A Robotic Heart

[AnimatedC9000]

Chapter 9

After we were admitted into the university, the college allowed us to move into a dorm in advanced. This, of course, meant that we finally had a steady home in a place where I could get an education. Our belongings combined wasn’t enough to fill the dorm room, so naturally we had to go to town a lot to buy the essentials needed to make the dorm look more acceptable for living.

It was about one week until classes officially started and Lindbergh and I were in town running a few errands. One of our stops was the supermarket to pick up groceries.

“Okay, cereal?”

“Check.” A few boxes of Frosted Flakes and Cheerio’s went into the shopping cart that Lindbergh was pushing.

“Bread.”

“Check.” A loaf of bread came to rest inside the cart

“Tomatoes and lettuce?”

“Double check.” The produce items were placed into the basket.

“Water bottles.”

I did a double take at my friend. “I can’t have water, Lindbergh,” I said to him. “You and I both know that I’ll short-circuit if too much water gets into my system.”

“I know. I was just testing you, Michael,” the kiwi told me as we made our way to the different aisles.

“I’ll have enough testing to do when classes start,” I remarked, a slight chuckle in my voice.

“You know what they say,” my friend told me as he was putting a jar of pickles into the cart, “the mind never sleeps.”

“Indeed,” I replied in agreement. “Mine also picks up radio and television signals that keep me up sometimes at nights.”

“Wow, the hospital must’ve went a little overboard,” Lindbergh commented, heading towards the checkout line.

I nodded, trying to think of what the hospital must’ve used to reconstruct my brain. TV cables, antennae… maybe it was something to do with my hair?

As I was pondering all of this, I noticed a flyer on the message board and went to check it out. I grabbed the flyer off the board and read it silently to myself. “Come see the Solid Foam at the Groundling Café. Enjoy the music while you relax. Donations are accepted.”

“Hey, Lindbergh,” I said to my friend while walking over to him, “take a look at this.” I handed him the flyer.

“The Groundling Café, huh?” Lindbergh read in amusement. “Sounds like some sort of coffee shop.” He looked at me. “Maybe we should go there sometime.”

