “He’s got Alzheimer's now. I go visit him every week, but I don’t think he even recognizes me.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“It’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. Just damn bad luck.”

“Well you’re a good son. I can tell he would be proud of you.”

“Your parents would be proud of you too.”

She leaned in and gave me a hug. After a few moments, we let go of each other. I looked her in the eyes and smiled. She blushed slightly, but didn’t look away this time.

“Thank you,” she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “I needed that.”

“Me too.” We sat on the couch in silence for a few moments. “What do you say we lighten the mood a little and listen to some music?” I asked.

“I’d like that,” she said, handing me her phone. “You first.”

I queued up a classic rock song that I hadn’t heard in years. “This one’s one of my dad’s favorites. We used to listen to it all the time.” I said.

We sat on the couch, listening to the song. I could see her bobbing her head along to the drums.

“I love the drum rhythm during the verse!” she said once the song was over.

“Hmm, I never really paid attention to it. Most of the time I focus on the lead guitar melody.”

“I guess that makes sense, since you’re a guitar player you’d be drawn to the lead guitar and since I’m a bass player I’d be drawn to the rhythm section.”

“It’s one of those songs that you could listen to over and over and hear something new each time. They don’t make them like that anymore.” I said, taking a sip of my beer.

“Some people do, you just need to know where to look.”

“Well of course some people make it, it just makes me sad that there’s not much of an audience for it these days. It makes me worried about the future of our band.”

“We’ll get plenty of listeners, I’m sure.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“We’re both great musicians with a true appreciation for music.”

I smiled and handed the phone back to her. “Your turn.”

We handed the phone back and forth for hours, playing our favorite music of all kinds of genres. I played her more classic rock and metal, and she introduced me to jazz and classical.

Eventually, she began yawning. “I think I’m going to turn in for the night,” she said.

I nodded. “I’m getting pretty sleepy too.” I walked into the bathroom. “I think I have a spare toothbrush somewhere around here,” I said, rummaging through the drawers. I found one, still in the packaging. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking it. “By any chance, do you have some spare clothes I could borrow to sleep in? These aren’t exactly the most comfortable,” she said, gesturing to the formal dress that she had been wearing all evening.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got something clean around here,” I said, opening my closet door. I pulled out a hoodie and some sweatpants. “Here you go, they’ll probably be a little baggy, but they should fit just fine.”

She smiled, “thanks!” She made her way into the bathroom. After a few moments, she reappeared wearing the clothes I gave her and without any makeup on.

I blushed, seeing a girl without makeup felt taboo, it felt oddly intimate.

She blushed too. “Don’t stare, I just washed my face!”

“Sorry,” I said, quickly glancing away.

She laughed. “It’s all right, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together from now on, you’d eventually see me without makeup. Now, where do I sleep?” she asked, looking around.

“You can have the couch, there’s more blankets and pillows in the closet if you need them. If you need anything, I’ll be right in there,” I said, pointing to my bedroom door.

“Aww, you’re sleeping in there? I thought we were having a slumber party!”

I blushed. “Alright, give me a second.” I brought all my blankets and pillows out, and spread them out on the living room floor. I stood back and admired my hard work. It looked pretty comfy. I laid down. It was not comfy. Whatever, slumber party gossip should surely make up for the uncomfortable sleeping arrangement.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” I asked.

There was no response, she must have already fallen asleep.