Chapter 36 - The Flannel Under the Fleece

  It was Christmas in the Peterson household, and for the fourth year in a row the five of us began our new tradition of not going up north to my grandparent’s farmhouse. While it was disappointing that I wasn’t able to see my cousins on the holidays, apparently Uncle Dwayne’s family stopped going up north for Christmas as well. He and his daughters decided they didn’t need to placate Grandpa Peterson either. In fact, true to his word Dad had almost completely disconnected from his father and we rarely saw them, and if we did it was brief, extended family events. Having Grandpa out of my life was a welcome change in Maya’s timeline.

  Our Christmas tree was set up in the upstairs sitting room near the half-stairs going down, which overlooked the entry way. Tim, Janie, and I received a new ornament every year, and they all hung up in its white, artificial branches. I found it amusing that the ornaments I had been receiving as Maya were different from what Matthew received; guitars and pom poms instead of Star Trek and comic book characters.

  Even the gifts I received were different. Matthew usually got Lego sets and video games, but I got a lot more clothes and practical gifts. Mom got me a soft fleece jacket that was in style in 1996, and Dad got me a leather-bound planner and a portable CD player. Matthew had become interested in music in his thirties, but unlike him I had been playing guitar since I was twelve. Add ten years of practice from Matthew’s timeline, it is fair to say that as Maya I was into music. Oddly, it was only my gifts that changed. Tim and Janie sat on the floor opening up their sports memorabilia and Barbie dolls I remembered from Matthew’s timeline.

  As I sat on the couch in my lavender robe, watching them tear through their packages, Mom snapping pictures, and Dad busy in the kitchen making our Christmas breakfast, I smiled to myself. In Matthew’s timeline it had been years if not decades since my family spent the holidays together. It's just something that happened when the kids became adults, and when Dad died of COVID in 2020 Christmas became rather melancholy. Now that I was reliving my life, I always took a moment to appreciate the gift I had been given: being able to have family moments like this again. It didn’t matter that I was having it as a girl this time around; in fact, if anything that made it better.

  My thoughts drifted to my secret investments. Weeks ago I had finalized my put options on Iomega, and as predicted I made over $125,000 cash. The broker was stunned that I had pulled it off when so many other investors tried to short Iomega months ago and lost billions. He was even more surprised that I didn’t go on a massive spending spree. I may have made the modest upgrade to an arctic white Fender Stratocaster a few months ago, but for the most part I simply reinvested in other positions over the course of the last six months.

  I was also mulling over positions I was going to take in the next year. There were several winners that I was simply waiting for their initial public offering, but one in particular caught my attention right before Christmas break started. I was chatting with Paul Jenson, a member of the computer club, who in Matthew’s timeline had been a good friend. In this timeline I simply remained friendly with him, since we weren’t exactly in the same social circles. He might have had a crush on me, and the fact I was a pretty cheerleader who knew practically everything about Spider-Man wasn’t helping things.

  We had been chatting about comic books, and while I had not pursued any interest in super heroes as Maya, all of Matthew’s knowledge about them was firmly in my brain. It was amusing going toe to toe about Marvel, despite never having picked up a comic since becoming Maya. I didn’t feel much of a need to re-discover all of Matthew’s nerdier pursuits; after all, I read the comic books, watched the TV shows, and played the video games already. While I retained his love for the guitar, I explored other areas he never considered, like dancing and student government. Not to mention all of the girly stuff I adored now.

  After Paul and my conversation about Marvel comics, I decided to peek at the Marvel company out of idle curiosity. It would be years before super hero movies dominated popular culture, and I thought it might be worth investing in now. As it turned out, Marvel was in the red in 1996. I remembered that they really struggled before the movies became a thing, and I decided to keep an eye on them. It would be yet another tribute to Matthew’s life if I owned a chunk of Marvel while it was still cheap.

  Christmas break was a nice reprieve from my busy high school life. We were in the middle of the JV basketball season, which meant that us cheerleaders were expected at every game. My boyfriend Jake was the starting forward on the JV team, so there was no way I would miss watching him play, but it was nice to have a few weeks off. It gave me time to think about my plans for 1997.

  ***

  Student government started right back up when we got back to school in January, and as usual Sarah pushed for a gauntlet of activities for the winter months. There were fundraisers, student socials, and events that she wanted to schedule, and it was my responsibility as treasurer to make them happen. I appreciated that Sarah was the motivating force for planning student life, and that I was able to support her with my uncanny ability to find money to pay for it all.

