Ever since he first heard the sounds
of blues guitar coming from his neighbor's house, Kris wanted to
play. He was 7 years old, poor, and living with his grandmother.
Kris's mother was currently living in Houston, trying to get her life
straight. His father had died in a car accident just after Kris
turned 4. The apartment was getting more and more run down every day.
Kris didn't know the neighbor really
well. Just that he was a white guy with long hair and an old rusted
car. Grandma was asleep, so he snuck out and sat outside his
neighbor's door. The music started moving something deep inside him.
Later he snuck into the apartment just to get a look at what was
playing. He saw tons of records by Buddy Guy, BB King, Stevie Ray
Vaughn, and old dusty things by Leadbelly and Robert Johnson. While
he knew it was wrong, he grabbed a few of them and ran back to his
apartment. Just to borrow, he told himself. After listening to them
for 3 days solid, his grandmother found them and just about whipped
him to death. She made him take them back and apologize.
When he knocked on the door, the neighbor was surprised to see who had taken his collection. After listening to Kris's explanation, he invited him in for a talk. His name was Charlie Thornton, and he worked at a radio station. Kris expected a few yells and curses. What he got instead was a nice, calm, talk about music. The deejay was excited that he found a young kid in the apartments that listened to something other than hip hop.
They talked for at least an hour, then
Kris's grandmother knocked on the door looking for him. She was not
sure how she should feel about them talking for so long, but
eventually he won her over by playing some old Temptations albums.
Just before leaving, Charlie handed him some tapes of Jimi Hendrix
and Carlos Santana.
“See, this music, its for everyone,”
Charlie said, “It can bring all races and kinds of people together
if its done right.”
Kris beamed, “Thanks Mister. Can we
talk some more maybe?”
Charlie looked at Kris's grandmother,
and she nodded. “Sure kid, just listen to these and tell me what
you think.”
So every Wednesday night when his
grandmother would go out with her church friends, he went to
Charlie's house for a couple of hours of music and conversation. Kris
soaked in all the information he could about all the great guitar
players. He even found the old jazz stuff like Wes Montgomery
fascinating. Charlie had an old Fender Stratocaster in the corner,
and he would pick it up and play a couple of riffs, showing Kris how
to play chords. The kid took to it like a natural, and quickly
learned how to listen to a song and follow along with it.
His birthday was coming soon, and his
grandmother knew exactly what he wanted. She just didn't have the
money. But when you love someone, you find a way. Her way was taking
her late husband's watch and wedding ring to the pawn shop. The day
he turned 8, Kris unwrapped a slightly beat up Squire Strat, black as
he was. He ran over to show Charlie, who showed him how to tune it
and keep it maintained by cleaning it regularly. Charlie knew it was
coming, so he gave him a book that would help teach him some basic
chords and tricks.
Kris slept, ate, played with that
guitar every day. His friends would come over and at first like the
way he played, but soon get annoyed that he didn't have any video
games. He didn't really care. His whole world was wrapped up in the
sounds he made or listened to on his tapes. That and the time spent
with Charlie. They were becoming more than friends, more like family.
Then one day, Charlie sat him down.
“Kid, I have to tell you something.
I won't be around anymore.”
“What? Why? Is it something I did?”
Kris asked, tears starting to well up in his eyes.
“No, its not that, you are great! If
I ever have a kid, I hope he's just like you. Its my work, they are
closing down. I have to move to work.”
“Can't you just stay here? I need
you!”
“I need you kid, you bring so much
light in my life. I'll write you. I promise.”
Kris ran back to
his room and cried himself to sleep. The next day he didn't want to
eat or talk or even play his guitar. Gram came in and held him, told
him she loved him and would always be there for him.
“Can you really say that? Everyone I
love leaves. My dad, my mom, Charlie...”
“Oh child, I'm healthy, I am here,
and I love you. What do those songs you like say about feeling bad?
Sometimes you just have to let it out. The hurt will get less. But
you will remember it.”
“Why?”
“So you can learn from it.”
After she left, Kris picked up the
Strat. Played a basic 4 bar blues song. Started singing softly to
himself, about the things he had been through. By the end of the day,
Kris had written his first song. He sat down and wrote what he had
been singing. Looked at it and smiled.
Kris found some guitar magazines at
the library, and read as many as he could find. He asked the
librarian if it was okay to take some home, so he could practice the
songs he liked. She said told him how they were going to get rid of
some old issues, so he could just take those if he wanted. Which of
course he did! So he loaded as many could fit in his backpack and
headed home. When he got there, his mom was on the couch talking to
his grandmother.
He hadn't seen her in at least six
months, and she rarely called. To Kris, she was someone who only came
around when it was convenient. She grabbed him and hugged him and
told him how much he had grown. Kris smiled, because he knew that's
what she liked. She took off his backpack, and remarked on its
weight.