“How about dinner tonight?” I suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” the kiwi agreed, picking up a few sacks of groceries. “Now come on, let’s load these into the back of the car.”

~~~

That night, the two of us drove into town to the Groundling Café for dinner. I was more curious about the band that was playing there than Lindbergh was, but that didn’t matter between us. Besides, we needed some reason to celebrate the beginning of the school year, anyway.

The waitress seated us at our table and took our orders before departing. I was searching around with my eyes for the band that was supposed to be at the café, but so far, I found no musicians.

"Where are they?" I muttered to myself.

"Where are who, Michael?" my friend asked, puzzled.

Not expecting my friend to have heard me, I gave him a confused look in return.

"Who are you looking for?" Lindbergh asked again.

Before I could answer him, the waitress came with our refreshments and treats (although I thought I specifically asked Lindbergh not to order me coffee or a mocha or any type of drink). Despite what it might've done to my system if I consumed it, I picked up one of the cups of coffee and decided to make a toast. "Here's to four or more years of successful college classes," I said to my friend.

"Here's to our continuing friendship," the kiwi toasted back.

We clinked our cups (or the closest to clinking two coffee cups together) and started to consume the beverages.

At that very moment, a wail of a saxophone sounded throughout the restaurant and all of the patrons, including Lindbergh and myself, turned their heads towards the small stage.

On that stage, what I assumed to be the members of the Solid Foam band were playing a song. There were four performing musicians when I first saw the band: a lead guitarist, a bass guitarist, a saxophonist, and a drummer.

How can I describe the people that would become my future bandmates by relying on my first impression of them?

To be honest, when I first saw them perform, I thought that they were … a pretty diverse group. I hadn’t seen any other group like them beforehand, and I probably will never know another one like them.

The bearded lead guitarist looked like he was in his early- to mid-20s with a laid-back, country feel to him. The bass guitarist, also in his early- to mid-20s, was a purple catfish-like creature who wore sunglasses. The saxophonist looked young, probably not even out of high school yet, but he could play like a professional. The drummer, who appeared to be around the same age as the saxophone player, was also the only female member in the group.

The band played their best for the crowd that night. I could see that they were doing excellent in performance, but it seemed as if they were missing something. Perhaps they needed a musician to join the group?

Some of the crowd clapped following the end of their performance, and Lindbergh and I were among them.

"Wow, they sure are good," the kiwi said to me.

"Yes," I agreed with him, "I've never seen a group like them before."

"I think that's because this is the first band that you've ever seen up close and personal before, Michael," Lindbergh told me.

I couldn't help but agree with him. Even before the accident, I hadn't been invited to see a band or musician perform in concert.

"Hey, here's an idea," my friend said with an air of confidence. "Why don't we go meet them?"

Lindbergh must’ve gotten to known me really well during our short time together, because he just read my mind. “Exactly,” I replied. “Let’s go right now.”

So the two of us went from our table over to the area where the band was taking a break. Out of the two of us, I was the most intrigued about meeting the band. I excitedly sauntered towards their table…

… and tripped over a cord before I could reach the group.

“Hey man, you okay?” a voice of one of the members asked me, most possibly belonging to the guitarist.

“I… think so,” I wearily replied, standing up with Lindbergh’s help.

“Good, because it looks like you might need a little bit more help the way you’re going,” the purple bass player said to me.

“As if I don’t have that much troubles already,” I told him.

The young saxophonist mumbled out a sentence.

“What did he say?” I asked the band.

The bassist spoke up again. “He said that you gave him a little scare when you fell, Robot Man.”

They had already noticed my most prominent feature, but they were talking to me like I was a normal person. That was a good sign.

“Hey, you got a name?” the man with the beard asked.

I realized that I had not introduced myself yet. “Oh, excuse me for not mentioning it in the first place,” I apologized. “My name is Michael, and this is my friend Lindbergh.”

“Hello!” the kiwi greeted.

“We watched you guys perform,” I explained. “You all sound pretty good.”

“Thanks,” the female drummer spoke up.

“Always great to meet a new fan,” the lead guitarist stated. “Friends call me Beard,” he said, extending a hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Beard,” I said in return, shaking his hand.

“I’m Clifford, the group’s residential bass player and all-around cool person,” the purple man introduced himself. “Nice to meet ya, Michael.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I replied with a smile.

“That’s Flash,” Clifford said, motioning over to the young high school student. “He plays the sax.”

The saxophonist, now known as Flash, nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” he started out saying before he mumbled a sentence again.

“He’s been playing since he was a kid,” the bassist explained.

“Oh,” I answered, nodding in agreement. “He’s pretty talented.”

Flash mumbled a “thank you” to me.

“And last but not least, there’s Francine,” Clifford concluded, waving a hand towards the drummer.

“I could’ve introduced myself on my own, Clifford,” the girl stated with a chuckle.

“Yeah,” the bass player went on, “she’s our drummer, and Flash’s girlfriend.”

“NOT his/my girlfriend!” the two high school students exclaimed at the same time.

Both Beard and Clifford got a good chuckle out of that. “Nah, they’re just really close,” Beard told me.

“Oh, okay,” I said, nodding my head.

"Hey, do you guys live around here?" Lindbergh asked the band.

"Flash and I go to high school in the next town over," Francine answered, "and Beard and Clifford live in an apartment complex in the city."

"Yeah," Clifford agreed. "It's not much, but it's home."

"What about you?" Beard asked my friend and I.

"Oh, I'm going to high scho-- college, I mean," I corrected myself, "at the Jack Haley Technical Institute."

"Uh huh," the kiwi said. "We live in the dorm building."

"A college man," the bass player said with a nod. "Good luck with classes next week, man."

"Thank you for the support," I thanked the band.

"No trouble at all," Beard replied, writing something down on a piece of paper.

"You'll need all the help you can get," the drummer added.

"Hey man," Clifford spoke up, "if you're ever in a jam, like if you got no place to go for the holidays, just give us a call."

Beard gave me the piece of paper that he wrote on. "Here's the address and telephone number of the apartment that Cliff and I live at," he said. "You can come over at any time."

My eyes widened. "Really?" I asked, bewildered by the offer. "Why, that's very nice of you both."

"It's cool," Clifford answered. "We think you're a pretty hip dude of truly digital proportions."

The band members spoke and nodded in agreement.

"They like you, Michael," my friend whispered to me.

It was true. Even though I was different than most people, here was a group who accepted me for who I was. I knew that the people in the group would be my friends, just like Lindbergh had been.

"Well... thank you very much," I stated, nearly speechless.

“You know, you don’t look much of a Michael,” Beard commented. “Sounds sort of like an analogue name.”

The entire band began to laugh for reasons that I didn’t know. Analogue? Were they comparing me to a TV set?

“Man’s got a point,” Clifford spoke up. “You’re more of a digital rather than an analogue.”

“Digital,” I repeated. “Right…”

“Digit al…” That voice came from Lindbergh, who appeared as if he was also pondering something.

“Maybe we should call you Digit from now on,” the guitarist said with a laugh.

“Digit,” I repeated, thinking about the name. “I like the sound of that,” I told the band.

"I like it, too," Lindbergh agreed.

“All right, then,” Clifford concluded. “From now on, we’ll call you Digit.”

Before that conversation had even ended, I received a new name and a wonderful group of new friends. I could tell already that my life was going to go great from then on.

 

[RedPiggy]

Very nice origin for his name!

 

[AnimatedC9000]

Chapter 10

My new name proved to be more fitting than I thought it would. Not only was I a "digital" man (according to the Solid Foam members), but my progress in my classes showed me that I was a technological wizard in my own right. I continued to amaze my teachers, friends, and even myself by the way I could easily complete assignments.

"Gee, Digit," Lindbergh commented one day after classes had been going on for four weeks, "at this rate, you'll be working for NASA for sure!"

"You really think so?" I asked him while I was studying for a test that was coming up the next day.

"Sure, at the rate you're going," my friend encouraged me. "I hope you do well on that test tomorrow."

"Thank you, Lindbergh," I said, giving the kiwi a friendly smile. "I'll do my best."

"And that's the best you can do," the plumber completed. "Why, you can even do more than your best if you try hard enough."

With a nod, I went back to studying for the test.

The next day, I caught up with Lindbergh at lunch after the testing was over to have a conversation with him.

“Lindbergh, do you remember when we met Solid Foam?” I asked him.

“You mean Beard, Clifford, Flash and Francine?” my kiwi friend replied.

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Sure I do.” Lindbergh paused to take a bite out of his sandwich. “Why do you bring that time up?” he questioned after he swallowed.

“Well…” I didn’t know whether or not he’d believe me about what I was going to say, but he was my friend and I trusted him. “I’ve been thinking…”

“About what?”

“Back to the first time we met the band,” I continued, “I couldn’t help but notice that they were missing something.”

The plumber stared at me, a puzzled look on his face. “What do you mean, Digit?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “It’s like they needed an extra member to join them for their careers to really take off.”

“Really?” Lindbergh spoke up in a semi-confused, semi-knowing voice.

I nodded in response. “In fact, Lindbergh…” I took a moment to prepare for what I was going to say next. “Last night, I had a dream that I joined the band.”

My friend’s eyes widened in mid-bite. “You did?” he asked in awe.

“Yes,” I answered him. “In fact, I think it might even be a sign.”

“How?” the kiwi quizzically responded.

“You know how you said the other day that I needed involvement with a group of people?” I told him. “I think this might be my chance to show them that I can belong in a group.”

“That’s really neat and all, Digit,” Lindbergh commented. “Actually, when I said that, I was meaning that you should join a club or something. Besides, I didn’t know whether or not you played and instrument.”

“I--” I stopped mid-sentence, realizing an important obstacle that seemed to prevent me from joining Solid Foam.

I could hardly play an instrument.

