Jaden's Desire

Cold, foggy mornings were the norm in New Haven, CT during the Fall months. Jaden Rivers tumbled out of bed and faced the window with a sigh. His scarf and overcoat were already hung on his bedroom door, waiting for him to shower, dress, and walk his two-mile route to campus. A Junior at Yale University, Jaden was quite the scholar but seemed to be depleted of a sense of direction in his life. His brain was a quagmire of thoughts such as, "Law school? Assistant Professor? Starving artist as a writer?" He knew one thing, though, he was bound to graduate -- not for himself, but for his family back home in Staten Island, NY.

Jaden was raised by a father who was a Physics Professor at Wagner College and his mother, a visual artist by trade. There was never a doubt that he would be pressured into being a person who would be a successful professional in some field. In his adolescent years, his father would subtly hint at this notion; his mother desired for him to be the best at whatever path he chose.

Though his mind was enveloped in a cloud of unknowns regarding a future career, he was confident in one thing: he loved to play the trumpet. No, he wasn't a jock or band member in high school, nor did he participate in university musical organizations. He taught himself how to play at the age of thirteen and was enamored with the instrument and its smoky, jazzy feel.

Jaden Rivers had one outlet when his studies and daily coursework had been completed. He would walk four blocks from his brownstone apartment and find himself at "The Roadhouse," a casual jazz bar where locals and artistic students would gather in the evenings to have a couple of cocktails and listen to live jazz from local performers. Picture Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald on a small stage singing "Dancing Cheek to Cheek" with an instrumental background and that was the aura of "The Roadhouse" each evening.

One cool evening, Jaden took a quick shower, ran some gel through his long, curly brown locks, placed some wool socks on his feet, slipped on some Dubarry boots and a wool sweater, placed a bit of cologne on each side of his neck, hurriedly wrapped himself in a scarf and pea coat and ran out the door of his apartment to arrive at "The Roadhouse" before it became crowded.

Once he reached his destination with a racing heart from his fast walk, he opened the door and smiled for the first time that day. Santos, the bartender, noticed Jaden's entrance and he began to pour a vodka soda. Santos knew Jaden's drink of choice and love of jazz. Being a regular at a bar does have its perks.

"What's up, J?," Santos asked. Jaden sighed, "Just another day. I'm counting down the days until the day I walk that stage, be handed my diploma, and get out of here." Santos, with a quizzical look on his face, questioned Jaden. "What do you mean 'get out of here'? Man, you're the only one who helps me make my rent each month. Don't leave me, bro'!"

Jaden grinned and chuckled, "Santos, you know I can't leave here for a while. I have no idea what to do when I graduate and am certainly not going back to Staten Island. My dad would be all over me and constantly pressure me to get a job he would want for me. Hell, he would probably end up getting me a job teaching at Wagner. That's the last thing I want."

"You need a woman is what you need. Man, there are plenty of women who come here every night that would love to date you! You're missing out, my friend. You need to spice up your life and relax a little. And I don't mean relax by drinking five vodka sodas..."

Jaden's cheeks blushed, knowing Santos was right. He had not dated since his last girlfriend Katie died in a car accident when they were on a weekend trip together in Greenwich two years before. His mind was still consumed with her loss and her notes to him remained taped on his bathroom mirror. It was rare for Jaden to admit he was wrong, but he knew Santos' advice was right. He did need to meet someone new and finish grieving.

Surrounded by the smooth music of the saxophone and piano on the stage to his left and encompassed in a dimly-lit space, Jaden began to daydream. Perhaps it was because of the vodka or the advice Santos provided him, but for the first time in two years, he felt a sense of comfort and self confidence. "Santos, I'll go ahead and pay up." Santos, with a strange look and smirk on his face asked, "Are you sure? You've only had one man! I need to pay rent." Jaden, hesitant, replied "Yes, it's been a particularly long day."

As he left the bar, the music still playing as the door closed, he began walking back to his apartment. Though frost covered the ground and his cheeks became chapped because of the frigid wind, he became inspired. He turned the key to the old door to his abode and knew what he needed to do.

He took off his coat and scarf and went to the hall closet which he rarely opened and picked up the black, leather case that held the one thing that would bring happiness back into his life -- his trumpet. Scared and hesitant, he placed his fingers around the mouth and lead pipes and keys that had become lusterless and needed polishing over due to the lack of its activity and care over the years.