“Goodness child! What do you have in
here?”, she questioned, opening it up. Before he could say
anything, she pulled out the magazines. A frown appeared on her face.
“Guitar World? What are you doing with this?”
“He's been playing, honey,” said
his grandmother. “Kris is a prodigy! He's so good with that thing!”
“Oh no...no son of mine will play
the guitar. Only those...lowlifes play those evil things!”
“What? Why are you talking like
that?”, said grandma.
They went back and forth like this for
an hour. Kris's mom screamed and cried and swore to heaven that her
boy wouldn't play the instrument ever again. Grandma told her how
talented he was, and how it brought him out of his shell, and anyway,
what right did she have to say anything on how Kris lived?
Later, his mom left to get something
from the store for dinner. Grandma came in and told him to hide his
records and guitar in her room, under the bed. She swore that there
was no way Kris would stop playing and learning. She gave him a big
hug, and a grilled cheese sandwich. All his troubles seemed to fade
away as he got sleepier.
Kris's mom left a week later, and sent
cards and letters for a few weeks, then every few months. Meanwhile,
Kris just kept on finding new inspiration in different CD's and on
the radio. He bought a few more books, showing him easier ways to do
some riffs and chords. Life went on this way for a while. He got
taller, and skinnier. Girls followed him around like he was a young
rock star.
His Junior year of high school, on the
day Kris was about to go on his first date with a cheerleader, he got
a call to go to the office. The school counselor sat him down.
”I'm sorry that I have to tell you
this Kristopher, but we received some sad news. Your mother died.”
Kris sat there in silence. A slow pain
started in his heart. Even though she wasn't in his life very much,
she was still his mother, the only one he would ever have. They let
his grandmother come and pick him up. She told him they would drive
to Austin for the funeral. He just nodded. For the first time in
years, he was unable to even pick up his guitar that night.
Two days later they were driving back
home, listening to his favorite rock station. The dj came on and said
something about Stevie Ray Vaughn. Kris didn't quite understand what
was said. Grandma looked over, asked, “Stevie Ray, he's one of your
favorites, right?” Kris said, “Yeah, what were they saying?”.
Grandma said, “Well..we'll see what it says on the news when we get
home.”
They got to the apartment. The news was
just on, and said that after a concert, Stevie Ray and members of
Eric Clapton's band had died in a helicopter crash. For the first
time in a long time, Kris cried. Grandma held him tight, soaking up
his tears with her blouse. It was too much loss in such a short time.
A few days later grandma came home to
the familiar sounds of blues music coming from down the hall.
Kris needed a job, and the church
needed a musician of some kind, so he started playing gospel music
every Wednesday and Sunday at the Emmanuel Baptist Church. It wasn't
the kind of thing he really wanted to play, but at least it was
something. Eventually they got a drummer, bass player, and
keyboardist. The guys were semi-retired, and Kris was the youngest
person on the stage, but they could put out a version of Amazing
Grace that would get the congregation toe tapping, then swaying, then
jumping up dancing. They pastor liked how more people would stay and
bring friends each week, so he let them get away with a solo here or
there.
After graduation, Kris got the chance
to move in with a few friends, but still came to the apartments every
chance he got. He would show his grandmother a new song he learned
off the radio, and she would make his favorite meal, chicken pot pie.
Kris was thinking about going to college, maybe studying guitar. Then
he came home one night, and his grandmother had a stroke. She was
rushed to the hospital, where they performed surgeries on her. The
next day he went to see her. She was so small in that bed, with all
the tubes and wires hanging everywhere. He brought an acoustic he got
at the pawn shop and played her songs while she slept. It took a
while, but eventually she did improve. But it was obvious that she
couldn't live on her own anymore. It was hard on both of them, but
she went to live in a nursing home where they could take care of her
needs better. Kris got a job as an orderly just so he could be around
her more.
On his 21st birthday,
grandma called him to her room. “I've got something for you son. I
can't afford much, as you know. But I got this here bus ticket for
you to go to Memphis. That's where the Blues comes from!”
Kris was amazed, and couldn't talk for
a minute. “Momma, I can't go. You're still not well. I need to be
near in case...”
“In case nothing! I'm getting
stronger. You been taking care of me for too long. Go out and have
some adventures. But first, I want you to go down and see your mama's
grave.”
“What for? She never did nothing for
me. Hell, she didn't even like my guitar playing.”
“Your mama, she was a hard headed
woman who never did have no good sense. But she was your mother, for
better or worse. I had a dream where she told me to get you down
there, so go.”
Kris knew better than to argue. So a
week later he borrowed his Pastor's car and drove to Austin. He went
to the graveyard that held his mother's remains. His father was
buried in Chicago, where his family was from. He lay the flowers on
her grave, and talked to her a bit. Told her he missed her, and
wished things could be different. It started getting dark, so he
headed back to his car.