~~~

That afternoon, after my classes were over, Lindbergh and I drove into town until we found a music store. I was determined to find an instrument that I could know how to play and that would be of use to the band.

“What sort of instrument did you have in mind, Digit?” my friend asked me once we started to look around the shop.

“I’m not so sure,” I told him, “but I’ll probably know it when I see it.” We then went our separate ways to search for an instrument.

I first made my way over to the brass instrument section. There were trumpets, tubas, and other brass instruments galore, but none of them felt right for me. Besides, whoever heard of a trumpet player in a rock band?

I stayed clear of the stringed instruments. Beard and Clifford were already covering the lead guitar and the bass, so they probably didn’t need any more of those type of musicians.

I also discouraged myself from venturing to the percussion section. The only percussion instruments I could think of were the drums, and Francine was already the drummer of the band.

“May I help you?” the owner of the shop asked me.

“Why yes,” I answered him. “You see, I’m looking for an instrument.”

“Well then, you’ve come to the right place,” he said to me. “Welcome to Radice’s Music Shop! I’m the owner, Mark Radice.”

He seemed like a friendly fellow that knew what he was talking about. I was sure that he could help me. “Thank you for the welcome, Mr. Radice.”

“Please,” he said, “call me Mark. Now, what seems to be your problem?”

“Well, Mark,” I told him, “I want to join a band, but I’m not quite sure which instrument I should play.”

“We just need to narrow it down by what type of band you’ll be joining,” Mark explained. “Jazz, swing, rhythm and blues…”

“A rock band, actually,” I told him. “I’m planning on joining a group called Solid Foam.”

“Solid Foam, you say?” the owner of the store repeated, his eyebrows lifting.

“Well yes,” I answered, surprised that he had heard of them. “Do you know them?”

“Know them?” The man chuckled. “They’re some of my best customers. Why, just last week, I sold Flash some reeds for his sax. They also told me about their new friend. Robotic man, pretty nice.” He looked me over. “You’re Digit, right?”

They even told him about me. “Why, yes I am.”

“I thought so,” Mark told me. “Come here, I think I know a good instrument for you.” He led me to an area with all kinds of pianos.

While I looked around, I became confused as to why the store owner brought me over to the piano section. Even as a child, I wasn’t exactly gifted with the ways of the keys. The few piano lessons that I had in sixth grade proved it.

Mark brought out two keyboards and set them up for me to play. “Try playing these,” he said to me.

I stood between the set of instruments, staring at them. I knew I couldn’t play them, especially after the accident. “Sir, I don’t know if I--”

“You’re a technological wizard, right?” he asked me. “That’s what I’ve heard about you. Just try to play them this one time and see if it works for you.”

Taking a deep breath, I placed my hands over the keys of one of the keyboards. I was trying to convince myself to play them. Come on, Digit, you can do this, I thought to myself. Just think of it as… typing on a control panel.

“Let’s hope this works,” I mumbled to myself before I closed my eyes and started to play the instrument.

I couldn’t believe what happened next. There I was, playing the keyboards to the tune of a famous song by Elton John. Suddenly, it seemed as if all the band joined in: Beard on guitar, Clifford on bass, Francine on drums, and Flash singing the lead vocals. We were all playing in front of an audience of fans who screamed wildly as our saxophonist sang.

I was playing my heart out on the keyboards throughout the whole number. My efforts were rewarded when the crowd reacted to the ending of the song with thunderous applause. Right then I knew that this was my ticket into joining the band.

“Wow, that’s great, Digit!”

The voice of my friend made me open my eyes and come back to reality. I saw Mark and Lindbergh, applauding for me.

“That was a really neat song,” the kiwi commented. “‘Crocodile Rock’, right?”

I nodded in response. “Yes.”