Memories of playing the special piece in the basement of his childhood home began to create a sense of warmth within him. He carefully picked up the delicate instrument, sat in the velvet green chair in his bedroom, pursed his lips, and attempted to start off where he left. "BBBWWWHHHUUURRRREEE!!" He became utterly embarrassed, knowing the neighbors upstairs could hear the horrid sound. This was Jaden -- no self confidence and always fearing the opinions of others.

That night was different, though. Jaden, with his sunken eyes and head hung low because of his lack of practice over the years, grasped the trumpet with his hands and attempted once more. Again, with pursed lips and sweaty palms, he began to play one of his favorite songs from high school. Soon thereafter, he realized he had been playing that trumpet for five minutes. Placing the aged instrument in his lap, he let out a deep breath.

After years of feeling pressured by his parents and dealing with the loss of the love of his heart and best friend, Jaden suddenly felt a sense of calm and stability. He realized he had accomplished something he never thought would happen by picking up that dusty, aged trumpet and playing it for the first time in nearly ten years.

The next morning, Jaden rubbed his weary eyes, got out of bed, headed to the bathroom across from his bedroom and turned on the shower. Strangely, it was as if he had forgotten his accomplishment the previous night. There was no smile on his face and no sense of energy. The notes taped on the mirror continued to haunt him and he could not think of anything else. After his shower, he dressed and walked to the old building on campus where his Philosophy class was held.

“Class, today we are going to do things a bit differently. I am going to turn off the lights and each of you are going to write your thoughts on the notebook on your desk. You need not submit it to me; rather, you take it home and reflect on what you wrote.” Jaden had no words to say when his professor instructed the class to perform the assignment.

He began writing, as his professor instructed, and tears slowly fell down his cheeks onto the paper. The thought of Katie crowded his mind, his hand holding the pencil began to tremble. For the first time in two years, Jaden knew he had post-traumatic stress disorder from the wreck two years ago. He grabbed the notebook and stammered out of the classroom, embarrassed by his tears and heavy emotions.

Arriving at his apartment, he slowly walked to his bedroom and collapsed on the bed and fell asleep. He woke at 6 PM and strangely felt refreshed and energized. Perhaps his mental pangs had subsided since he left campus, or he simply needed the rest -- nonetheless, he turned on the hot water in the shower of his old bathroom, with original black and white tile and pedestal sink. As the hot water drenched his small-framed body, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. He wondered if crying and the class exercise was the reason for his clearer mind.

Once again, like every night, he dressed himself in warm clothes, his overcoat, boots, scarf, and walked out the door of his apartment, headed to "The Roadhouse." Closing the door, a chill infiltrated his body. For some odd reason, something told him he was forgetting something. He walked back into his apartment, stood inside the living room, and cast his head toward the ceiling. Jaden knew that, for some reason, he needed to take his trumpet that night.

He grasped the worn handle of the leather case containing the trumpet and nervously went on his way. Upon opening the door of the bar, Santos readily prepared his vodka tonic before he sat down. "I'm not going to even ask you how your day was. Bro' you look refreshed!" Jaden commented, "It started out pretty bad, but ended quite well." Santos, with a grin on his face questioned, "What's that you brought with you? It isn't what I think it is, is it? Man, I thought you gave up playing a long time ago!" Jaden, with a flushed face and nervous grin replied, "Yes, indeed it is. I started playing again last night and, if I can help pay your rent with a few drinks this evening, perhaps I may have the chance to play onstage."

Santos was an older gentleman and his eyes began to sparkle as if he had a child who had accomplished something of great significance. "Boy, I will make sure that happens! Let me run and tell Jeter to add you to the list tonight!" Jaden grasped the edge of the bar and uttered, "WAIT! Let me think about it..."

"Son, you don't have anything to lose. Let me tell you something. Eight years ago, I was devastated after I lost my wife after her long battle with cancer. Every single day, I would walk around depressed -- wondering if there was anything I had the chance to do for her throughout our marriage that I never did. Then, one day, I decided to enter this very jazz club to grab a drink and reminisce on our favorite music. The next day, I came back here, applied for a job and was hired on the spot. I've loved it ever since and it keeps my mind off of those negative thoughts. You know what you love to do. It's sitting right there in your lap in a leather case."

