Chinese Food

Tess Anderson

            I unzip the black case, which is leaning against my bed and comes up to my shoulders. Stooping down, I pull my electric bass guitar out and adjust the shoulder strap. I stretch the strap, untwisting and again, readjusting. It comes over my head to settle on my left shoulder. The weight of my bass makes my shoulder ache for a fleeting moment before gradually resting on a comfortable spot.

            I switch on my black amp, which is barely a foot tall and not much wider than that. Turning, I pick up the connecting cord and attempt to untangle it. We battle for a long half a minute, an equal struggle for both sides. With sweet, sweet victory at last, I bend over to plug it in. I run my hand over the smooth, skinny vinyl to grab the opposite end. I plug it into my black Ibanez Gio bass with a satisfying "Click!" I get a moment of shrieking feedback before I rush to turn both the volume on my bass and the corresponding knob on my amplifier down.

            My hands reach for my pick, which I always keep on the top shelf of my wooden bookcase. I grasp it, turning it around in my fingers. For a minute, it catches on my calloused thumb.

            I turn both volumes up, and launch into Nirvana's Polly. Hitting the notes with surprising speed and accuracy for someone who has only been playing for 25 days, I rush past the first verse and into the chorus. The thick, ribbed strings bite into my fingers.

            This was the first song I learned when, surprisingly, my older brother taught it to me. Surprising only because we don't talk or even get along much these days…I'd enjoyed the moment, an oasis in a desert of fights. Now, less than 3 weeks later, I know at least four more songs. It depends on how you count it…some songs, I'll just find notes that fit and don't sound horrible, not actually playing the bass part. In addition to that, I've written some melodies and lyrics. Granted, they're not very good, but I'm slowly improving.

            The bass had been a Christmas present from my parents last year, my thirteenth Christmas. I'd been so incredibly shocked when my dad pulled it out from behind the bed. To think – I'd thought I was done opening gifts, and I hadn't yet received the best! It was then and is now the best present I've ever received…with the possible exception of that Barbie Dream House when I was five.

            I guess my reasons for wanting a bass are somewhat superficial…although my main reason is certifiable. I wanted it because I love the low instruments – the darkest, deepest sounds you can get. My other reasons were that I've pretty much always seen the drummers and the bass players as the coolest people in many bands that I admire…but my dad pretty much said no right away to the drums. I'd tried to play Dane's guitar before, and had even fooled around on my dad's mandolin. But I couldn't get the hang of it. I suppose that the bass isn't that much different…I just like it a whole lot more.

            "TESS!" My brother yells.

            My head snaps up, and I turn my amp off to yell back at him.

            "WHAT!?!"

            "FOOD!"

            I set my bass down on my bed. Practice can wait…Chinese Food tonight!