“You’re a very good musician, Digit,” Mark encouraged me. “The band will definitely accept you as a new member, I’m sure of it.”

~~~

After we paid for one of the keyboards, the two of us (Lindbergh and I) drove over to the apartment complex where Beard and Clifford lived. We lugged the instrument upstairs and set it up once we were inside.

My audition for them went well and I was immediately placed into the band as the keyboard player. Everyone was excited about me joining, especially Lindbergh. He became our manager of sorts, picking out locations in nearby cities to play at and what time and date the performances were.

I’ll never forget one of the first gigs that the band had with me as their newest member. It was a Saturday night, and the club was packed. All of us were playing our hearts out (or, in Flash’s case, singing our hearts out) to a particular song called “Crocodile Rock.” The performance was received with a great amount of applause.

That applause seemed to only encourage me more to stay with the band and to be a musician. After that day, all of our performances seemed like wonders to me.

The best part about it all was this: I finally found a group that I belonged in. A group that’s so strong, we still keep in touch to this very day. And to think it all started with a single trip of a wire…

 

[RedPiggy]

Interesting song choice. This is still going strong ...

 

[The Count]

You know... A couple of roomies of this certain author might object to the cheap shot about a trumpeter not belonging in a rock band. p Please post more though.

 

[AnimatedC9000]

Just to let you guys know that the next chapter is finished. Unfortunatly, due to some issues, it won't be posted tonight. Just letting you all know that I haven't forgotten this story.

 

[AnimatedC9000]

Chapter 11

“Jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell rock, jingle bell sing and jingle bell ring…”

The melodic sounds of Christmas carols flowed from the radio and into our ears as we drove around the town in the month of December, looking for decorations and such. Since the campus was closed for the holidays, Lindbergh and I had taken temporary residence at Beard and Clifford’s apartment. Flash and Francine’s parents also allowed them to come over for the holidays, so we all thought that we could take a drive through town to see what we could find to add some Christmas spirit to the apartment.

Lindbergh, Flash, Francine and I were all together in the back seat of Clifford’s car, with Clifford and Beard in the front two seats. The radio was on and we were conversing while the carols were playing.

“I love the holiday season,” Lindbergh said. “Everyone’s got a smile on their face and the whole world is truly in the Christmas spirit.”

“Yeah,” Beard agreed, “and the glitter of it all keeps selling every year.” Everyone laughed at that comment.

The radio then switched over to “Jingle Bells”. “How many versions of this song are there?” Francine asked with a sigh.

“Hundreds, probably,” I answered, trying to think of all the versions I’ve heard over the years. “I guess everyone’s had their shot at it once in a while.”
She shrugged. “Well, better that than--”

“Hey, everyone, guess what this song is,” Clifford suddenly stated, interrupting Francine and launching all of us into a guessing game. All of us listened as he started to hum a semi-familiar tune.

The drummer was probably the first one to get it. “Oh no,” she grumbled. “Clifford…”

The man in in question just kept on humming, a slight smile forming on his face.

Beard joined in with Clifford. “Ba-dum-bum-bum-bum… Da na na na na na, ba-dum-bum-bum-bum…”

It was at this point that Lindbergh discovered the song and started to sing along. “To lay before the king, par-um-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum, rum-pum-pum-pum…”

It was then I realized that the song we were trying to figure out was “The Little Drummer Boy”. I decided to join in and harmonize with the three that were already singing. “So to honor him, par-um-pum-pum-pum, when we come.”

At this point, our own drummer was resorting to burying her face in her hands while our bassist, guitarist, and even saxophonist busted out laughing. “Guys, you know I hate that song,” she complained.

“Sorry, Fran,” Clifford apologized the laughter, “but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

“Hey, Clifford?”

“What?”

“Shut up,” Francine told him, snatching the sunglasses off of the driver. “And I’m not giving them back until you stop singing and/or mentioning that song.”

“Ha ha ha, very funny, Francine,” Clifford retorted sarcastically before sighing. “Okay, I’m sorry about… you know what. Now give me back my shades, we’re almost there.”

The female drummer put on a triumphant grin and handed Clifford back his sunglasses as we pulled into the parking lot of the local Wal-Mart. Once inside, we decided to split up into small groups to cover more ground. Naturally, I was paired up with Lindbergh for the shopping trip. Our job was to get the lights for the tree and a some extra lights and displays for various places in the apartment.

“So what kind of lights do you have in mind, Digit?” my friend asked me as we made our way towards the Christmas lights.

“Well, we should probably get some white lights for the tree,” I replied, “and then maybe some colored lights for the displays so that we could work with them a little bit more.”

“All right.” We then came across several boxes of Christmas lights with different lengths written on them. “Let’s see… ‘seven feet’, ‘eight feet’, ‘nine feet’ ‘twelve feet’…” Lindbergh turned to me. “You think eight is enough?” he asked.

“Considering that the tree has to fit inside the apartment, eight’s plenty,” I answered him.

“Okay,” the kiwi said as he lifted the box up. “Now to find some multicolored ones for the displays.” He glanced down at the heavy box of lights in his hands. “Hmm... maybe I should put this in a cart," he concluded.

"I believe there's still some up front," I told him. "Let's go see if we can grab one."

"Okay." The two of us then set off for the front of the store to get a shopping cart. "Hey Digit, did you ever have a tree growing up?" I was asked on the way up there.

"... well, yes," I replied to my feathered friend. "The tree was small, but it was just right for Mother and me." I felt myself smile as I remembered all the Christmases I had back in my old home with my mother. "Every year, we'd wrap presents for ourselves, neighbors, relatives, and close friends and store them under the tree until Christmas Day."

Lindbergh nodded, a look of understanding in his eyes. "My tree was small, too," he told me. "We didn't always have much under it, but we were all happy with what we had. My family used to make ornaments to go on the tree: popcorn balls, paper chains... little pictures of ourselves on hooks," my friend described to me.

"It sounds like a nice tree," I commented. "My mother and I made some ornaments every year, but we also bought some more to make the tree look more festive." A sigh escaped my throat as I remembered all the good times I had with my mom in my old home back in Illinois. "You know what they say, Lindbergh," I stated, trying to hide my homesickness as I pulled out a cart, "'There's no place like... home... for the holidays...'"

The bird placed the box in the cart before putting his arm around my shoulder. "Yes, but there's another saying about home, too," he said to me reassuringly, "'Home is where the heart is.' We're both together with a new family this year, even though we're not related to any of them."

