As I stare and the story board for the novel I am writing I start to get distracted my the little magnets that are holding my index cards in place. They are from one of those word magnet sets. Music themed. The words start to string themselves together in a jumbled nonsensical way that somehow makes all the sense in the world.
I am taken away from the world that I have created and transported back to this earth, but instead of being in my living room, I am on stage at a trendy little cafe. People are wearing beanies that are much too big for their heads, and most are wearing brightly rimmed glasses, and sporting nicely groomed moustaches (the majority of the women in the audience are excluded from this last one). I look down and see that I am wearing black combat boots, black leggings, a black long sleeve shirt, and a black vest with an off-center zipper and silver studs on the collar. Wow, 90’s movie character much? There is an awkward throat clearing from an overly intellectual looking man in the corner.
I look down and see a sheet of paper in my hand with a typed poem on it, and a hand written note:
Remember to read with drama, and emphasis the magnet words the most.
Alright, breath in as I take my first swing at modern art, and making sense out of randomness.
There are whispered mutters from the front row. I only said one line, but obviously that was enough to let them make their decision on my writing skills. I would show them how deep I could get with jumbled up magnet words.
“PEDAL the UKE that intimidates
the TENOR CLARINET.
Don’t let them in the BAND BAR unless
they play TONIC BASS,
or have a STUDIO VOICE that
can hold a STEEL MELODY.”
I have no idea what I’m saying, but all I know is that the crowd’s disdainful frowns are now turning into agreeing frowns accompanied with bobbing heads.
“POUND that ALLEGRO.
Listen to the HORN SONG
on the TRIO VIDEO.
Catch the VIBE SCHOOL
TOUR on BRASS, and
PLAY the ARPEGGIO
with you PIANO EAR.”
Someone has pulled out a djembe drum, and is pounding a hypnotic beat with my words. It fuels my rhythm, and makes me hope above all things, that the audience will snap instead of clap at the end of my enthusiastic rambling.
“The MAZURKA PRODUCE the
BELL LYRIC that results in
EQUIPMENT THUNDER from
the MARIMBA INSTRUMENT.
Will the kids ever play music again?”
I threw in the last line out of nowhere, maybe trying to give it meaning; and then I put my hands behind my back and let my head drop to signal to the audience that their unmuted praises could begin. The snapping sounded like elves and fairies dancing on my heart.
“Lauren what’s wrong?”
My head lifts up to look into the audience that disappeared.
“Is the white board big enough?”
My dad walks into the living room as I try and assess where I am.
“What? Yeah it is.”
“Huh, that’s funny, you’re using words to hold up your notecards.”
“I hadn’t really noticed. I was so focused on getting the cards in the right order.”
“So this makes sense to you.”
“Yeah in a cafe modern art way.”
“I thought it’s a young adult novel?”
“Oh that…yeah it makes perfect sense.”