Cymbalism

Roland Meinl was always good with his digits, but when he switched from clarinet to drums his fingers jammed up and the math wouldn't slot quite right in his head. 12-8 time was the biggest problem - he had trouble getting the cymbal strokes tight. He knew what it should sound like, but he couldn't fit it in when he was doing everything at once.

In the mean time, though, he is focusing on his fiction.

"Just throw some symbolism in there," Euterpe says, settling down at the table across from him with a pop, "English teachers love that kind of stuff." She plays double-flute and used to sit next to Roland in the select band before he moved to the back with the rest of the hitters. They hang out in her kitchen a lot.

Euterpe hesitates. "Sorry. I don't mean to sound crass or demeaning or anything. I don't write much. I'm just saying it's about consistency. Pander to your audience."

That night, Roland tries to compose in his head while he works out that damned rhythm: tap-rest-tap-tap-tap-rest-tap-rest-tap-rest-tap-rest. After an hour his wrist is sore and his head is aching but he's somewhere, at least.

Redacted

So here’s my advice: burn everything. Burn it all. Enjoy high school while you’re here, get the most out of it, and then get all the papers you wrote and learned from and just burn everything. Reasoning from history was always a bad idea; I don’t care what Alexander Keyssar says. I imagine the good stuff will stick with you, but don’t bother with evidence and for God's sake don't leave a legacy.

Azrael Pearlman: Harbinger of Death

In March, Azrael Pearlman plays percussion in the pit orchestra for his school's production of Into The Woods. He likes the bass drum part the best - during the second act, when he shakes the earth with the giant's footsteps, when he crushes protagonists held so dearly in the hearts of the audience. He sees imperfection in the witch's character, trying to remain distant but growing attached regardless. Even the giant has its reasons for destruction, but those feet - those feet remain as unfeeling and detached as the fuzzy mallets that sound them out.

In April, Azrael's life returns to normal. He is glad for the extra time in the afternoons, but - and though he'd never tell you - he misses all the dread and silence that that drum brought in its wake. It's the kind of power you'd never give up if you didn't have to.

Notation Jokes

Fianchetto was a beekeeper by trade and lived alone on his father's farm. After many years of solitude, he decided to teach his bees to play chess. There were too many of the insects to teach individually, of course, so he just showed the rules to a few and then let the word spread.

A few weeks later, Fianchetto played a game in which his opponent, a youthful worker drone, castled incorrectly on his king-side. The beekeeper knew that the older bees knew the rules very well, but he made a mental note to tell the Qb2+ on the younger ones.

Dear Snow, II

I left a box of your sweatshirts and mixes on the stoop outside my house. I thought I could melt your heart, you frigid, flaky bastard. Don't call me.

Dear Snow,

At 6:10, there is this moment where I do not know where I am. I have been sleeping on my arm and so won't move correctly, I don't know why I'm awake even though the radio is on, and I am under a small mountain of down comforter that smells like clean laundry. It's dark; I am perfect. Understand this, friend: this is perfection.

At 6:11, there is this moment where it all ends. I have to get up for school. The floor is cold. I cannot find my pants. The man on the radio is talking about the temperature outside, and I think I heard something about the low 20's.

Please, please - you do not have the power to change 6:10, it is already perfect. But 6:11 you can change. You can make 6:11 a moment of euphoria as great as 6:10. Let me roll back over and go to sleep. Let me contemplate the joys of waking up at 9:30 to a winter wonderland empty of state-sponsored doldrums. Please, please, please.

Your Loyal Friend,
Sam

P.S. Please.

Scenes 11: Marathon Edition

One: Friday
I have never gotten out of the parking lot faster. Thank you for being a part of that.

Two: Saturday
There is never a way we're going to get three people on that sled, but I think we feel it is worth a shot anyway. I mean what have we got to lose, besides our lives and stuff?

Three: Sunday
It turns out I look psychotic in a balaclava.

Twist Endings

MONICA smiles.

MONICA
Do I have to say something?

A beat. SAM types.

MONICA (chuckling)
I guess that means yes.

She stares at SAM, possibly annoyed?

MONICA
This is a lot of pressure, Sam. Also it's not a conversation. You're just typing... what I say.

Silence.

SAM
I am iron man!

CUT TO CREDITS, CUE AWESOME HARDCORE ROCK MUSIC.

Physics Library

If anyone is interested in listening to the original Diplomat's son, go to VampireWeekend.com and then just click on the song you want. It's a very different flavor.

Death Comes to Tulson County

February 8, 2010; 8:37 AM: Death Comes to Tulson County, Pennsylvania

It's warm for February, and he's driving on the interstate.

8:49 AM: Death Leaves Tulson County

He thought the toll prices were very reasonable.

This Is True

Snakes are the sort of wild animal you do not see a lot of, and I have been thinking. Squirrels you see a lot of, birds you see a lot of. Deer you see a lot of, too, even if you wouldn't know it from how people stop their cars and stare out the window like aliens have touched down. But not snakes.

I found this snake one day in December after school on a two-hour-delay day. He was languishing in the snow next to the spot in the driveway where I park my car. I tortured him with a stick for a bit, grabbed my camera to snap a few pictures, and then went inside promptly forgot about him.

The snow melted a few days later, and I found him dead under a bush in the yard.

Snakes are the sort of wild animal you do not see a lot of, and I have been thinking: it might be because they crawl under bushes and die.

Chapters

ONE: I DESPISE LEMON TEA

Yeah, I mean this isn't just not liking lemon tea. He despises this stuff. Lemon tea drove to his house and killed his mom.

TWO: SLEEP TIGHT

It seems like something you would do loosely. I mean like tight is sort of the opposite of relaxed. What was the plan here?

THREE: WHEN IT GETS WARM WE COULD PLAY ULTIMATE AND THEN EAT REESE'S AFTERWARDS I WAS THINKING MAYBE HOT SHOWERS FOLLOWED BY A GAME OF BOGGLE

Yes. Absolutely yes.

One Poem, Two Minutes

When indeed I buy a steed
I'll name her Alligator Lead
and buy her Eucalyptus plants
and cargo pants and army ants
And though she'll one day run from here
(Of this I'm certain; I asked a seer)
I'll never look to bring her home

For every horse is meant to roam.

Grounded

They were the kind of kids who could have flown but were too worried future employers might see them trying to learn.

RE: MOVING FORWARD

A fee letter is fifteen pages exactly, but the letterhead paper is thicker so Barton breaks it up into two sections right after point number twelve (results not guaranteed) and feeds it into the shredder upside-down.

He used to work nine to five, just like a real job, but he was always tired in the morning. His mom's nice lawyer friend told him he could come in after lunch if he wanted to. He wakes up around eleven now, most days.

It's Wednesday.

Barton slips off his designer sunglasses and settles down at his desk, glancing briefly at the box by the door with the usual scribbled instructions sticky-noted to the top: "scan, then shred."

Putting on the iPod he got for his last birthday, he glances out the window and then starts work. He's glad for the window in his office. He doesn't like turning on the lights; it wastes energy.

He's glad it will be summer soon, so that all his old high school friends will be back from college. Maybe he could even talk Kim into filling the open secretary position. It'd be cool if they could hang out or something.

The letter he is shredding was written last fall - the first email the client sent (RE: Moving Forward). A husband was contacting the firm regarding a divorce, though he still loves his cheating wife. He never retained the firm.

In the morning, Barton drives to the cold beach to see the sunrise. It's a cliché, sure, but it's a nice sight if you're willing to wake up early enough to see it.