I paused and considered my friend’s words to me. Over the passing months, I had gone from living with my mother in Illinois, human and almost friendless, to a semi-robotic person in a Kansas town who was in a band, played an actual instrument, was going to college, and had a group of very close friends. Even though I still missed my mother, Lindbergh was correct in his comment. I did have a new extended family in this place, a family that I cared about and who cared about me back.

I managed to get a smile on my face. “Thank you, Lindbergh,” I thanked him, “for being such a great friend.”

“That’s what friends do,” the kiwi told me. “They stick together no matter what.”

After getting the rest of the lights and a few displays, we ventured to the ornament section of the store to meet up with the others. From the looks of everyone, they seemed to have successfully gathered all the items that they were assigned to get and were ready to select more decorations for the tree. (“Why can’t we just make our own ornaments?” I heard Lindbergh ask. “I’ve got this neat idea for decorating an old wrench that I have.”)

As for myself, I had a special project in mind. Not only were Lindbergh and I working on the animated displays, I had planned to make an moving ornament to put on the tree. It was going to be perfect: the ornament would have the grace of a butterfly as it would dance around a snow-covered town to a beautiful Christmas carol…

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the appearance of a thickly clothed… animal, to give a generalization. All that was visible through the heavy clothing were two bulgy yellow eyes that were looking around the store in a strange manner. He was spooked by the passing-by of an employee and started to hurry away into our groups’ general direction.

The next thing I knew, I was knocked to the floor in a hurry.

“Digit!” Lindbergh quickly rushed to my side and helped me up. “Are you all right?”

“Well, Mrs. Claus, how’s your hubby?” I half-dazedly asked in response.

“He’s okay,” my best friend told the rest of the group. “He’s just got a small technical problem. Nothing I can’t fix.”

The creature’s eyes grew wide. "Hey, um ... you get any other channels? 'Cause, see, I gotta few in mind ...."

"I'm Mr. White Christmas," I introduced myself, "I'm Mr. Snow."

Lindbergh held me still to prevent me from breaking out into song and dance. "What do you mean, sir?" he asked the heavily clothed reptile.

"Well, ya see, uh, heheheh," began the lizard. However, Francine cut him a deadly glare, making the reptilian nervously chuckle and shake his head. "Uh, yeah, never mind."

"Well, anyways, thanks for breakin' my fall," he continued. "I'm Leon."

"Friends call me Snow Miser," I sang, "Whatever I tou--"

I was cut short by the hand of my avian friend. "This is Digit," he introduced me to him. "My name is Lindbergh."

"And we are the band currently known as Solid Foam," Clifford said, introducing the rest of the band. "What brings you around these parts, Leon?"

Leon glanced around and lowered his head. He shrugged. "Aw, well, you know how it is," he told them. "The holidays can get to be hard for anyone without ... without," he continued, starting to blubber, "a family of their own." He wiped his snout on his sleeve. "I'm just tryin' ta get through the holidays, rememberin' my girlfriend." He looked up hopefully. "Did I mention she was hot?"

He seemed to be concerned about his holiday season so far, so I decided to ask him what was wrong. "Is something wrong, Leon?" I asked, hoping my talk would help him.

Leon nodded, tears freely flowing as he started to break down. "A coupla years ago, I cared deeply for my smokin' girlfriend Susan. We did everyt'ing together: watched TV, went strollin' in da park, lit fireworks, heheheh." He couldn't help but grin at what must have been fond memories. Suddenly, though, he got strangely quiet. "Winter came along, an' she got sick. It was super freaky, she was so pale. All she wanted was a Christmas ... a Christmas," he continued.

There was a long pause. Nearly everyone was sniffling at that point. He told us, "She just had to have her man get her a Christmas tree. She got out some cherries an' popcorn an' construction paper, so she could make da decorations while I went lookin' for da tree." He wiped his snout on his sleeve again. "I was tryin' ta find da perfect tree for my girl, but soon there was nuttin' left but scraggly lil' branches what was supposed ta be trees. I couldn't let my girlfriend have somethin' like that."

"Man, that's awful," Beard commented sadly.

Clifford nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you must've had it really tough," he said to the lizard.

Francine hugged Flash for comfort, a few tears coming out from behind her sunglasses. The saxophonist hugged her back, trying to comfort her.

Lindbergh was close to tears, and even I was trying not to sob. "What a touching story," I stated, trying to hold back the tears.

"Can you dig it?" Leon added tearfully. "I searched for HOURS for da perfect tree." He shook his head. "I came back just before dawn. My long search had finally turned keen on me, baby. I was sho dis would make her happy." He sighed.

"I carefully opened da door so she wouldn't hear me." His voice continued to break up. "I found ... I found ... I found her face in a bowl o' popcorn. I was, like, 'Hey, sunshine!' She wouldn't answer. Den I realized ... she had done left dis world for sho." He cried some more as everyone looked on in sorrow. "So, now I gotta gets me a tree so I can look at it an' put her last decorations on it, so her hip memories can live on."

That just about did it for me. By the time he finished up with his story, I was bawling, tears streaming down my face. "Why did she have to go-o-o?" I tearfully asked Lindbergh.

The kiwi put his arm around me and patted my back. “She’s in a better place now, Digit,” he told me, trying to calm me down.

“Poor guy,” Francine commented, still in Flash’s embrace. “Nothing like that should ever happen to somebody, especially during the holiday season. We should definitely help him out.”

Flash nodded and mumbled out an statement of agreement to Clifford, also asking him what he though of the subject.

“I don’t know,” Clifford said, “this dude looks like he’s up to something.”

“How can you say that?” I asked the bass player through the tears. “He has lost the love of his life to illness. Imagine if you lost your mother to that same disease that she had.” I wasn’t exaggerating: I’d be devastated if I found out that my mom was sick during the holiday season. “I say we help him,” I added, a wavering amount of sureness in my voice.

“I agree with Digit and them,” Lindbergh agreed with us. “It’s Christmastime, and Christmas is about helping others.”

“Well, Cliff,” Beard told his roommate, “it’s a group decision: Should we help him or not? It‘s your verdict.”

The bass player looked around at the rest of us before letting out a sigh. “All right,” he said in defeat, “we’ll help him out. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he added under his breath.

Leon's eyes widened. He glanced around at all of us, momentarily unable to speak. "I can't believe this!" he exclaimed. "Thanks, guys! You guys are slammin'!"

"Well, it's Christmas, man," Clifford replied to the lizard. "It's the least we could do to help."

“To the trees?” Lindbergh asked.

“To the trees,” everyone else answered, ready to head up to the front of the store and pay for the Christmas decorations.

I hooked my arms around Lindbergh‘s wing and Leon’s arm before we se out for the front. “Weeeeee’re off to see the Wizard--” I sang joyfully before I was cut off by the rest of the band with a sure “Not right now!”

I grinned sheepishly in response. “Right…” We all (Leon included) headed up to the front of the store to pay, all without breaking out into song and dance.

