Kyle and his drums
Kyle and his drums
by JellybeanChiChi
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Here is the final of four Christmas stories. I don't care too much if my Secret Santa enjoyed these stories, but I hope you readers (all two of you :-) enjoyed them. I enjoyed writing them.
Take care and to all have I wish peace for the new year and those to come.
-------
Malcolm Henderson gently propped up his right leg upon the utilitarian chair in his bedroom and tied his shoes with quiet precision. He brushed away any dirt or soot. He paid a lot of money for his shoes, and truth be told, he loved his shoes and slipping his feet into them was part of his morning ritual.
And so was the drumbeat that reverberated through the walls of his apartment from next door.
A quiet man, Mr. Henderson sighed and shook his head. He continued his morning rituals as he prepared for the day. He straightened his bed as the cymbals were banged next door. He went to the kitchen to find his coffee maker had brewed preciously at 7:15, as it did every morning. Generally accompanied by exercises on the bass drum next door. He then put a touch of cream and one and a quarter teaspoons of sugar in his insulated mug along with steaming coffee. And quick tap after tap after tap after tap on snare after snare after snare.
He finished three slices of slightly golden toast with one swipe of butter and a healthy portion of strawberry jam while sitting at his breakfast nook and watching his silverware slightly move to drumbeat next door. When he refreshed his coffee, the beat stopped. 7:38 a.m. exactly. Time for him to head for work.
Mr. Henderson grabbed his briefcase and keys, checked his shoes one last time and stepped out his door.
Malcolm Henderson lived next door to the Jacob family, whose matriarch was as single mother who worked downtown as did Mr. Henderson. She had a daughter, who attended elementary school nearby, an older son, who Mr. Henderson thought looked old enough to be living on his home and making a living for himself instead of sponging off his mother, and Kyle. Age: 15. Occupation: High school student and inspiring drummer.
The drumming used to occur at all hours everyday. But after making a quiet request to Ms. Jacob, the young man obliged to a regimented home practice schedule, which included a small window of time before school. When the young man politely asked for a half hour of practice in the morning, Mr. Henderson obliged since the student's schedule generally matched that of Mr. Henderson's morning schedule.
So it wasn't unusual for Mr. Henderson to see his young neighbor leaving his family's apartment as Mr. Henderson locked his front door.
"Morning Mr. H," Kyle said, as he adjusted a bookbag upon his back. "Cool shoes."
"Thank you, Kyle," Mr. Henderson said as he passed by and gave a polite nod to Ms. Jacob and her daughter.
And that is how things were for Malcolm Henderson. He didn't go out of his way to get to know the Jacob family; he only learned what he might observe in the hallway of his apartment, or overheard on his train ride downtown. At times he would find himself standing next to her as she was seated on the train. Seasons changed, the leaves of fall turned brittle and brown as the winds of winters picked up.
Then one day, as he got dressed for work, something became different. Mr. Henderson didn't really notice until he gently propped up his right leg upon the utilitarian chair in his bedroom and tied his shoes with quiet precision.
Perfectly quiet precision.
Mr. Henderson looked up and became keenly aware there was no noise in his room save the ticking of his bedroom wall clock. A smile grew upon his face as he went about his morning routine, sans the sounds of various drum beats.
He didn't really want to know why the drumbeat stopped. After all he was a quiet man, and a quiet man should enjoy a quiet morning routine. And he did for a few days. Then he noticed the ticking of his lonely bedroom wall clock seemed annoying, almost daunting. There was a drip from his kitchen faucet he should repair. And when looked down at his silverware as he ate his three pieces of toast... well, they didn't move.
And all the sudden, Malcolm Henderson wondered why the drumming stopped.
He didn't ask. It was none of his business. Then, five days, one hour and 12 minutes after the drumming ceased, Mr. Henderson overheard the reason why.
"I still can't believe Kyle did it," said Ms. Jacob to her friend as they sat on the train headed downtown. "Selling his drum set to help his brother..." Mr. Henderson stood to the right of Mr. Jacob with two other passengers between them. He could hear her talking, although she didn't notice his presence. Ms. Jacob's voice reflected both melancholy and annoyance.
"Hon, Kyle's heart was in the right place. You should be proud of that," the friend said.
"I know, Elaine, but I know why Tom needed the money. 20 years old, and he's got the gambling bug as bad as his father did. Breaks my heart, but that's why I can't have him near my other two." Ms. Jacob quickly drew a finger to her eye to subside a lone tear. "I love Tom. He's my boy. But I told him he needs to get his life together."
The mother told the story of how Tom went to Kyle and begged him for cash. Tom convinced his younger brother with a heart of gold that if he didn't get the money, Tom might get hurt. So without a moment's hesitation, Kyle did what he thought was right. He pawned his drum set and gave the cash to his brother.
