Descending the Harmonic Minor

One
two
three
four

“We used to open for Styx, this had to have been over thirty years ago,”

G Em
Grace Cathedral hill, all wrapped in the
C
bones of a setting sun, all dust and stone and

moribund.


“Here try it like this,”
I can’t get the bar chords. I've had lessons with Glen for six months now and I still can't get bar chords as well as I should. The song starts easy enough but the second we get to the F Major my strings fret out. I just have to press harder. The wall at the back of the guitar studio Is filled with the past, God knows how many, years worth of Guitar World Magazines. As the faces of rockstars, from Keith Richards to Flea, stare at me from there issue covers I wonder... I don’t want to think about it.
“You just have to practice more,”
I nod.
“Well that’s all for today, and do you have this months payment,”
I hand over fifty six dollars.
“See you next week.”
It dawns on me as I walk past the poster of his old band "WaaZoo" that, despite the fact that he will be making money off me, a man as Passionate as he is about his art must hate teaching me.

“our name was WaaZoo, and we toured with Styx in our last year,”

D
I paid twenty-five cents

To light
D7
a little white candle
G
for a New Year's Day.

The the towers of St. Mary's Basilica, are graceful spires overlooking the great square of Old Town Krakow. Every hour you can hear the Hejnal trumped from the taller of the Basilica's two towers. It ends abruptly on it's broken note, to commemorate the Trumpeter of Krakow, Shot through the throat by, of all things, a Mongol arrow.
Here the city is all a bustle with tourists, street performers, and Polish nationals out shopping or working in the many modern locals operating within building over 500 years old. A traveler might focus on the gothic architecture of the buildings and laugh at the name of the tavern "Under the Ram" until stumbling face first into an American who could have starred in a National Lampoon movie. I pretend to not speak English as he asks me where his kids can get a hotdog. If he did know that I spoke english he would want to talk to me, and tell me how strange Polish people are because they don't speak english, and I wouldn't want him to have to explain to his children what a douche bag is.
I head west, behind St. Mary's Basilica. Here things are quite, only a few people, a couple taverns, and a small fountain. Polish taverns will serve you beer with a little raspberry syrup in it, unless you say no. They also have a shot, it’s name translates into Rabid Dog, and it’s a double shot of vodka, half shot of raspberry syrup, and a few drops of tabasco sauce... it’s deliciously violent going down.
When the sunlight is trying to cascade down the buildings but only actually makes it half way from the southern wall of the cathedral to to the table that your sitting at outside of the tavern, your probably better off drinking hot tea with the shot of cream liqueur. Here the sound of the come and go of the great square is turned to a soft mumble by the old buildings, and tight roads amplify the echos from within. Further down two men are playing guitars. two nuns stop in an archway whispering to one another. The players' facial stubble blurs what might be a tan with what might be dust from across Europe. I sit back, fill my pipe...

(RECORD SCRATCH)

“dude you smoke a pipe?”
“yea, since, like, junior year in high-school, now stop interrupting,”

(and spin)

“why did you guys stopped touring?”

Em
I sat and watched it

burn away
C
Then turned and

weaved through the

slow decay.

"Just practice hammers and pulloffs for ten minutes each day."
I’m catching on quick, as always, but then I just hit a wall. I don’t want to tell him that I’m playing video games instead of practicing, “I’m piled under with homework,” (final Fantasy IX has gripping story).
Why can't I focus, I ask myself. After a year of lessons with someone as good as Glen I should be far more advanced than i am now. When I hear the CD all I can think about is being on stage again, Screaming death metal, at a crowd, but even then I’m not playing guitar, I only do that when I hear classical music, and those dreams don’t involve crowds. We’re not working on that same song anymore, I just hope the F major doesn’t come up again. As he explains to me that I all it takes is is an hour each day, pick five fingering techniques, do each for ten minutes and then work on a song for ten minutes. I wonder... I don’t want to think about it.
I want to be a musician. I know I do, don't tell me I can't. When I picked up the guitar I was better than most of my friends who were in bands... but I don't get any better, I play, but I should practice.

“Well, we actually were offered a record deal with Geffin”

D
I paid twenty-five cents

To light
D7
a little white candle.


The pipe smoke rolls inside my mouth like an intangible word, a word I don't want to let out. I inhale for a second, it’s something you know you shouldn’t do. the buzz comes on. I let the smoke fly... I watch as the wind between buildings is exposed for it’s shape as the smoke disperses and twirls into the ethereal to mingle it’s matter with the notes played by the guitar players.
The Streets of Old Town Krakow are cobbled. Back out toward the city square and the front of the Basilica, I hear the clop of horse hooves as carriages are being pulled. A few people are ushered out of the double doors at the back of the church, they shake hands and hug and walk down the street. Before the priest can close the door, a hint of incense permeates the aroma of burning tobacco. Sweet and bitter mix beneath the eyes of gargoyles and cherubs who are hiding among the moulding that adorns the gray, tan, and brown facades of the buildings.
I put the finishing touches on the drawing of a stone angel on the wall of the cathedral, it’s not perfect, but its good enough. Who is this angel? where did he come from what’s his story. the guitarist play their classical style, mixed with Polish folk. I can’t even imagine what how they move their hands. “there’s something in my I, but I’ll be fine,” I can’t play like that.