  Our biggest event came in late February, when Sarah wanted to put on a talent show for the student body. It was a pretty low-cost event, since all we needed was the auditorium and a few posters, so my responsibilities were mostly organizing the participants. I made sure that any costumes, gear, or props that any of the show entries needed we all stored backstage and ready to go.

  I got permission to be absent from my afternoon classes so that I could help set the stage for the show. No one else was in the auditorium, so it was just me and the boxes of items that students needed for their performances. I went down the line with my clipboard making sure everything was organized and ready to go. While most of it was all junk, there was one notable item that caught my eye as I was sorting.

  It was a cherry red Epiphone Les Paul for one of the bands performing. It was more massive than my white strat, and it happened to be very similar to the guitar Matthew had in his timeline. As I went back and forth through the boxes, my eyes kept returning to this machine. It had been a couple of weeks since I was able to have any amount of time to practice in my room, and I was curious how the Les Paul would feel in my hands. I didn’t even know if I’d be able to lift it!

  You know, since they are playing in the show, it would be nice of me to make sure it's tuned and ready to play this afternoon, I justified. I did a quick scan, confirming that I was still the only one backstage, and sidled over to the guitar. It felt familiar in my hands, and immediately I recalled Matthew playing in his apartment for hours. I slung it from my shoulders, noting how heavy this thing was. Maybe it was just me that was weak. I quickly tuned it, and plucked a few strings to hear its sound. It was a nice instrument.

  As I sat down on a nearby chair, I mused over what I should play on this. I had a penchant for playing songs that hadn’t been written yet from memory, and “Seven Nation Army” would sound great on this thing. I smirked thinking that it wasn’t going to be released for another six years, and this was the first time it would ever be played outside of my bedroom. I started going with the familiar deep thumping rhythm of the intro, and by the time I hit the raw riff I was lost in the sound.

  I played through the measures as I remembered them, but then decided to go a bit crazy with it and improvise a little bit. I brought it right back to the rumbling tone, and tried to make the distortions as nuts as I could. The last notes hung in the air as I caught my breath. That was always a fun song to play. I just wish I could tell if I was doing it properly, because I had no way of checking until 2003.

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  “Holy shit, that was tight,” gasped a voice behind me.

  I turned around, seeing a tall boy with shaggy blonde hair standing there. He was dressed in a grey flannel shirt with a Nirvana t-shirt underneath. I recognized him as Barry Smith, who I had seen around but didn’t know at all. While not unpopular, he wasn’t in my circles.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know anyone was coming in here. Is fourth period over?”

  “Nah, but I snuck out of class early. That’s, um, my guitar you’ve got there.”

  I squeaked. “Oh god, I’m sorry! I was just helping set up the talent show props, and I was just fooling around!”

  Barry waved me off, “Don’t worry about it. That was a sick song! I’ve never heard it before, what is it?”

  I scratched the back of my neck. “It’s, erm, just something I heard somewhere. I thought it would sound good on your Les Paul.”

  “What do you usually play?”

  “I’ve got a Strat. I do a lot of classic rock, but a lot of the cleaner punk stuff. I like the finger work.”

  “You into alternative?”

  I nodded. “I can’t resist a little grunge.”

  Barry leaned against a pillar to my left. “You don’t look like someone who’s into grunge.”

  I glanced down at my plaid skirt and blouse. “I guess not,” I replied. “I mostly just play on my own, just for fun.”

  “You play like that just for fun?” Barry gawked. “You play as if you’ve been doing it for years!”

  “I’ve been playing since I was twelve, so about three years.” Technically, it was true. However, you had to add another decade on top of that number if you counted Matthew’s timeline.

  Barry scratched his chin. “You looking for a band? I play bass for the Muted Oranges.”

  “I remember,” I nodded. “You guys are on the set list for this afternoon.”

  Barry nodded. “They’ve been letting us practice in the band room, since Roger’s garage

  is too cold now.” Roger was the name of the lead singer of their band. I didn’t know him either, but he was well known at school. “We normally wouldn’t play at a school thing, but we figured why the hell not since our gear is already here. So, you interested?”

  “Are you serious? Like you said, I don’t exactly look grunge.”

  “If you can play like that I don’t think the guys would give a shit,” assured Barry. “Listen, we’re usually in the band room at four on Tuesdays. I’ll tell them you might come by. Bring your Strat, and show them what you can do.”

