“Hey, you with me over there?” Crash tapped Ranko on the shoulder, pulling her thoughts back into the present as she sat on a stool in the empty barroom with her lead guitarist and best friend.
Ranko looked up, nodding gently. She still wore her school uniform, though after the day she’d had, she wished she could burn it. “Yeah, I guess.”
Sighing, Crash straddled the stool next to her at the bar. “Anything you wanna talk about?”
Not especially, Ranko thought darkly. Everybody else is doing plenty of talking about it. “I’m okay. Just had a really shitty day at school.”
The young man nodded, reaching over the bar and helping himself to a bottled beer from the well. “Yeah, I don’t miss that shit. Nothing but backbiting, vain, full-of-themselves jerks that don’t realize that for 90 percent of them, what they’re doing now in their little cliques is the most exciting thing they’ll ever do in their lives.” He spoke distantly, as if he had some bitterness of his own stashed away somewhere. “So, when somebody gives you a hard time, you just remember that a couple years from now, you’re going to be selling out stadiums, and they’re going to be cleaning the bathrooms in ‘em.”
“Do you really think so, Crash?” She turned on her stool to face him. “Are we that good, really? Or do we just beat listening to some fifty-year-old accountant butchering Madonna in here?” After the day she’d had, she doubted just about everything.
The blonde man took a long draught of his beer, looking her over. “That depends. Do you want the truth? Or do you want to sit there and sulk?”
Ranko shook her head with a sigh. “The way you said that makes me think I don’t want the truth, but go ahead and give it to me anyway.”
“Before you joined the band, when me and the guys were at Takao’s before you got there, you know what we dreamed about? That, if we practiced really hard, maybe one day we would be good enough to get a gig where we could consistently play in a bar a couple nights a week. That was our ceiling.” He motioned with his hand up to the empty stage. “That was what we thought would happen if the stars aligned just right, in a few years, maybe.”
Crash set his beer down on the counter with a smile. “And then, we met you. And all of a sudden, we’ve got a record deal, and we’re making videos and shit. Would you believe my little brother came home last night in a tee shirt with my face on it? That he bought, like, in the mall? Like, how the fuck does that happen to some half-drunk college dropout?” He picked the brown glass bottle up again, tilting its neck toward her. “You made that happen, Ranko. That’s the effect you have. Us guys in the band, we’re okay. We’re good enough for a dive bar. But with you? I’m making room on my shelf for a Japan Record Award.”
Ranko blushed, shaking her head. “Oh, come on, now you’re just blowing smoke up my skirt. There’s no way I can do that.”
Crash reached out, resting his hand on the back of hers, setting her face aflame. “Ranko, I’ve been around music my whole life. My dad was a guitarist in a band. My uncle played saxophone. I’ve been in clubs since I could walk. And I’m telling you, yes, you can. I’ve seen countless two-bit hacks with no talent who thought they were superstars. I’ve never known a superstar who thought they were a two-bit hack, until I met you. You’re the real deal, girl. I believe in you. The guys believe in you, and so do your sisters, and everybody who comes into this bar.” He took his hand back, glowering jealously at the silver band around the third finger of the hand he uncovered. “Akane does, too. We all do, except you.”
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He slid off of his stool, offering his hand to her to help her get down from hers in her school dress. “C’mere.”
Ranko took his hand, her face flushing as she lowered herself to her feet, and was led to the edge of the stage. Crash walked to the little curtained-off area in the back where their instruments were stored, producing the acoustic guitar he’d bought Ranko for Christmas, and bringing it to her.
“You’re an amazing singer. You’re an amazing songwriter. Now, let’s make you a musician.” Crash sat on her right as Ranko, still blushing nervously, strapped the guitar over her arm. He adjusted it, taking hold of her left hand and placing it on the frets of the guitar and positioning her fingers. “Okay, now press down there. Take your other hand…” He snapped his fingers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small plastic triangle. “I forgot. You’re a girl. Gotta protect those nails. Hold this.”
Ranko took the pick, looking at it as if it were going to somehow transform into a spaceship.
“Okay, now, while you’re holding the string down right here, stick your pick under the same string and flick it. The harder you flick it, the louder and fuller the sound. Make sure you keep the fingers on your left hand as flat on the strings as you can, so you don’t catch your nails. If you start to play a lot, you’ll probably wanna keep them a little short.”
Ranko tried once, a flat sound not unlike a goose having a stroke croaking from her instrument. She frowned intensely.
“Hey, hey, it’s no big deal, you just weren’t holding this one tight enough. Here, try now.”
Again, Ranko pulled the pick under the nickel cord, and a satisfying brrrrring vibrated through the hollow body of the guitar. “Holy shit, Crash, I played a note!”
“You sure did! Try it again?” Crash grinned as she strummed the string, and again, the note sprung to life clear and full.
“Great job. Now, try this string here? And move this hand in just a little bit… There ya go. Try that.”
She pulled the pick across the newly-selected string, and the instrument emitted a higher-pitched note.
“Yes! Now go back to the first one?”
Ranko played the note without any help placing her hands.
“Great! Again?”
Ranko giggled as the notes flowed – all two of them she knew, but she’d take it. She needed this after the day she’d had.
“Okay, now this one.” Crash moved her fingers to another string, looking down a bit. Everything in him wanted to put his arm around her, but he knew he shouldn’t. “Hit it?”
Ranko plucked the string and a note somewhere between the first two pitches sprang forth.
“And now back to the first one more time?” He smiled proudly as she did as she was instructed.
“Okay, do you remember the sequence? The first one twice, then the second once, the first one twice again, the third, and then the first again. Try it.” Crash watched intently as she slowly, with almost a full second between each note, completed the sequence of seven notes correctly.
“I did it!” Ranko giggled, her eyes wide.
“Do you recognize it?” Crash grinned, letting it come to her.
Ranko thought for a moment, idly plucking the first string a few times, letting her mind search for the rhythm she’d played. She suddenly gasped in recognition, again playing the sequence of notes haltingly on the cheap little guitar, but this time singing along with each one with a tenuous timbre in her voice.
“Call… me… Pan… do… ra… to… night…”
Crash clasped his hand around her shoulder. “Yes! You got it, girl!”
Ranko squealed with delight, swiveling on her backside and reaching over the guitar, pulling Crash into a tight hug. “I can’t believe this! I’m playing music, Crash!”
Crash hesitated a bit before putting his arms around her as well, sighing. “You sure are! I’m proud of you.” He released her and stood, taking a few steps away from the stage. “I… I should go. You keep practicing.”
“But we just got started.” Ranko sighed.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just… I just remembered, I gotta… do a thing.”
Without waiting for her reply, Crash turned on his heel and pushed his way through the glass door and out onto the sidewalk.