~~~

All of us looked on as Lindbergh and Flash bravely set forth to climb a tall building. The climb would be dangerous, but thanks to Lindbergh’s equipment, they would probably be all right.

“I just hope that he knows what he’s doing,” Francine commented to me.

“It’s okay,” I told her, “Lindbergh’s had experience doing these things.”

“I meant Flash.”

My eyes widened with realization. “Ooh…”

When the two climbers reached the top, they looked around. “I don’t see a tree up here,” the kiwi shouted over to the saxophonist. “Do you see anything?”

The young man held on to the top in exhaustion, gasping for breath.

“Hey, you two!” a man with a megaphone suddenly yelled from behind the rest of us. “Get off of the playground equipment!”

“Wow, I can see the Wal-Mart from up here!” Lindbergh commented.

Down below, Francine buried her face in her hands.

“We’ve gotta long way to go,” Clifford stated as a group of children formed to stare up at the bird and the teenager.

~~~

"Don't worry, Leon," Lindbergh said to the reptile as the group walked down the sidewalk, "we'll find a tree for you soon."

"Yeah, um," Leon began loudly, then lowered his voice, "that's the important thing."

We passed a mime performing on the streets. Almost all of us slowed down to watch him perform, but Clifford continued onward down the street side.

The mime pointed in the bass player’s direction in surprise and quickly (and silently) started to follow him.

“This should be interestin’,” Beard whispered as we all followed, wondering what the mime was going to do next.

The purple bassist was walking with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He let out a soft sigh. The mime followed suit, miming all of Clifford’s actions.

Flash was the first to let out a chuckle, quickly followed by Francine and Leon. Clifford turned around to see what was going on, and the mime froze in place, pretending he was in a box.

The purple male shrugged it off and continued on, the mime and our group following him. Reaching into his pocket, the guitarist pulled out a candy cane and started to lick it, his face becoming less serious. The mime followed suit, pulling an imaginary candy cane out of his pocket and licking it gleefully.

This earned more giggles from the group. “Guys, what is going on?” Clifford asked before turning around, only for the mime to be pretending to wrap a Christmas present and give it to him. “… thanks,” he answered, a little bit freaked out. He then continued down the street, whistling a tune to himself. The mime, being the showman that he was, lowered his eyelids and followed in silent suit.

This was enough for Clifford to turn around and catch the mime in the act. “Get outta here, man!” he yelled at the street-performing mime. The white-faced man put on a sad face and ran away, crying silently. “Wait, come back! I didn’t mean--” The bass player sighed. “Great, I’m an enemy to all mimes now,” he said sarcastically.

The rest of us were still laughing. “What’re you laughing at?” Clifford asked us. We immediately calmed down before setting off again.

~~~

At the lumber store, Lindbergh and I were glancing at the axes. The kiwi took one off the shelves and gave it to me to hold. “Cool, you look like the Tin Man!” he exclaimed.

“Do I really?” I asked in amazement.

“Except you don’t have that one thing on your head,” he continued. “Why don’t we go find one?”

Before I could answer him, Beard approached the two of us with a glass of eggnog in his hands. “Hey, guys,” he began, “how’s it--?” The guitarist didn’t have time to continue, for the next thing that we knew, he tripped over a stray log and spilt his drink all over me.

Everything that happened next was all a blur to me. All I can remember was my arms waving wildly around with the axe still in my hands. Then I shut down from all the glitches I had.

~~~

Possibly inspired by Flash's actions earlier, Francine started to climb a giant red slide in the mall in order to speak to the department store Santa about getting a tree for Leon. We all watched in amazement from the ground as she scaled the slippery slide on her way to the top.

“Mmm, that sure is one strong-willed woman you got there, Flash,” Clifford teased the saxophonist. “She sure can climb.”

“Shut up,” the teen mumbled, embarrassed a little.

Leon suddenly walked in front of us and stopped. He kept staring at the ground. "Uh, look, fellas," he began softly. "You guys are pretty far-out, an' I've been a total chump, y'know? You dudes were totally down wit' tryin' ta help me an' everything. You didn't even focus on da inconvenience I was causin'. I just ... I just can't ruin da Christmas of such funky fellas. Let's just go back ta my place. I'll make this alright."

“What! ?” We all turned at the sound of Francine’s voice yelling at the Santa on top of the slide. “I just climbed up think friggin’ slide just to ask you for a tree, AND YOU TELL ME ‘YOU’LL SPLINTER YOUR NAILS, KID’! ?”

We all looked at each other in concern. Before any of us could act, however, the department store Santa Claus had fallen face first down the slide and into the “snow” on the ground.

Francine came down the slide a few moments later, a look of anger on her face. “Let’s get out of this dump, guys,” she said to us.

"C'mon, bunny," Leon said as he elbowed Francine. "You and the guys need ta come over to my place."

"Don't call me bunny," she said to the lizard. With that, we all exited the mall, exhausted from the day's events.

~~~

"Are we there yet?" Lindbergh asked for the tenth time. We had been walking with Leon to his apartment for quite a while and were all wondering when we would reach the place.

"Keep your pants on, birdy," Leon replied to the kiwi. "We're almost there."

I took this opportunity to quicken my pace to be beside the lizard. "Sir," I said to him, "thank you so much for inviting us to your home on this cold winter evening. We all deeply appreciate what you're doing for us, even though you have so little to offer. You are a truly generous person, Leon," I finished with a smile.

Leon looked away. I could see him sigh silently to himself. His eyes moistened. He tensed as though he wanted to answer ... but he didn't. All he did was open the door to his apartment…

… and boy, were we surprised with what we saw.

The place was brightly decorated. Christmas knick knacks were on the shelves and the side tables. The table in the dining room had a decorated turkey on it, ready to be eaten. But what surprised us the most was the fact that there was a tree in the middle of the living room.

“Hold up!” Clifford exclaimed, breaking our awe of silence and turning to Leon. “You mean to tell us that you actually had a tree? And I bet that story about your dead girlfriend is fake, too!”

Leon chuckled to himself as he wiped away the water from his eyes. "Yep," he confessed, "this was all for you guys! Merry Chris--"

The reptile was cut short by Francine’s hands wrapping around his throat. “Listen, you little two-faced liar,” she growled through gritted teeth, “if you think that you can just expect us to forgive you just like that, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“I can explain, girlie!” Leon choked, gasping for air.

Flash and I intervened in between them, the saxophonist taking the drummer’s hands off of the lizard’s throat, myself getting our host away from the slightly angered female.

“Let him explain,” I told the others, “he must have a good reason behind all of this.”

"Indeed I does, Digit," the lizard said before starting to tell his real story. "Y'see, I saw you guys performin' a coupla times at some of da clubs I go to. And when I heard you all play, I thought to myself, 'Wow, these guys can really rock,' you know? So, when I heard you were all in the neighborhood, I decided to invite ya all to my home to celebrate the holidays."