Jaden, dumfounded because he never knew Santos' story, sat at the bar with a white face and sweaty palms. "Santos, I...I never knew. I'm sorry." Santos chuckled, "Boy, there ain't nothing to be sorry about. I just wanted to let you know that you need to take advantage of any opportunity in life that passes your way. Promise me you'll play tonight. Ya' know, I do like 'Autumn in New York' by Ella Fitzgerald."

Jaden agreed and promised him he would give it a shot that night. An hour later with two vodka tonics in him, Jaden was summoned to the stage. The lead player that night announced, "Everyone, we have a special talent here this evening. His name is Jaden Rivers and he is a wonderful trumpet player. Jaden, come on up and let's play some music!"

His anxiety nearly crippled him. Slowly, with shaky hands, he approached the stage with his trumpet. Thoughts overwhelmed his mind, "Special talent? Wonderful trumpet player? I haven't even played 'Autumn in New York.' Will they have sheet music?"

As he approached the stage, he heard someone say, "You'll be just fine!" Obviously, filled with anxiety, he didn't even attempt to try to find out who spoke the words. Fortunately, there was sheet music. The band began to play and Jaden suddenly felt a jolt of energy and excitement. He placed the trumpet upon his lips and began playing along with the band.

The audience roared with joy and the room was full of excitement. People cheered and some people even cried by the sound of the band, Jaden's trumpet, and the singer. The song concluded and Jaden didn't remember how to bow, but he did quietly murmur in the microphone, "Thank you."

Santos, with tears in his eyes gave Jaden a "thumbs up" and pointed toward a girl at the end of the bar. As he walked off-stage, that same girl Santos pointed toward said, "I told you that you would be just fine." Jaden, taken aback, replied "That was you who said that before I walked onstage?"

"I could tell you were nervous and I know the feeling. I was a concert pianist in college, but haven't played in several years."

Jaden, astonished that this beautiful, redheaded girl with deep, captivating eyes would approach him -- an awkward-looking, scrawny guy with frazzled, curly hair. "My name is Lucy. And, you?" Again, with a shaky voice, he responded, "Jaden. My name is Jaden. Nice to meet you." Lucy replied, "So what brings you here? Obviously you like jazz music. Are you from the area?"

"Yes, I am about to graduate from Yale." The bright-eyed girl smirked, "Ohhh, a big ivy-league knockout, eh?" Jaden's interest nearly diminished after she said that. He was almost offended by her comment. She sensed that he viewed her comment as crass. "I am only kidding. That's such an exciting accomplishment! I'm a Yale grad myself."

Feeling more at ease, Jaden asked her if he could buy her next drink. "What is you drink of choice? I noticed you had a Pinot Noir when you approached me." Lucy, in a sarcastic tone said, "Wrong. It's a Negroni."

"A Negroni? I would never have guessed." Jaden peaked his head behind the bar and whispered for Santos. "Could you make a Negroni for the girl at the end of the bar and place it on my tab?" Santos, eyes still gleaming, patted Jaden on the face and said, "Of course, my friend. It's on me."

Jaden and Lucy finished their drinks after conversing about life and their dreams for the future and decided it was time to head home. "Where do you live?" Lucy asked. Jaden hesitantly replied, "Around 17th. You?" Lucy replied, "Oh! I'm at 20th." Jaden, full of confidence for the first time in several years suggested "May I walk you home?"

The two ended up walking down the sidewalk in the frigid Connecticut Winter and continued their conversation -- anything from hobbies, life journeys, where they would love to travel, and the like. They arrived at Lucy's apartment -- a brownstone much like his -- and she asked if he had a piece of paper.

"I normally don't carry paper on me," he laughed, "why is that?" Lucy smiled, pulled out a pen from her purse and said, "My father was an attorney and always told me to carry a pen wherever I go. Let me see your hand." Jaden held out his hand and Lucy wrote a series of numbers on his palm. "Let me know if you'd like to grab coffee sometime; of course, when you aren't busy being a renowned scholar and trumpet player," she snickered.

Jaden did not grasp his hand with the number on his palm; rather, he let the cold of the evening tattoo it there so he could remember it. Once he returned to his apartment, he grabbed a notebook and quickly wrote down the number she wrote on his palm. He turned off the lights of his apartment, laid in the velvet green chair in his bedroom, played 'Autumn in New York,' and fell asleep. Peacefully.