Looking For A Haint

He was wise for his years. He had graduated Junior High with honors and was starting High School in the fall. For finishing with all A's his parents surprised him with a gift. A guitar. A nice six-string acoustic. The one he knew from the window of the music store he walked past everyday on his way home from school! He couldn't have been happier! He loved music and was a huge fan of 60s guitar rock and the British Invasion. His passion for all things guitar naturally led him to The Blues... The Mississippi Blues to be exact! Mississippi Blues and the legend of Robert Johnson.

As the legend goes, Robert Johnson, a would-be-blues-guitarist from the 1920's Mississippi Delta area, made a deal with the Devil himself! He met 'Old Nick' down at the crossroads and traded his soul for fame as the greatest guitar player! Legend has it that the Devil instructed Robert Johnson to take his guitar into a cemetery at midnight and to sit at a grave and play and in time, the 'haints' would come and teach him to be the greatest blues guitar player there ever was! 

Now, our hero, Johnny, was a little leary of the whole "selling your soul" aspect of the story, but he wasn't beyond sneaking into the local buriel ground at Midnight for a hopeful lesson from beyond the grave! So, with school out for the summer and nowhere to be in the morning, he decided to do just that.

As he approached the front of the cemetery, it was well lit and a large, steel gate read:

HOLY CROSS CEMETERY

But, beyond thst gate it was very dark. Moonlight and shadows danced and moved in the subtle, summer breeze. Just inside the gate, jasmine climbed a trellis, it's fragrance thick and sweet. John swallowed hard and paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness before him. It was quiet and eerily still... He followed the main road in to the first fork where he turned right and as he rounded the first bend, he stayed close to a large evergreen, blocking him from the view ahead. He crouched and kneeled, peering under the evergreen and his heart sank a bit to see a police cruiser, parked, with the engine running. He ducked back...

"Damn!" he whispered to himself

He headed back. Knowing they were parked in the south end of the park, he moved northward. Shortly after crossing the main road, where he started, he saw headlights approach from behind. He froze and turned slowly in time to see the police cruiser leaving through the gate he came in... They hadn't seen him. "I'm alone!", he thought.

Just ahead lay several graves, seperated by a short wall. John thought that would be a great place to sit, as well as being hidden by the taller stones and monuments... He checked his watch. It was 11:51... 9 minutes to go. he wondered if Daylight Savings played a part in all of it and chuckled to himself at the thought of being an hour early on a technicality. He strummed an E7 chord then clumsily picked away at The Beatles Daytripper... "You got a good reason..." he sang, his voice trailing off... He strummed a D chord... "Ha!" he exclaimed, "I can play DEAD and he strummed the D chord again followed by an E chord, an A chord and the D, again... silence. He strummed the pattren again, this time more fluid and confident... and again. Nothing. He was about to strum again when a voice from behind startled him...

"What is that?"

He jumped and turned, never expecting anyone to sneak up on him.

"Woah! Hey! You scared me!"

A girl. Young and attractive. She was older than him but, not by much. She was dressed like a poster child for the "Summer of Love". Long blonde braids, blue eyes and pouty lips. A loose, Bohemian topped that laced up at the neck with bell bottom jeans. Sandals on her feet exposed green, painted toe nails. 

"I'm sorry. I was on my way home when I heard you... What is that, what you're playing?"

"Oh, nothing... umm, I was just strumming chords.."

"Hunh... it sounded familiar." she said, "Why are you playing in a cemetery... at night." She looked around, "...all by yourself?"

"Oh, I dunno..." He looked down at his feet. "You'll think it's dumb..." he mumbled.

She chuckled, "It probably is!" He looked up,defensively, "It'snot THAT dumb! Do you know the story of Robert Johnson?"

"I don't think I do. Enighten me." She answered, sitting down across from him and resting her chin in the palms of her hands, her fingers curled back, like fists...

"Well, he was a bues guitarist from Mississippi and he went down to the crossroads and made a deal with the Devil, selling his soul for fame as a blues guitarist."

"So, why are you in a cemetery? Shouldn't you be down at the crossroads?" she teased.

