I recognized a few faces in the band. Megan and Riley, the two clarinets who had opened the world of marching band to me, sat in the front row. It was strange to see Riley without the faint silver streaks in her hair. They both had the same sorrow etched into their face. It always lingered, even when they were laughing. Two men walked out onstage, Mr. Funk and a senior who was conducting. There was a brief introduction from both Mr. Funk and the student conductor, mostly repeating what Nick had already told me. Then, they began to play.
An outsider would look and see a room full of teenagers. I am so grateful that the people sitting in that room were my friends. My family. But even within the first few bars of that piece they conveyed something that transcended what any of us - you or me or any passerby - could ever comprehend. Something that spoke of life and death and tragedy. But most of all, it spoke of hope and of love.
There are those few pieces that linger beyond the final chord. The ones that resonate deep inside us and that we carry on as our legacy. It surpasses beyond what words can convey. Musicians spend their entire lives trying to find songs as meaningful as this.There will never be a song like Kindred Spirits in my life again.
It’s not for me to say what this piece meant to Nick or to the people on stage. Perhaps it’s not for me to speak of the grievances they and so many of their friends lived through. The song left me at a lost for words. I could feel the emotion, raw and silver and aching, burning at my eyes and tightening my chest. It felt like my heart had stopped beating with the end of the song. I wasn’t sure whether to smile or to cry. Nick was looking down, and I wasn't quite sure if he was crying or not.
"I honestly don't know what to say." I paused, trying to understand what to say. My voice sounded harsh in my ears. The final echo of the song still lingered in the car. "Thank you."
"Yeah." Nick smiled, his eyes looking up to meet mine. I could see the road map to his life hidden in them. I could see the pain that lingered and the kindness that stayed. I’ll never forget that look in his eyes.
It’s easy to hem and haw about the meaning of life. We have spent centuries defining it, sketching it, mocking it, composing it. The truth is, I don’t think something as wonderful and terrible and insane as life can be defined. We can’t explain why good things come out of terrible nights. Why sad songs bind us so inexorably together and linger in the silent corners of the world. We can only find what we live for.
That night is what I live for. I live for shared songs and small confessions. For late night drives and crooked smiles full of secrets. Every time I revisit that car I’ll remember why life is worth the tragedies. Why I stay. It’s those rare, bittersweet moments when even shadows shimmer with a silver lining.
D MILLHOLLIN
VIDEO
BRIAN B
MUSIC
NICK W
INSPIRATION
ARAPAHOE WIND ENSEMBLES
PERFORMANCE
KENDRA A
INSTRUCTOR
HANNAH B
WRITER
02
01
Shadows shrouded the interior of the car like discarded streamers. They stirred the worn mothball fragrance that hung in the air and danced away from the orange streetlight standing nearby. The worn car seats felt as if they had absorbed the velvet softness of the night. The floorboards were cluttered with a discarded water bottle and a crumpled Kings Soopers bag. The back seat was full of more random items, jostled around in a chaotic sort of order. The car was comfortable and messy in a way that made me feel at home. Nick had driven me around in it for almost five months, and the old blue Honda had become full of fond memories. I could still feel the thunder echoing through the car as a summer storm raged around us. It had been back in August when Nick, my best friend, and I had camped out in his car to wait out the storm. Though mundane to the observer, this car had become a sanctuary for its occupants.
The world around us had settled into the quiet routine of life. The last few birds had tucked back into their nests as rabbits scampered back into their homes. It was a cool night with a breeze that whispered with the threat of snow. The moon had faded behind a cloud, her light beams soothing the neighborhood to sleep. We had just pulled up in front of my house. Normally, I’d have gotten out with a quiet goodnight. But tonight I decided to linger for a few minutes. I didn’t want to return to the rest of the world yet.
Nick sat in the driver's seat. His ice blue eyes were unfocused and weary. It was late, even for us, and the long day had taken its toll. His cologne was fading, leaving the smell of wood smoke dwindling in the air. Streaks of gold and silver shone in his hair where the moonlight hit it. His face was streaked with light, showing off the sharp line of his jaw and weight under his eyes. Nick was one of those people who you could capture in a painting at any moment. A living masterpiece that laughed and loved and grieved, with a crooked smile that was worthy of the Mona Lisa.
His hands tightened on the wheel and then relaxed into his lap as he sighed.
“Did you ever hear the song Kindred Spirits? We played it my freshman year.”
I shook my head. Curiosity burned in my chest but forced myself to stay quiet.
“It was for Karl.” A strain of pain flickered in Derek's voice. He paused, struggling to find the right words.
“They picked that song is because it was written for tragedy. The story goes there was this kid in Baltimore who went crazy and killed his family. And all this stuff came out about his life and what it was like and how hard it was and everything.”
Nick stopped again, his throat working. His voice was soft and hidden among the shadows. There was no trace of the crooked grin that I knew so well. No confident smirk or bright eyed assurance. Just a fragile little kid, huddling in his army jacket. If I reached out to touch Nick, he’d disintegrate into the night.
“They wrote this song to forgive him. That even though he did this he could... he was still forgiven. And we played it for Karl....it’s the only time I’ve ever cried during a performance.”
Silence blanketed the car, muffling the world around us. The car seemed to sag around us. Even the glow in the dark necklace that hung from the rearview mirror seemed dimmer. Nick turned his eyes down but I could see the faint sparkle in his eyes. Like most of the other seniors in the band, I had heard his story. I never knew how to be there for them. I wanted to tell Nick that it was okay to cry, that he did something wonderful, that in the end, this was all just another part of life. I wanted to tell him that I was honored for him to tell me this, that what he had done mattered. And yet, maybe some words are best answered with silence.
Without speaking, Nick pulled out his phone and opened up Youtube. Within a few moments, he had found the song entitled Kindred Spirits performed by our band. I tried to stay silent as he handed me the phone and hit play.