A World Without String Is Chaos 41 The Blue Half-Note

They jammed for hours, slow, rising, speeding up to a tempest, melodic, dissonant, powerful, ending in fifty minutes of complete and utter silence.

At minute fifty-one, the old man closed his eyes, smiling.

Mark gave the old man a nod, then headed off to the dock. He was riding a boat to where Fred was waiting for him.

Emily and Carlos were there to see Mark off. Carlos shook Mark's hand, and Emily hugged Mark tight, until Mark had to pat her on her back, letting her know it was time for him to go. Mark carried an electric guitar, an amp, and a suitcase and got on the boat.

It was really a cruise ship. Mark went to his cabin and looked outside the circle-shaped window, watching the island getting smaller and smaller. He took a nap, with the waves gently rocking him to sleep.

Ever since his drug binge, Mark's sleep cycle was a complete and utter mess. Sometimes, he would sleep close to twenty four hours, other times he stayed up for two days and two nights. Oddly enough, Mark's energy while he was awake didn't suffer, and his mood was balanced, too. In fact, he was the same fun loving, a little careless, mischievous and friendly young man he always had been. Mark felt lucky he was mentally sound, even after all that. The long sleeps were pleasant, even, and the waking moments were quick tempo-ed and exciting.

He antic.i.p.ated every next day, next hour, next minute. Next second.

It was after midnight. Mark went to a party being thrown on deck. He naturally chatted with the people he b.u.mped into, casual, carefree, lots of laughing. He was sipping on red wine, flirting with every girl that caught his eye, and every girl that eyed him, which were quite a few. Around five.

Mark danced. He always found movement so natural, and he always felt comfortable in his own skin. He was twirling with girls, joking with the guys, and in four hours, the sun was rising above the waters.

Mark and a sporty, garrulous girl made out, their hands exploring each other's bodies. It was a memorable morning, for the both of them. But they both knew it wasn't anything serious.

They were just having fun.

Mark arrived on the other side. Fred waved at him. What a square, Mark thought, shaking his head.

Fred asked Mark if he would like his own place, downtown. Mark jumped on the offer. He wasn't about to live at Fred's apartment. Fred chuckled, and he handed Mark the key to a nice studio apartment.

"What would you like to do as a musician?" asked Fred.

"I want to play at a jazz club. I was going to walk around downtown and find a spot I like, where the vibe is good." Mark replied.

"Okay."

Mark found the place after a week of hopping from one jazz club to the next. He even played in some of the clubs, and he was receiving offers from bands to join as an accompanist, even as a lead, in no time. He found the place, though, on the seventh night.

The sign was in flickering, blue, neon lights: "The Blue Half-Note". He sat quietly in the back corner, and he listened to a trio- piano, ba.s.s, and drums. They were good, and they sounded right to Mark. After the set, he walked up to the men.

"Hi, name's George." "Hank." "Sam."

"h.e.l.lo, I'm Mark. I play electric guitar."

"I know!" George let out. "You're that kid that played at The Midnight Hour. You're good."

"I got a lot to learn." Mark took it easy.

"Can I play with you guys?"

George, Hank, and Sam all looked at each other, and then looked at Mark.

"No problemo, kid."