“You see?” I defended him. “He only wanted to spend the holidays with us.” I gave them a smile, hoping to help ease the tension.

A few moments of silence followed. I was starting to believe that nobody was believing either Leon or I.

Lindbergh spoke up. “Well, thank you for having a change of heart, Leon,” he thanked the lizard for his generosity. “We’re glad to spend the holidays with a new friend.”

Leon’s eyes widened. “You really consider me a friend?” he asked the others.

“Well, I do,” I answered before them. “And… I believe that people deserve a second chance at things. So guys, can we start over with him?”

I had some doubt that my words would make sense to them, but in the end, everyone had found a friend in Leon. After we agreed to spend the night there, Leon started to hand out some Christmas presents to everyone. I was very grateful, for my gift was the other keyboard that completed the set of two.

“Francine, look up,” I heard Flash say to the drummer. As I looked up, I as well as the others plainly saw the two teenagers kissing underneath the mistletoe.

“About time,” Clifford commented with a smirk on his face. The two teens blushed at the bass player’s words before they kissed again briefly.

When the New Year came around, I knew what I was thankful for. I was thankful for having so many new friends that have helped me out in so many different ways. From then on, I knew the true value of friendship and I still treasure it to this day.

 

[RedPiggy]

That was so cool. You did a good job with the Christmas Story parody. Everything was in-character and heart-warming.

 

[AnimatedC9000]

Chapter 12

As much as I enjoyed being with my friends in the band, I still had to get a complete college education if I wanted to get somewhere in my life. For a period of my life, I had trouble knowing which was more important: my studies or my friends. I tried to keep the two separate for a while, but occasionally the two would mingle and interfere with each other.

This type of incident occurred a few times, such as the day in the spring semester when I was trying to write a song for the band while I was studying for my classes at the same time. Periodically, I went over to my keyboards with pieces of paper (usually ones with musical staffs on them mixed in with my school work) and tried to find the right chords and notes to go with the lyrics.

“Every dark night brings me to another day,” I sang softly as I played the notes. There was a slight pause in my voice, for I did not know the exact lyric that followed, before I sang again. “Hey, hey… Hey, hey… What can I say?”

“That’s a nice song,” I heard a familiar voice say a few moments later.

I turned to see Lindbergh standing by the door entrance, apparently having just gotten to the dorm from work. “Oh, thank you, Lindbergh,” I replied, a smile on my face.

He joined me over by the keyboards. “Are you writing it for the band?” he asked, curiosity in his voice.

“Well, yes,” I answered, “but I’m not quite sure about this one lyric.” Then I started to play the song for him again, a little bit faster than the slow tempo I had earlier. “Every dark night brings me to another day,” I sang again, adding “Then here’s the part I don’t know the lyrics to” before I sang again. “Hey, hey… Hey, hey… What can I say?”

“Gee, I’m sorry I can’t help out with it,” the kiwi said apologetically, “I’m just not the musician type. I can play the harmonica, but that’s about it.”

Despite my friend’s best efforts to help, I couldn’t help but let out a sigh in disappointment. “It’s okay, Lindbergh,” I consoled my friend. “At least you tried to help me out.”

“Well, if you really want someone’s help,” the kiwi offered, “why don’t you ask one of the other members in the band, or that guy from the music shop?”

“Mark Radice?” I stated, remembering the owner’s name.

“Yeah, that’s the guy who gave you your first keyboard.”

I hadn’t forgotten about the man who officially introduced me to the world of music. In fact, the rest of the band and I still came to visit him every other week when Flash and Francine didn’t have school and I didn’t have classes.

"I'll be sure to talk to them about it this weekend, Lindbergh," I replied, trying to sort out my school papers from my musical papers. "Right now, I've got to complete an assignment for one of my classes."

"Again?" My roommate knew how many classes that I was taking and how well I performed in them, but he couldn't believe that I had at least one assignment that I hadn't finished per day. (Come to think of it, neither could I...)

"Yes, again," I repeated to the kiwi with a sigh. "I don't understand it. I always get the assignments completed on time during class..."

"Maybe your mind is wandering to something else?" my friend suggested. "What about that concert you and the rest of Solid Foam have scheduled in that one club on Friday?"

I was greatly looking forward to the performance that the band had that Friday night. Each of us had chosen a song for the band to play at the concert. For instance, Beard had chosen “Sweet Home, Alabama”, Flash chose “I’ll Be There”, Clifford chose the song “That’s the Way I Like It” (for some strange reason…), and Francine selected “I Can See Clearly Now” as her contribution to the band‘s performance.

As for myself, I had selected a song from one of my all-time favorite singers/pianists. The song was “Bennie and the Jets” by Elton John, and we were playing it as our closing number. Out of all the songs on his album Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, that song was one of my favorites.

“Oh, I can’t wait for the concert, Lindbergh,” I told him excitedly.

“I bet the sound will be great. Plus, we’re performing one of my favorite songs as the closing number.”

“You know, I’m surprised that you hadn’t worn that record out yet, Digit,” Lindbergh commented. “You’ve been playing it at least once every week.”

“Well, I think it’s an honor for the band to be playing one of my favorite artist’s songs,” I replied. “Besides, it has a good beat to it.” With that, I started to play the song on the keyboards.