"Well, the legend continues that after making the deal, the Devil instructed him to take his guitar inyo a cemetery at midnight, find a grave and sit there and play. And the spirits would teach him how to play the blues."

"Ha ha ha ha!" she laughed, "How old are you?"

"I'm thirteen." he said

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

"Not really"

"Then, what are you doing in a here?"

"Well, I'm an Agnostic... I take everything with a grain of salt and I don't know about you but, I've no interest in meeting Satan... and hoakem yoakem aside, I am curious about the psychological effects of practicing in a cemetery at midnight... Help or hinder? There may be some truth to the legend of Robert Johnson..."

"Yeah, there may be. Hahaha! You ARE an 'old-soul'!" she said, ruffling his hair. "Be careful what you go looking for. You just might find it! But, I can tell you, there's no magic in learning to play the guitar. It's chords, scales and practice... lots of practice. If you really wanna learn, I can teach you. My name's Rani." she said extending her hand.

He shook her hand, "Rainy?"

"Close enough... It's short for Lorraine."

"Hi Rainy, " he said, still shaking her hand, "I'm John." he finished proudly.

"Hi John, " she said smiling... She let his hand go and stood up 

"Not here though. It's so... soooo DEAD! Can you come to my house? I have a guitar there and will be easier to show you."

"Your house? Is it far?" 

"No. Just a couple o'blocks from here. Can you come? Do you need to get home?"

He looked at his ipod, the screen lighting his face. "It's 12:30. I have some time... sure. C'mon..." he said, standing up and strapping the guitar on his back.

As they walked she said, "That's a pretty nice guitar. Did you shovel drive-ways, mow lawns or both?"

"Huh? Oh.. no.. it was a gift. A graduation present."

"Graduation? How old are you again?"

"I'm thirteen... Graduation from JUNIOR High School! I graduated with honors, sooo... My mom and dad, they knew I really wanted it."

"Ohhh! That's sweet! I think if my daughter wanted a guitar, I'd make her work for it. Somehow, I think she'd appreciate it more if she earned it. What do you think?"

"You have a daughter?"

"Yeah. She's two months old."

"How old are you? Wow! You have a daughter!"

"I'm eighteen. Now, really... What do you think? Does working for it make you appreciate it more?"

He thought for a minute. "Does she have a father? I mean..."

"Hahaha! Yes, she has a father... somewhere. Now, c'mon... answer the question..."

Oh, I don't think you can say yes or no to that. Everyone and every situation is different. My guitar, for example: Sure it was a gift. Sure, I just woke up and it was there, no sweat off my back. Do I appreciate it? Damn straight I do! It's a symbol of years of hard work. Something I wanted, focused on and accomplished! And my parents recognized this and rewarded me for it... So, it means a lot to me and I want to learn it, inside-out. I want to master it! Someone else, under the same or similar circumstances, might throw it in a corner and never look at it again. Everyone's different."

"Good answer. I was afraid you were gonna say..."

"What's her name?" he interrupted.

"Huh? Who?"

"Your daughter. What's her name?"

"Oh. Grace..." she trailed off in thought... turning to him, she snapped back to the present, " It's funny. You and I, here... and you asking me that. When I learned to play, the first song I learned was Amazing Grace. I played it at the Spring Recital. I got pregnant two weeks later. Guitar lessons and practice kept me from going stir-crazy during my pregnancy. So, when she was born, I named her Grace, to remind me."

"That's cool! Who watches her?"

"My mom."

"Oh. You live with your mom, too?"

"Yup. Just the three of us. We rent out a small attic apartment in our landlord's house. It's so illegal. No fire exits and stuff... But, it's affordable and the land lord doesn't bother us... and here it is."

He looked up to see a two-story, single family house.

"C'mon. My entrance is in the back." 

They followed a walk-way around the side of the house that led to the back. The back of the house was dusty and dry. There were no plants. No lawn. Just hard top soil, some crates, a car with it's hood open and missing a tire and a couple of lawn chairs. Three wooden steps with handrails on the sides led up to a darkened door. She walked softly toward the door, each step creaking and turned to him.

"Wait here." she said. My daughter's asleep and I don't want to wake her. I'll grab my guitar and be right out."

"Oh. ok."

And he waited. 