"He's regretting it," Ms. Jacob said to her friend. "I know Kyle knows his brother used him. And that's what breaks my heart now. Poor boy sacrificed something he loved for someone he loved and got no love and respect in return. Makes me sick."
The train continued to its destination. Mr. Henderson and Ms. Jacob both rode the ride in deep thought.
It was a few days before Christmas break and Kyle Jacob checked the family's mail slot while a buddy of his stood behind him, talking nonstop.
"Dude. There’s got to be a way. You can't blow this for us."
Kyle thumbed through the junk mail, avoiding eye contact with his friend. "I told you, I don't have the cash to get it out of pawn. I'll work over break and hopefully make the money. And maybe it will still be there. But I don't have the cash now."
"We've got a gig! A GIG, DUDE!"
"It's just a school dance."
"Yeah, but it's something!" His friend threw up his hands in disgust. "Man, you are just pissing me off!"
Kyle turned around, he didn't notice that some other residents trickled in the lobby. "I MADE A MISTAKE, OK?! I'M SORRY! What more do you want me to say?"
His friend mumbled something and went out the door, practically mowing down Mr. Henderson. The older man locked eyes with the younger one. "Everything OK, Kyle?"
The young man gave a resigned look and quickly headed to his apartment, but stopped and turned around. "I'm sorry sir. Nothing's wrong."
Mr. Henderson, a quiet man, just nodded at the boy, who turned around and slowly made his way home.
Two days later, Malcolm Henderson awoke and began his morning ritual. He gently propped up his right leg upon the utilitarian chair in his bedroom and tied his shoes with quiet precision. He brushed away any dirt or soot.
Then he did something different.
He started to tap his foot to the drumbeat that reverberated through the walls of his apartment from next door.
And Mr. Henderson smiled.
The beat was different. A new sound. Mr. Henderson reflected up it as he stepped out the door of his apartment, locked the door and continued to hear the beat as he walked down the hall. Maybe because it had been weeks since he heard it. Or maybe because it filled a space that Mr. Henderson didn't realize was so empty before.
Or maybe it sounded different because it was.
Kyle finished the exercise and looked at his friend who listened as Kyle jammed on his drum set recently taken out of pawn. "Dude! That was awesome! I loved it," Kyle's friend said. "You got a name for the riff?"
"Yeah," Kyle replied. "Cool Shoes."
THE END
A/N: I hope you enjoyed these stories. Take care and Merry Christmas
by JellybeanChiChi
--------
Here is the final of four Christmas stories. I don't care too much if my Secret Santa enjoyed these stories, but I hope you readers (all two of you :-) enjoyed them. I enjoyed writing them.
Take care and to all have I wish peace for the new year and those to come.
-------
Malcolm Henderson gently propped up his right leg upon the utilitarian chair in his bedroom and tied his shoes with quiet precision. He brushed away any dirt or soot. He paid a lot of money for his shoes, and truth be told, he loved his shoes and slipping his feet into them was part of his morning ritual.
And so was the drumbeat that reverberated through the walls of his apartment from next door.
A quiet man, Mr. Henderson sighed and shook his head. He continued his morning rituals as he prepared for the day. He straightened his bed as the cymbals were banged next door. He went to the kitchen to find his coffee maker had brewed preciously at 7:15, as it did every morning. Generally accompanied by exercises on the bass drum next door. He then put a touch of cream and one and a quarter teaspoons of sugar in his insulated mug along with steaming coffee. And quick tap after tap after tap after tap on snare after snare after snare.
He finished three slices of slightly golden toast with one swipe of butter and a healthy portion of strawberry jam while sitting at his breakfast nook and watching his silverware slightly move to drumbeat next door. When he refreshed his coffee, the beat stopped. 7:38 a.m. exactly. Time for him to head for work.
Mr. Henderson grabbed his briefcase and keys, checked his shoes one last time and stepped out his door.
Malcolm Henderson lived next door to the Jacob family, whose matriarch was as single mother who worked downtown as did Mr. Henderson. She had a daughter, who attended elementary school nearby, an older son, who Mr. Henderson thought looked old enough to be living on his home and making a living for himself instead of sponging off his mother, and Kyle. Age: 15. Occupation: High school student and inspiring drummer.
The drumming used to occur at all hours everyday. But after making a quiet request to Ms. Jacob, the young man obliged to a regimented home practice schedule, which included a small window of time before school. When the young man politely asked for a half hour of practice in the morning, Mr. Henderson obliged since the student's schedule generally matched that of Mr. Henderson's morning schedule.
So it wasn't unusual for Mr. Henderson to see his young neighbor leaving his family's apartment as Mr. Henderson locked his front door.
"Morning Mr. H," Kyle said, as he adjusted a bookbag upon his back. "Cool shoes."
