1, 2, 3, 4
by Cambree Dylla
East Central High School
Cambree is currently a senior attending East Central High School in San Antonio, Texas. She is an author driven by self-expression, often exploring vibrant themes of identity, creativity, and imagination. Her work aims to energize the writing community with originality and meaning. Through storytelling, she hopes to inspire readers to embrace authenticity and never feel pressured to conform.
It was the buzz of a distorted guitar that made me stop in my tracks. Suddenly, the bustling noise of 27th Street seemed to fade, like someone had turned the volume down on the world around me. I paid no mind to the dense flock of people brushing past me, or the smoky scent of car exhaust whooshing by; for that moment, nothing else mattered.
Next, the resonant thrum of the bass settled deep in my chest, low and steady. The notes paralyzed me, rooting me to the pavement as the sound washed over me. I stood there, unmoving, as if any sudden gesture might break whatever had just found me.
Then, the crash of the drums cut through everything, sharp and deliberate, punching through me. The instruments wove together in perfect harmony, intertwined in a way that made everything else fade out. It wasn’t calming music, oh no, it was raw and chaotic, making it impossible to ignore.
Finally, the harsh sound of fry screaming brought it all rushing back at once. Pressure began building in my chest until another voice, this one melodic, pierced through the mayhem. The voice was soft and calculated, somehow managing to harmonize seamlessly with the other.
I lingered for what felt like hours, taking in every note as it spilled into the street. It all felt achingly familiar, the kind of sound my body recognized before my mind had time to catch up.
***
We used to practice in Josh’s garage, the kind of place that was always either too hot or too cold, regardless of the weather. The room smelled faintly of dust and sweat at all times, never really airing out. His drum kit took up half the space, cymbals slightly crooked and scratched around the edges. My amp would buzz the second I turned it on, and Jamie would always be there next to me, quietly tuning his guitar to perfection. Fabio stayed off to the side, bass slung low, saying maybe three words total before we started. Josh, on the other hand, would never shut up.
“Alright, let’s run it again,” I said, adjusting the strap on my guitar.
“Again? We’ve only run this song like fifty times,” Josh laughed, tapping his sticks together.
“Probably because you keep messing it up,” Jamie added curtly.
“I did not mess it up.”
“You rushed the breakdown.”
“That was on purpose.”
“Yeah, sure it was,” Jamie chuckled.
Fabio just shook his head, hiding a smile. “Can we play now?”
That was usually how our jam sessions went, loud, messy, and a little all over the place. Yet, the second we actually started, everything always snapped into place. I would play lead guitar, meaning I got to flaunt all the intricate riffs, while Jamie played rhythm, steadily maintaining the chords. Without fail, Fabio’s bass would be grounded underneath, adding depth and defining our groove. Josh would come crashing in at the right moment, his kick drum acting as an erratic heartbeat. Then lastly, Jamie and I would alternate vocals, his gentle voice serenely floating alongside my aggressive screaming.
Our takes weren’t always clean, and they definitely weren’t peaceful. It was loud, powerful, the noise rattling the walls of the garage whether the neighbors liked it or not. Our sound couldn’t be restrained, often breaking through the garage door and ringing the ears of anyone who happened to walk past. I lived for that feeling, the adrenaline rush I would get playing it, hearing it. I always knew we were building something together, even if no one else cared to notice.
“Again,” I said, already grinning before the last note even faded.
Josh groaned. “You’re actually insane.”
“No, he just thinks we’re gonna be famous,” Jamie said.
“We will,” I mumbled back, too low for anyone to hear.
Fabio shrugged. “Maybe, as long as we don’t suck.”
I rolled my eyes. “We don’t suck.”
“We don’t not suck either,” Josh added, starting the argument over again.
Most days, we didn’t even get through a full song without stopping. Someone would miss a cue, sing the wrong lyric, or strum a chord imprecisely. Usually it was me stopping us, cutting the song short when it just didn’t feel right.
“Hold on, let’s do it again,” I sighed.
Josh dropped his sticks onto the snare. “What’s wrong this time?”
“It sounds off.”
“Well, that’s not helpful,” Jamie said.
“Could it be the tempo?” Fabio suggested, looking up from his bass.
I shook my head. “It can’t be.”
“You’ve gotta be overthinking it, man,” Jamie said, smiling.
“Whatever,” I said, stepping back up to the mic. “From the top.”
It didn’t always feel like that, though. While we could never perfect a song on the first few tries, that was kind of the point. We’d bicker, mess up, restart again, and somehow everything would come together little by little. Every time we ran it back, it sounded closer to what we had imagined in our heads. I could feel us improving with every take, our sound becoming tighter, louder, heavier.
I’d lose track of time in there. The sun would set quickly, ushering the night chill into the stuffy garage. Hours would pass with each idea we bounced off each other, creating new riffs and fills. Jamie and I would write song lyrics, passing lines back and forth like we already knew where the other was going. My phone would buzz in my pocket sometimes, my mom usually, but I wouldn’t check it until we stopped. And even then, it was always the same.
Don’t stay out too late. You have school tomorrow.
I’d text back something quick, just in time for Josh to hit his sticks together, counting us in.
“1, 2, 3, 4.”
***
Our first real gig wasn’t anything huge, just a small house show in someone’s backyard. To us though, it felt like everything we had been working towards was finally becoming a reality. We got there way too early, lugging our equipment from the back of my mom’s van. My feet shuffled through the tall grass as I dragged in amps and cables, a tight knot already forming in my stomach. The stage, if you can even call it that, was just a raised wooden platform with scuffed floors and wires running everywhere. A small yard sign embedded in the ground displayed our band name in bold letters: Archaeopteryx.