It was very un-lit and quiet. All the windows were dark. A light went on in the attic window. He saw a shadow and knew it was her. Then, the light went out and somewhere, far away, he heard a dog barking... and all of a sudden, there she was! He never heard the door and he jumped, 

"Oh, hey! That was fast!"

"Gosh you're jumpy! Are you sure you don't believe in ghosts?" she teased, then continued, "Yeah, It's not hard to find, I keep it in the same place... for years! Ok, sit here, Jumpy John..."

She said, motioning to one of the crates. She kicked another crate, pushing it close so she could sit across from him.

"Alright, What do you know? Do you know any chords?"

"Some..."

"Ok. Know any scales?"

"One, I think..."

"Do re me? C D E?"

"Yeah. That one."

"Ok. How about a one four five progression or twelve bar blues?"

"One four five? I've heard of that... what is it?"

"Ok, look..." she held out her hand, spreading her fingers apart,..

"One", she said and wiggled her thumb.

 "Four" she said, wiggling her ring finger.

 "Five", and she wiggled her pinky...

"Now, take any chord, sayyy A major" and she strummed an A major chord

"Now, A is one.. So, A,B,C,D... D is four, and A,B,C,D,E... E is five. So, a one four five progression, starting with A is A, D, and E. Remember that, ok? A,d,e... lemon-aid, ok?"

"Ade, gotcha..." he strums an A.

"Now, twelve bar blues is a twelve measure song using a one four five progression. You play four measures of your one, A in this case, then two measures of the four, D, and two measures of the one, again. Then, one measure of the five, one measure of the four and two measures of the one. Ok? Watch, I'll strum four over four, in quarter beats, but I'll count out in eighth beats, ok? Now, one and two and three and four and one and two and three and four..." She strummed the twelve measures, while counting them out. 

"See? And I bet you've heard that or something similar a hundred times before, hunh?"

"Oh, my God! You make it look so easy! That's a Beatles song, that's a Who song, that's a Zeppelin song!"

"Yup! Now, you try... Start on A."

He played clumsily.

"Stop" she said, stopping him... " You have to count,   ...out loud,   ...til it's natural,  ...then, in your head. There's four beats in a measure. So, one two three four one two three four works, but those are quarter beats. Cut them in half, into eighth beats, now you need eight in a measure so count, "one and two and three and four and one and two and... And the beauty of twelve bar blues is after playing them, you can loop them and play again, over and over. one and two and three and four and one and two and three and..."

"...four and one and two and three and four..." 

"Good. Keep going!  Good! Don't stop... watch what I do..."

As he strummed the chords in the pattern she'd shown him, she followed with a simple lead. After a moment, he stopped,

"What?" she asked, stopping herself.

"I'm really playing! I'm really playing the guitar! How do you do that," he asked pointing at her hand holding the pick, "without practicing?"

"Well, I know the chord progression you're playing. I know where you're going so I can follow you. It's easy. Look, try again starting on G."

"On G?"

"Yeah. G maj."

"Ok. So G is one... G major. C is four."

"Yup. Very good..."

"...and D is 5." 

"Absolutey! Now, try it... No! Wait! Try it in a waltz... three over four time."

He furrowed his brow "umm... one and two and three and one and two and three and ..."

"Yes! Exactly!"

He began strumming the chords to the new rythm and the second time around, she chimed in,

"Mother do you think they'll drop the bomb?"

He froze and looked up.

"I'm playing Pink Floyd?"

"You need a lot of practice but yeah, you're playing Pink Floyd!"

He strummed more, pleased with what he'd learned.

"Listen, John, it was great meeting you but it's late and I need to check on my daughter."

She got up to go.

"Oh, ok. Yeah. I should go..." he looked at his iphone. " Can I umm... can I..." he shyly looked down at his feet.

"Practice what I showed you and stay out of the cemetery."

The authoritive tone in her voice made him lose his nerve. He bit his tongue and watched as she walked up the wooden stairs that creaked and opened the screen door. She turned toward him and smiled,

"Just meet me at the gate, next time."

And she disappeared into the shadows as the screen door silently eased itself shut and he was alone and the backyard was still. He stepped back and looked up at the attic window, waiting for the light to come on. But, it never did.