“But I decided that I didn’t want that, touring wasn’t in me, I wanted to teach, and I wanted to be in chicago. I didn’t want somebody telling me that there wasn’t any money in modern classical, I felt bad leaving the band, but it wasn’t what I was meant for, and I could have done it, but I wouldn’t have been happy with it. So, I teach, and I play on the weekends at bars to help with some of the bills, and I like it.”

C G
And the world may belong
Em
for you,
C G
but he'll never belong
Em
to you.

I’m leaving for Poland in a week, death metal is blasting in the car as I’m driving through the Chicago South Side. I know the shop isn’t too far out of my way so I take a detour. It’s still there “... Guitar Studios,” I haven’t talked to him in five, I think it was five, months, about one month after he told me about leaving "WaaZoo", I miss the lessons and I miss talking with him, but I’m usually too busy to stop in and when I do, he’s giving a lesson. I drive past, “oh well,” I think, “maybe another day.”

“Hey, things are getting busier, I think I’ll have to stop taking lessons for a while, but I want to thank you, you’ve been the best teacher I’ve ever had.”

C
But on a motorbike,
Cm
when all the city lights
D D7
blind your eyes tonight


I take a drag of the pipe, and finish off my tea. I will never be able to play like those two, it isn’t in me.

C D
Are you Feeling better now? ....
G Em
Are you feeling better now?
G Em
Are you feeling better now?

Repeat After Me.

"Hey, Mom?" Julie walked down the stares, a curious look on her face, "Mom?"

"In here hun," Her mother called from the den, "You should see this." Julie's mother was watching TV. A psychic was telling the talk show host and a woman with a cartoon puppy on her shirt that the woman with the cartoon puppy on her shirt was having relationship problems. The Woman (puppy shirt and all) was shocked as she confessed that she hadn't had a steady relationship in years... in fact she hadn't been with a man since her husband left her... years ago.

"I seriously, can't believe that you buy into this," Said Julie.

Her mother didn't answer, but sipped her red wine while still watching the TV, "did you need something?"

"Yeah, I found this in the basement," Julie handed her mother a hard bound book, a round red stain was visible on the cover.

"Oh my god, I haven't seen that in year's, how did you find this," Julie's mother opened the pages of the book to reveal slightly smudged pen and pencil sketches.

"I had to get something out of the basement," probably better to keep vague, thought Julie. She came across the book while in the basement with Bill, her boyfriend. her shoulders blades were still sore from the concrete floor. Bill liked being on top.

"Are these your drawings?" Julie asked her mother, as she leaned against the love seat to look over her mother's shoulder.

Her mother nodded as she sipped her wine. "yeah, but I forgot all about these, I haven't seen it since we moved out of the apartment."

"I didn't know you could draw like that," Julie looked over her mother's shoulder as they flipped through the pages.

Her mother sighed, "Oh yeah, I used to love drawing, in high school I used to illustrate for the school magazine."

"I love this one," Julie pointed over her mother's shoulder, "It reminds me of the story I wrote."

"Which one, hun," Her mother said it almost as if she had no idea that Julie wrote.

"The one for class," She searched her mother's face for recognition, "I gave it to you and dad last week..."

"Oh, that reminds me," her mother said, "your father's working late again tonight and the home owners association is meeting here because the Pickinses have been running their sprinkler system at off hours, so can you go out in a bit and pick up drinks and snacks?"
Julie rolled her eyes, "yeah, no problem."

Her mother sipped her wine and went back to the book of sketches, "You know? When I was younger I wanted to be an artist."

"Seriously?"

"Uh huh," her mother flipped a page.

"Did you ever do anything with it?"

Julie's mother coughed a laugh, "No, I don't think it would've gone anywhere, plus art school would have taken me away from your father, and I didn't want that to happen."

"You gave up art school for dad?"

Her mother nodded, licking her lips, "Well, I loved you father, and I knew that I would never find something as good as what your father and I had again." Julia's mother sighed deep and flipped a few more pages. She stopped on a drawing of a middle aged Elizabeth Taylor snapping her finger, "I don't even think I would have been that great of an artist, I just did it as a hobby."
The conversation became quite. Only the sounds of psychics and TV talk show hosts could be heard with the occasional sound of swallowing.

"They're really great," said Julie walking out of the den and up the stairs to her room. Books filled a shelf in the corner and a hand full of scribbled notebooks sat on her desk next too her computer. She had a message from Bill:

Hey Babe,
Just got my room assignment for ill. State
WE"RE IN THE SAME DORM!!!! :-D
next year is gonna B great!
Call me, Luv U.

Julie smiled as she read the message and looked at the welcome folder from Illinois State University, the red bird mascot stood out from behind the university logo, and the tag line, "Spread the Red" seemed vaguely sexual to Julia. She just stared into the folder and then, without any reason that she could remember, she reached into her desk drawer, where she put it months ago, and pulled out an application to the University of Iowa. She began filling it out.