"Thank you, Kyle," Mr. Henderson said as he passed by and gave a polite nod to Ms. Jacob and her daughter.
And that is how things were for Malcolm Henderson. He didn't go out of his way to get to know the Jacob family; he only learned what he might observe in the hallway of his apartment, or overheard on his train ride downtown. At times he would find himself standing next to her as she was seated on the train. Seasons changed, the leaves of fall turned brittle and brown as the winds of winters picked up.
Then one day, as he got dressed for work, something became different. Mr. Henderson didn't really notice until he gently propped up his right leg upon the utilitarian chair in his bedroom and tied his shoes with quiet precision.
Perfectly quiet precision.
Mr. Henderson looked up and became keenly aware there was no noise in his room save the ticking of his bedroom wall clock. A smile grew upon his face as he went about his morning routine, sans the sounds of various drum beats.
He didn't really want to know why the drumbeat stopped. After all he was a quiet man, and a quiet man should enjoy a quiet morning routine. And he did for a few days. Then he noticed the ticking of his lonely bedroom wall clock seemed annoying, almost daunting. There was a drip from his kitchen faucet he should repair. And when looked down at his silverware as he ate his three pieces of toast... well, they didn't move.
And all the sudden, Malcolm Henderson wondered why the drumming stopped.
He didn't ask. It was none of his business. Then, five days, one hour and 12 minutes after the drumming ceased, Mr. Henderson overheard the reason why.
"I still can't believe Kyle did it," said Ms. Jacob to her friend as they sat on the train headed downtown. "Selling his drum set to help his brother..." Mr. Henderson stood to the right of Mr. Jacob with two other passengers between them. He could hear her talking, although she didn't notice his presence. Ms. Jacob's voice reflected both melancholy and annoyance.
"Hon, Kyle's heart was in the right place. You should be proud of that," the friend said.
"I know, Elaine, but I know why Tom needed the money. 20 years old, and he's got the gambling bug as bad as his father did. Breaks my heart, but that's why I can't have him near my other two." Ms. Jacob quickly drew a finger to her eye to subside a lone tear. "I love Tom. He's my boy. But I told him he needs to get his life together."
The mother told the story of how Tom went to Kyle and begged him for cash. Tom convinced his younger brother with a heart of gold that if he didn't get the money, Tom might get hurt. So without a moment's hesitation, Kyle did what he thought was right. He pawned his drum set and gave the cash to his brother.
"He's regretting it," Ms. Jacob said to her friend. "I know Kyle knows his brother used him. And that's what breaks my heart now. Poor boy sacrificed something he loved for someone he loved and got no love and respect in return. Makes me sick."
The train continued to its destination. Mr. Henderson and Ms. Jacob both rode the ride in deep thought.
It was a few days before Christmas break and Kyle Jacob checked the family's mail slot while a buddy of his stood behind him, talking nonstop.
"Dude. There’s got to be a way. You can't blow this for us."
Kyle thumbed through the junk mail, avoiding eye contact with his friend. "I told you, I don't have the cash to get it out of pawn. I'll work over break and hopefully make the money. And maybe it will still be there. But I don't have the cash now."
"We've got a gig! A GIG, DUDE!"
"It's just a school dance."
"Yeah, but it's something!" His friend threw up his hands in disgust. "Man, you are just pissing me off!"
Kyle turned around, he didn't notice that some other residents trickled in the lobby. "I MADE A MISTAKE, OK?! I'M SORRY! What more do you want me to say?"
His friend mumbled something and went out the door, practically mowing down Mr. Henderson. The older man locked eyes with the younger one. "Everything OK, Kyle?"
The young man gave a resigned look and quickly headed to his apartment, but stopped and turned around. "I'm sorry sir. Nothing's wrong."
Mr. Henderson, a quiet man, just nodded at the boy, who turned around and slowly made his way home.
Two days later, Malcolm Henderson awoke and began his morning ritual. He gently propped up his right leg upon the utilitarian chair in his bedroom and tied his shoes with quiet precision. He brushed away any dirt or soot.
Then he did something different.
He started to tap his foot to the drumbeat that reverberated through the walls of his apartment from next door.
And Mr. Henderson smiled.
The beat was different. A new sound. Mr. Henderson reflected up it as he stepped out the door of his apartment, locked the door and continued to hear the beat as he walked down the hall. Maybe because it had been weeks since he heard it. Or maybe because it filled a space that Mr. Henderson didn't realize was so empty before.
Or maybe it sounded different because it was.
Kyle finished the exercise and looked at his friend who listened as Kyle jammed on his drum set recently taken out of pawn. "Dude! That was awesome! I loved it," Kyle's friend said. "You got a name for the riff?"
"Yeah," Kyle replied. "Cool Shoes."
THE END
A/N: I hope you enjoyed these stories. Take care and Merry Christmas