Driving around, he saw a statue by the
side of the waterfront. It was of a man in a broad brimmed hat,
holding a Fender Stratocaster. Kris knew right away, this was Stevie
Ray Vaughn. He pulled over and got out. His guitar and a small
battery powered amp he carried around were in the back, so he took
them with him. As he stood in front of the statue, Kris looked into
his eyes, and at his hands. The likeness was amazing. After a minute,
Kris spoke.
“Stevie, sir. Thank you. When I
first heard you play, you changed my life. Through all the things
that have happened to me, your music was there. Lifting me up. Gave
me hope.”
He plugged his guitar into the amp.
Tuned the top two strings. Started playing 'The Sky is Crying', one
of Stevie's last hits. After the first chorus was done, he felt a
cold wind blow. He heard a slight rustling, making him think a bird
or something was behind him. He turned around, but nothing was there.
Turning back to the statue, he saw that it was slightly different.
The face looked more realistic. He looked into the eyes again, and
suddenly, they blinked.
Kris just about jumped out of his
skin, nearly tripping and falling on his guitar chord. A shape formed
and walked right through the statue. Somehow, standing right in front
of him, was Stevie Ray Vaughn. Kris was frozen, not exactly with
fear, but what could be called awe. The man smiled.
“Hey kid. I was hoping you would get
here. Been wanting to talk to you.”
“Wha..me? Is this...is this
happening?”
“Yeah, it seems that it is. We've
been watching you. There's some things you should know, and we want
to see you do good. But first, finish that song.”
Kris wasn't sure what he should do at
first, but his hands seemed to have a mind of their own. They started
playing right where he left off. By the time his mind caught up with
his hands, Kris was breaking down the solo. He looked up, and saw a
big grin on the ghost's face. Kris smiled back, and said, “Think
that's good, watch this!”
Kris cranked up the volume and started
wailing on some fun and crazy riffs, going from one to the other so
smoothly it was like he had practiced it all his life. The small amp
produced sounds it had no business really doing. It was if he had a
wall of Marshall stacks behind him. Something made him just better,
faster, and louder.
“That's great kid. You know the
music. You have the touch. It's in you. But I have some questions.”
“Like what?”, Kris asked.
“Are you ready to earn it? Sleeping
on pool tables in dirty clubs. Getting cheated out of money for the
gig. The loneliness. The road.”
“Earn it? Haven't I been through
enough? My family is almost all gone.I've got
nothing, just the music. So yeah, I'll sleep somewhere bad, I'll
fight for what's mine, I'll go where the money is."
The ghost stood
still. Then that smile came back even bigger. "Good kid, that's
what we wanted to hear."
"Who is this we?
I only see you."
"The ones who
went before you. They sent me. Hell, Buddy Guy said he was my black
daddy, so I guess I'm your white one!"
Kris laughed at this.
"I still am not sure this is real, but okay. What else do I need
to know?"
Stevie's smile dimmed
a little. "This is going to be hard to hear, but it's important.
Your dad, your real one, he's here. He said to tell you he loves you.
He wishes like hell he could have known you. But on this side, we see
things differently. He knows that things were rough for you, but it's
been building your character for what's to come."
The kid's eyes
started to water a little. He placed his hands over his face, like he
was hiding from his idol.
"It's ok. Trust
me kid, I've seen worse. But there's one more thing."
"What? Any more
messages from beyond?", asked Kris.
"Let's call this
a history lesson. Your daddy's grandfather was also a blues man. One
of the best, the first to really bring it out. They say, and he even
talks about it to us, that he sold his soul to the Devil to learn how
to play. Of course if that wasn't true, I don't think he'd be where
he is now."
"Wait, I know
that story. Robert Johnson? That's my great-great-grandfather?"
"Right on, Kris.
You're smart."
"Wow...I'm
heading to Memphis soon. That's not far from the crossroads."
That smile came back.
"Yeah. And trust me, its great being there. And that will be the
start."
"The start of
what?"
Sunlight started to
come over the distance. "Looks like my time is coming soon,"
Stevie said. "The start of everything. You'll see. It'll be a
hard road, but so worth it. We'll be watching."
"Wait! Will I
ever see you again?"
"Why do you need
to? You've got the music in you. The soul. It lives in you." His
form was starting to fade.
"Gotta go, Kris.
But if you see my brother, tell him I love him."
"I will Stevie.
I promise. Thank you again!"
As he faded out, the
last thing Kris saw the smile one last time. That was enough. Kris
played one last song, 'The House is Rocking'. A song of celebration
of music and good times. Then he winked at the statue, and headed
back to his car.
"Guess I gotta
see gradma one more time before I go. Then Memphis. Here comes Kris
Johnson."
