That didn't mean I liked it. Third grade...
New school.
Fourth grade...
The kid coming back after rheumatic fever.
Seventh grade...
Bridger Junior High.
Now...
William Chrisman.

Every few years it seemed life handed me another hallway... 
another classroom... another group of kids who  already knew one another while I  tried to figure out where I fit.

You'd think after doing it four times I'd have gotten pretty good at it.

I never really did.

The first couple of weeks went pretty much the way first couple of weeks 
always do.
I learned where my locker was.
I learned which teachers appreciated you getting to class before the bell.
I figured out the quickest way to the cafeteria.
Eventually...
I even found the right bathroom.
Little victories. By then I'd learned that every school had its own personality. Different hallways.
Different teachers.
Different lunch tables.
Different unwritten rules.

Mostly, I was just trying to find my place without looking completely lost.

One afternoon, between classes, I was wandering the hallway when something on the activities bulletin board caught my eye.
Talent Show Auditions. I stopped for a second and smiled.
Play a little guitar.
Sing a song.
Meet a few people.
Seemed like a pretty good way to get to know the place...
... and let the place get to know me.
So...
I signed up.

The Audition
A few days later I walked onto the auditorium stage carrying my twelve- string Yamaki. Funny thing about a twelve-string guitar...
It gets everybody's attention before you ever play a note.
Then…they expect you to do something with it.

Auditions were pretty simple.
Walk out.
Play your song.
Thank the teachers.
Go home.
It was a good plan.
It just wasn't the plan they had for me that day.

I'd chosen Dan Fogelberg's Looking for a Lady.
I loved that song. Truth is...
I especially liked one line.
"Share my empty bed."
At fourteen, I thought it sounded mysterious.
A little grown up.
And if I'm being completely honest...
I figured it might score me a few points with the girls. So...
I played it. Intro to outro. When I finished, one of the teachers looked down at the lyrics in front of  her before looking back up at me.
"Billy..."
"Did that lyric say..."
"Share my empty bed?"
"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled politely.
“I'm afraid that's inappropriate for a junior high talent show.” I think that's the day I developed my lifelong dislike for the word  inappropriate.

I guess even junior high had its version of Big Brother.
That usually means somebody else's opinion just got promoted to a rule.

Fortunately...
I'd already learned another lesson.
Always have a backup plan. One of the teachers looked at me and smiled.
"Can you play us another song?"
I smiled.
"Yes, ma'am." As a musician, you never walk into a performance unprepared.
Strings break.
Microphones quit.
Audiences surprise you.
And sometimes...
someone decides your first choice is  a little too suggestive for junior high. So I started playing John Denver's My Sweet Lady. The Fogelberg song had already done its job.

They wanted me in the talent show.

Now all I had to do...
... was give them a song they could say yes to. When I finished, one of the teachers smiled.

"We'll see you at the talent show."

I thanked them...

picked up my guitar...

and headed home.

← The Notebook Years   |   Memoir Contents   |   Maybe... Maybe Not →