Josh was already messing around on the kit, playing random fills way louder than necessary.
“Save it for the set,” Jamie called from across the stage, smiling as he tuned his guitar.
“I am saving it,” Josh snapped back. “This is just a preview.”
Fabio stood off to the side, eyes scanning the space like he was trying to memorize it.
“People are actually showing up,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” I laughed, glancing toward the small crowd starting to form. “For us.”
As it got closer to our set time, the feeling in the air started to shift. My expectations exceeded as more and more people began to fill up the small yard, tightly packed in anticipation. I looked out, my fingers hovering over the strings of my guitar like I might forget what to do the second we started. Josh was still joking around, but he was tapping his sticks together nervously. Even Fabio, who never said much, kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes fixed tightly on the crowd.
It was Jamie who stepped up next to me, bumping his shoulder lightly against mine.
“You okay?” he asked me, his voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I will be.”
“Try not to think about it too much,” he smiled. “Just play.”
I turned to face him, and I smiled too. We’d been doing this longer than the others, even before it was a band. Most of the time, we didn’t even have to say anything; we just understood each other.
When it was finally time, it all settled in at once. The overhead lights illuminated my skin, warming the back of my neck. A gentle breeze touched my face, pushing strands of hair in front of my eyes. I observed the crowd one last time as their voices blended into a low hum. I took a deep breath before Josh tapped his sticks together, fastly counting us in.
My ears rang as the first chord sounded out, rough and loud. Music heavily filled the air, vibrating and shaking the floor beneath us. I could feel it in my chest as I thrashed around, banging my head to the beat. We weren’t perfect, probably not even close, but it didn’t matter. My voice blared into the mic, Jamie’s tenderly following right behind mine.
By the second song, the energy of the audience began to surge. The crowd broke into motion, a swarm of people forming a loose pit near the front. They were lost in it, shoving, spinning, moshing. My jagged voice tore through it all, beckoning them to push back just as hard. Adrenaline rushed through me, quick and unrelenting, and I could tell that the guys felt it too. The four of us were living in the same moment all at once, finally catching up to the sound we had been chasing.
Halfway through the set, I looked over at Jamie. He stayed completely focused, barely looking up from the strings. I watched as he remained steady and calm, like this was nothing new to him. The noise around him didn’t touch him at all; he was at ease, exactly where he was meant to be.
I wish I paid more attention to moments like that.
***
After that first show, things didn’t slow down; they picked up. We started playing whenever and wherever we could, working our way up from backyard gigs to small venues. It seemed like more and more people turned out each time. It was never a huge crowd or anything crazy, but it was just enough. Before every show, they would chant our name, giving me fuel for what was to come.
We developed confidence, our sound refining with each set we played. Songs that used to fall apart in Josh’s garage started to hold together all the way through. Even the parts I used to stop us on felt easier, consolidating with less effort.
“That was actually good,” Josh said after one set, still catching his breath.
“Don’t get used to it,” Fabio replied, hiding a smile.
I just shook my head, beaming. “We’re getting better.”
“We’ve been getting better,” Jamie said, unplugging his guitar. “You’re just finally admitting it.”
Most nights ended the same way, us sitting around after everything was packed up, too tired to move but not ready for the evening to end. I’d slump next to Jamie, ears still ringing as the four of us talked about nothing important. We’d laugh together, bonding while we rode on whatever energy was left from the show. It all came naturally, like we had all the room in the world to keep going.
I didn’t know it would be one of the last times.
***
It didn’t happen at a show, nor was it anything dramatic. It was just a phone call.
I remember blankly staring at my screen for a few moments before answering, not thinking much of it. By the time the call ended, everything felt … wrong. In just a few short minutes, my whole world had completely shattered.
Jamie was gone. Car accident. That was all I was told.
I don’t remember what I said after that, or if I even said anything at all. I don’t remember who I called or how long I sat there. I just remember the silence. Not the kind we had in between songs, not the kind we filled with noise. It was something heavier, emptier. A silence that didn’t go away.
We didn’t say we were done. No one had to. The garage just stayed quiet after that, a shell of what it once was. Josh’s kit sat untouched, sticks resting exactly where he left them. Fabio had always been reserved, but now he kept even further back. I tried picking up my guitar once, just to see if it still felt the same, but it didn’t. My fingers absentmindedly suspended over the strings like so many times before, yet I felt nothing.
There were songs we never finished. Lyrics Jamie and I had started that just concluded halfway through. I couldn’t bring myself to change them.
For a while, I thought about going back. Plugging in, starting over, trying to construct something out of what was left. But every time I tried, a piece was missing that I couldn’t replace.
***
The music was still playing when I came back to myself, standing just outside the venue. The sound poured through the open door as I stood there, taking it all in. The same kind of noise, the same kind of energy. It wasn’t ours, but it was close enough.
I stayed where I was, listening to the rhythm as it moved through me the way it used to, rapid and free. I resonated with the way the crowd moved inside, bodies colliding and pulling apart without thinking. I knew what that felt like.
The atmosphere felt so raw, so alive. I couldn’t bring myself to tear away, afraid of letting go of the feeling I couldn’t lose again.
I took a deep breath, lingering as the notes danced around my body.
Then, before I could think too much about it, I stepped inside.