Let your heard lead
Chapter 8
Tim looked away, feeling a bit shy. "I just write from the heart and sing however the music feels," he said, lifting his cup for a sip of cocoa. "My mom was a music teacher, and she started teaching me piano when I was eleven. She used to have me sing her songs for our family and friends. She'd always give me a reward—sometimes a little money or a special dinner. But my favorite thing was when she sang me to sleep. Her voice was truly beautiful."
"Your mother sounds like a very loving person," Mary said gently.
"Yeah," Tim replied with a sad smile.
"So, how does she feel about you being in a band now?"
Tim sighed. "She's gone. But I think she would have been happy about it."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mary said softly. "That must have been very painful."
"It was," Tim replied.
"How… how did it happen? Has it been long?" Mary asked carefully.
Tim lowered his head and stayed quiet. Feeling awkward, Mary quickly said, "I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it."
"No, it's okay," Tim said, lifting his head and forcing a small smile. "I just miss her a lot. It happened about four years ago. My parents were driving home after visiting a friend when a drunk truck driver crashed into them. My mom died instantly. My dad survived, but he wasn't as lucky—he had broken bones and lost his sight. His glasses shattered and injured his eyes."
Mary looked at him with deep sympathy. "Your mother would have been very proud to hear you sing like that," she said quietly. "And I'm sure she would have been pleased to know you joined a band."
Tim sighed, then smiled faintly. "My dad was excited when I told him."
"And what about your girlfriend?" Mary asked lightly. "What did she say when you told her?"
"I—I don't have one," Tim replied, shyly looking away again.
"I don't believe you," Mary teased with a smile. "You mean to tell me that a nice guy like you—who can sing a girl into falling helplessly—doesn't have a girlfriend?"
The question made Tim very uncomfortable, but he managed to stammer, "I—I really don't have much time to spend with anyone. I'm either at work or at home with my family." He felt a little embarrassed saying it that way, but he couldn't help it. As far back as he could remember, he always stammered when he felt nervous, uneasy, or scared.
Mary smiled. His shyness actually amused her.
"Hey," Tim said suddenly, remembering something, though he really said it to change the awkward subject, "I don't think anyone ever told me the name of the band."
"Didn't Jax tell you?" Mary asked, looking at him with doubt.
"No," Tim said, shaking his head. "I don't remember him saying it." He lifted his cup to take another sip of cocoa, only to find it was empty.
"It's Ashland—"
"Ashland?"
"That's right," Mary said with a nod. "Jax had just bought that keyboard. One night, when we went camping, he brought it along to play. The next morning, he was sitting beside the remains of the campfire when the idea for the band suddenly came to him. He jumped up in excitement to tell me, and the keyboard slipped off his lap and landed in the ashes. He was so relieved the fire was already out. "We joked about how lucky he was it landed in the ash, and that's how we came up with the name 'Ashland.'"
Tim chuckled. "That's a pretty silly story. You know, I told my little sister I joined a band, and she didn't believe me because I couldn't even tell her the band's name."
"Really?" Mary laughed. "She sounds like a smart girl."
"Too smart for her age," Tim replied with a grin.
"Hey, you two," Jax called out, cutting into their conversation. "Break's over. Let's get back to work."
As they turned to head back into the garage, Mary asked, "So, how old is she?"
"Seven," Tim answered.
Side by side, they walked back into the garage, and another rehearsal session began.
They practiced for almost three hours before finally finishing. By that time, Tim knew all the songs by heart, particularly his own.
Once they finished loading the instruments back into the van, everyone climbed in—except Tim.
"Don't tell me you're not riding with us again today," Paul said, frowning at him.
"I…I…" Tim hesitated.
"Come on, you're not afraid of riding with us, are you?" Martin asked sharply.
"Maybe he thinks we'll kidnap him and sell him to aliens," Mary teased, laughing.
Their playful persistence made Tim feel ashamed. It was clear they weren't going to accept any excuse, so he gave in. After climbing into the van, he quietly told Jax his home address, hoping they wouldn't tease him about how ordinary his neighborhood was.
"Alright, we'll drop you off first," Jax said, starting the van and driving off.
Manuf Street marked the boundary between the upscale area and the rougher district. As soon as the van entered, it hit a pothole, jolting the vehicle. Tim glanced nervously at Paul and Martin, who were chatting as if nothing had happened.
A wooden board divided the van, with a square, net-covered hole in the middle roughly the size of a 24-inch TV. Tim looked through it, expecting Mary to peek through and joke about the pothole they had just hit. When she stayed quiet, he began to feel a little nervous.
Tim had learned that Mary, Paul, and Martin could be loud and mocking at times. Their apparent lack of reaction to the bump made him wonder if they were silently choosing not to embarrass him—or maybe the pothole simply hadn't jolted them enough. Either way, he knew deeper potholes lay ahead. With no streetlights, loud music blaring from nearby DJs, and a parade of young girls flaunting themselves on the streets, the ride promised more jolts and distractions. Tim suspected that one of these scenes would soon grab their attention before they reached his home.