  I bit my lips. “I’ll…think about it?”

  “Tuesday. Four o’clock. Also,” Barry grinned, “mind if I have my guitar back?”

  The talent show went without a hitch, and when Muted Oranges went on I paid close attention. They weren’t too bad, and over the entire weekend I mulled over whether or not I should try out. Matthew had always wished he had started playing earlier in life and was in a teenage band, and while playing in my room was a nice way to relax I was curious how I would do on stage. My life was hectic as it was; with the battery of school events Sarah was planning as well as cheerleading, would I even have time? It also worried me that hanging out with grunge kids would do something to my reputation. A model student wasn’t exactly rock star material.

  By Tuesday I had decided to just give it a shot. I needed to occupy my time after the basketball season ended, and it might be a fun diversion to play with other people for once. It would also be another one of Matthew’s wishes fulfilled. When Erin picked me up to drive us to school, I had my guitar in its case and ready to go. I stowed it in the band room in the morning before anyone saw me, and went to class as usual. The day dragged on as usual, and of course we had cheerleading practice right after school. It would be tight, but I figured I would have enough time to get showered and changed before I met up with the guys.

  That proved optimistic, as there were some issues at practice today that made us run long. Being so late into the season made us a bit sloppy, and the coach took the opportunity to teach a lesson that no one wanted by making us run our routines a second time. It was 3:55 by the time we were let go, and I only had time to wipe the sweat off my face before dashing to the band room in my uniform.

  The three guys were lounging in the chairs when I opened the door. “Sorry, we have this room until five,” said a bulky kid named Carl that I recognized as the drummer.

  Barry stood up. “Actually, she’s the guitarist that I was telling you about. Come on in, Maya.”

  The third boy, a slim black haired guy I knew as Roger spoke up. “This is the guitar player you met? You didn’t say it was a chick, and you definitely didn’t say it was some cheerleader.”

  I awkwardly went to the cabinet to pull out my case as Barry defended me. “What’s the big deal? She’s really good, I swear.”

  “There’s no way she can play,” said Carl who crossed his flabby arms. “I’ve seen her before; she was in my biology class. She’s, like, a preppie.”

  Roger raised his voice. “There’s no way anyone would take us seriously with a chick like that.”

  I pulled out my white Strat. “I can hear everything you’re saying, you know,” I growled.

  “Guys,” assured Barry, “I’m telling you, she’s really good. Just give her a chance.”

  Roger glanced over at me, as I plugged into the amp. “A flashy Fender doesn’t mean she can play.”

  The guys started bickering with each other, utterly ignoring me as I strapped the guitar to my shoulder. To say I was offended was an understatement. Glaring at them, and after plucking a string or two to check if the sound was appropriate, I decided to slam right into a song I had played for years as Matthew and Maya; “Basket Case” by Green Day. I didn’t even wait for them to stop arguing, I just launched into the riff.

  The boys stood stunned as this ferocious sound poured out of the fingers of a mere cheerleader. I had this song practically memorized, since it wasn’t too difficult to play. The execution was flawless and at a machine gun pace. Every power chord, every strum, every transition bled energy and when it was over, the final note hung in the air as their mouths hung open dumbly.

  Barry was the first to speak up. “See? What did I tell you? This girl can shred!”

  The contempt from Roger had washed away, fixed into a sort of curiosity. “What else can you play?”

  I shrugged. “I can do some Zepplin.”

  The guys sat down to watch as I launched into my solo guitar cover of The Immigrant Song. I had a string trick where I did the vocal screeches on the low end of the fret board. I did a healthy amount of improvising, and my fingers were all over the place to show how precise I could be. It was Carl's turn to ask me for another song, and I noticed that the disdain at having a cheerleader in their band’s space had melted away.

  I was starting to get cocky, but I kept quiet and went into The Middle by Jimmy Eat World. By the time I finished, Roger was transfixed. “What is that song called?” he exclaimed.

  I froze. I did it again, I cursed to myself. The Middle wasn’t released until 2001! “It’s nothing,” I lied, “just something I heard somewhere.”

  Their minds were sufficiently blown, and the three guys whispered among themselves. I pulled off my guitar and started packing it away into my case. I really needed to shower from practice, and playing for the last twenty minutes straight really took it out of me. I was about to store the case back into the cabinet before heading to the locker room, when Roger spoke up. He cleared his throat.

  “Listen, uh…Maya? I’m sorry about being a dick before. You want in?”