“Hey kids, shake it loose together,” I sang as I played to my audience of one. “The spotlight’s hitting something that’s been known to change the weather… We’ll kill the fatted calf tonight, so stick around… You’re gonna hear electric music, solid walls of sound… Say, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet? Ooo, but they’re so spaced out. B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets…”

~~~

“Oh, but they’re weird and they’re wonderful,” Flash sang on the stage. “Oh, Bennie, she’s really keen. She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine! Oh-ho… B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets.”

Friday night had finally came. We were performing in a club on the other side of town, and the place was packed. The crowd had liked our previous four numbers and were accepting our closing number with great reception. I couldn’t help but smile as I played away on the keyboards to the song that I had chosen the band to perform.

“Hey kids, plug into the faithless,” Flash continued. “Maybe they’re blind, but Bennie makes them ageless. We shall survive, let us take ourselves along… Where we fight our parents out in the streets to find out who’s right and who’s wrong…”

The young females in the audience were screaming over our saxophonist’s melodic voice. Some were even trying to climb onto the stage, but some employees held them back.

Flash gave a smirk as he continued to help the band entertain the audience. “Oh, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet? Oh, but they’re so spaced out. B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets… Oh, but they’re weird and they’re wonderful. Oh, Bennie, she’s really keen. She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine! Oh-ho… B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets.”

The crowd wasn’t just shouting praises to Flash, but to all of the band. In fact, I believe that my keyboard solo between the verses was well received with the audience.

“Oh, Candy and Ronnie, have you seen them yet?” the high school sax player sang after the solo was finished. “Oh, but they’re so spaced out. B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets… Oh, but they’re weird and they’re wonderful. Oh, Bennie, she’s really keen. She’s got electric boots, a mohair suit, you know I read it in a magazine! Oh-ho… B-B-B-Bennie and the Jets… Bennie… Bennie and the Jets… Bennie!”

“Bennie!” the rest of the band sang in reply.

“Bennie!”

“Bennie!”

“Bennie!”

“Bennie!”

“Bennie and the Jets!” the entire band sang in harmony.

“Bennie!” Flash led.

“Bennie, Bennie, Bennie,” the rest of us answered.

“Bennie!”

“Bennie, Bennie, Bennie!”

“Bennie!”

“Bennie!”

“Bennie!”

“Bennie!”

“Bennie and the Jets!” we all sang in conclusion.

The crowd erupted with thunderous applause. As the band took their bows, I took a glance around the club. To be honest, I never expected the song to be such a hit with the audience that it was that night.

A few minutes later, the entire band went backstage for a well-deserved break. I followed the guys back to our dressing room (Francine had requested a smaller dressing room to herself) with a wide smile on my face.

“Man, we really rocked out there!” Clifford stated immediately after the door closed.

“Yeah, man,” Flash agreed briefly. Then he continued to mumble something about Elton John.

“What about Elton John?” I quizzically asked him.

“He said that he couldn’t believe how well our closing number did,” the bass player translated.

“Great song choice, Digit,” Beard told me.

“Aw, thanks guys,” I said in response. “I just figured that the song was--”

There was a knock on the door. “May I come in?” a voice from outside asked us.

“Sure,” Clifford answered. “Come on in.”

Lindbergh slipped into the dressing room, a smile on his beak. “That was a great concert, guys!” he congratulated us. “You guys really brought down the house!”

“Really?” I asked. “Are you sure the club was built to code?”

Everyone in the room laughed at my little joke. I even chuckled along with them.

Leon came into the room next, rubbing his cheek. “Man, that girl packs a punch,” he muttered to himself.

“Yo, Leon,” our bassist greeted to the lizard, “what happened to you?”

“Well, I was tryin’ to get the girl to come out of her room,” he explained before he paused. “… yeah… Well, I was meanin’ to round you guys up.”

“For what?” the lead guitarist wondered out loud.

“Oh yeah,” Lindbergh suddenly remembered. “There’s someone here to see all of you. He says that he’s an agent.”

We all perked up at the word immediately. An agent wanted to speak to us? “Unbelievable,” I thought out loud.

“Well, believe it,” Leon responded before turning his head to the door. “Come on in! They’re expecting you!”

Francine slipped into the room first to be beside her boyfriend. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered to him excitedly. “An actual agent.”

Flash nodded to her as we all eagerly awaited for the agent to come in.

A man then entered the room, a warm smile on his face. "Hello, my name is Bernie Brillstein," he introduced himself to us. "I heard you all play earlier and thought that you were terrific."

“Thank you, Mr. Brillstein,” Beard responded to him first. “And may I say that it’s a real pleasure meeting you. My name is Beard, and I‘m the leader and the guitarist for Solid Foam.”

Bernie chuckled. “Nice to meet you, Beard,” he said, shaking hands with our band leader with a smile.

“I’m Clifford,” the bass player introduced himself to the agent next. “I’m the bass player of the band.”

“Pleasure to meet you as well, Clifford,” the agent stated as he shook hands with the purple man.

“This is Digit,” Clifford continued, introducing me. “He’s the man that plays the keyboards.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Brillstein, sir,” I stated as I shook the man’s hand.

“Thank you, Digit,” Bernie replied. “It’s nice to meet you as well.”

“My name is Flash,” our saxophonist managed to say to him. “I play the sax.”

“And I’m Francine, the drummer,” his girlfriend stated.

“Real pleasure to meet ya,” Flash half-mumbled as he and Francine took turns shaking the agent’s hand.

“A pleasure to meet the two of you as well,” Bernie responded to them before speaking to all of us. “I’m here to speak to you all about the possibility of the band getting a contract.

I was overwhelmed by the offer. This was my first actual taste of the music business, but I didn’t know how to react. I just stood there with widened eyes.

“Sure, a contract,” Beard said, “we could go for that.”

“Let’s not rush into things right away, though. Perhaps we can discuss it over dinner tomorrow?” the agent suggested.

Beard and Clifford looked at each other before the purple bass player answered. “Sounds all right,” he responded.

“Great,” Bernie exclaimed with a smile, handing Beard a piece of paper. “I want all of you to meet me at this restaurant at six tomorrow evening. Does that sound like a deal?”

All of us agreed to his words and he left the dressing room with a smile. We knew that we had to be prepared to be ready for the next day, so, we all loaded up and headed to our respective homes to rest up. The next day was going to be very important for all of us.

 

[RedPiggy]

I just laughed out loud when Leon brought in the agent. It just seemed so ... him.

Digit had a really good joke.

This is still going strong. I forgot if you have author's notes on this fic over at ff.net, but add some "I don't own the songs, these people do"-type statements over there, as they can be slightly pickier about that type of stuff.