A Thousand Brick Walls

The first note came out wrong.

A clean guitar chord was supposed to open the show. Instead, feedback burst from a floor monitor and sent several hundred people reaching for their ears.

The guitarist lifted both hands from the strings.

The drummer laughed.

Someone near the stage yelled, “Turn it up!”

The Bellwether Theatre had survived ninety years, three owners, one fire, twelve years without heat, and a restoration that had stopped just short of making the place look new. Gold paint clung to the ceiling in thin islands. Red velvet covered the seats. The side walls had been stripped down to their original brick.

The theater looked better because some damage remained.

Syd stood beneath the balcony with a plastic cup of beer in his hand. Oliver stood beside him, watching a sound technician crawl behind an amplifier.

OliverThey weren’t ready.

SydThey started.

OliverThat is not the same thing.

The drummer tapped his sticks together. The singer spoke into her microphone.

Nothing came out.

Syd smiled.

SydThe whole point of doing this is to start doing it.

OliverThe microphone is off.

SydIt can be turned on.

OliverIt should have been turned on before they walked out.

The singer tried again.

“Good evening,” she said.

This time her voice came through the speakers twice as loud as it needed to. The crowd cheered anyway.

Oliver folded his arms.

SydThere. Problem solved.

OliverThat was not a solution. Someone moved a knob.

SydMost solutions are someone moving a knob.

The band started again. The guitarist played the opening chord. It was too loud, but it was a chord.

Syd raised his cup.

SydIt’s not gonna be right. It’s never gonna be right because it could always be better.

OliverThat is the sort of thing people say after they forget to test the microphone.

SydThe microphone being on would help.

OliverThank you.

SydBut it doesn’t make starting wrong.

Oliver watched the technician hurry across the back of the stage with a cable coiled around his arm.

OliverIf you’re laying a brick wall, how you start is crucial to the whole project.

Syd turned toward the brick beside them.

SydA life is a thousand brick walls. We’ll be building them as long as we’re here.

OliverAnd each one has to stand.

SydLong enough to get you to the next one.

OliverYou are trying to turn one wall into a thousand so you can excuse the crooked one.

SydI’m trying to say no beginning carries everything.

OliverThis one is a brick wall, in my opinion.

SydWhy?

OliverI like brick walls.

Syd looked at him for a moment.

SydThat’s your argument?

OliverIt’s a strong material.

SydThat’s not what I asked.

OliverIt lasts.

SydSo do bad ideas.

OliverNot without maintenance.

The opening band pushed through the first song. The singer missed an entrance. The bass rattled the glasses behind the bar. The guitarist kept looking toward the sound booth, but by the second chorus the room had begun to settle around them.

A few people moved closer to the stage.

A woman near the aisle started dancing.

By the end of the song, the crowd gave the band a real cheer.

Syd nodded toward the stage.

SydYou see?

OliverI see a band that should have done another sound check.

SydYou see that they recovered.

OliverThey recovered because the drummer held time, the singer did not panic, and someone behind the stage knew which cable was bad.

SydSo preparation matters.

OliverYes.

SydBut the only reason any of that mattered is because they started.

Oliver glanced at him.

OliverYou think everything is a race against hesitation.

SydAnd you think hesitation becomes wisdom if you give it a checklist.

OliverThat is not what I think.

SydIt sounds like what you think.

OliverYou always do that.

SydDo what?

OliverAsk me what I think and then answer for me.

SydI’m trying to understand your attitude.

OliverNo. You’re naming my attitude and handing it back to me.

The band moved into its second song. The sound was better now. The singer’s voice rose cleanly over the room.

Syd looked toward the stage.

SydI don’t think either of us is completely right or wrong.

OliverThat is easy to say after assigning me a position I don’t hold.

SydThat’s fair.

Oliver waited.

SydWhat I should have said is, “What do you mean by ‘do it right’?”

OliverI mean the audience paid to be here. The crew showed up. The band asked for the stage. They owe those people effort.

SydNot perfection?

OliverNo.

SydReadiness?

OliverAs much readiness as the work allows.

SydThat sounds different.

OliverIt is what I meant.

SydIt isn’t what I heard.

OliverYou heard the word right and built a prison around it.

SydYou heard the word start and imagined a man throwing bricks from a moving truck.

Oliver almost smiled.

OliverThat would be a poor way to build a wall.

SydBut he’d have started.

OliverHe would have made a pile.

SydEvery wall starts as a pile.

OliverNo. Every wall starts as a plan.

SydEvery plan starts as a thought.

OliverEvery thought starts as what?

SydI don’t know. Hunger. Fear. Boredom. God.

OliverSo we have arrived nowhere.

SydWe arrived at the beginning.

The second song ended without incident.

The singer thanked the crowd and introduced the band. They had driven six hours that morning. It was their first time playing in a theater that large.

Oliver looked at Syd.

OliverDoes that change your view?

SydIt makes me like them more.

OliverIt makes the lack of preparation more understandable.

SydSee?

OliverUnderstandable is not the same as good.

SydNothing is ever good enough for you.

OliverThat is not true.

SydYou just changed right to good.

OliverYou changed understandable to correct.

They stared at each other.

The next song started.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

A beam of blue light crossed the theater and caught the dust above the crowd. The old ceiling seemed to float there, held up by darkness.

Syd leaned closer so he could be heard.

SydI like that we can get this wrong and keep talking.

OliverYou enjoy starting trouble and calling the repair interesting.

SydI enjoy that neither of us has to pretend agreement to stay in the room.

OliverSome people call that courtesy.

SydSome people call silence courtesy and resentment peace.

OliverThen ask before you accuse.

SydI’m practicing recovery.

OliverAfter practicing accusation.

The opening band finished its set.

This time, several rows stood.

The singer leaned into the microphone and thanked the sound crew. The technician beside the stage gave a small wave without looking up from his cables.

The house lights came on.

People moved toward the lobby in a slow press of coats, drinks, and bodies. Syd and Oliver followed them beneath the balcony and into a narrow hall lined with framed posters from old productions.

A brass plate near the stairs showed the theater before its restoration. Half the windows had been boarded over. Weeds grew through cracks in the sidewalk. Several letters were missing from the marquee.

Oliver stopped beside a section of exposed wall.

The bricks were not all the same. Some were dark and smooth. Others were pale, rough, and newer. Mortar ran between them in lines of different widths.

Syd touched one of the darker bricks.

SydWhich one was first?

OliverIt is probably behind something.

SydExactly.

OliverThat does not mean it did not matter.

SydIt means nobody knows which one it was.

OliverThe wall knows.

SydThe wall doesn’t know anything.

OliverThen why are you talking to it?

Syd removed his hand.

SydYou keep treating every beginning like it has to carry the whole future.

OliverYou keep treating every beginning like it carries nothing.

SydIt carries enough to get you to the next one.

OliverSometimes the next one only exists because the first one held.

SydAnd sometimes the first one falls down.

OliverThen you build it again.

Syd looked at him.

SydThat sounds like my argument.

OliverNo. Your argument is that it does not matter how you begin.

SydIt matters less than beginning.

OliverThat is different.

SydIt’s a big difference.

OliverIt is also wrong.

SydWhy?

OliverBecause beginning badly can cost more than waiting.

SydWaiting can cost everything.

OliverYes.

SydSo neither rule works every time.

OliverNo.

SydThen why are we arguing?

OliverBecause you keep trying to turn judgment into a rule.

SydI thought you were the one with the rule.

OliverMy rule is to think before doing something.

SydThat’s not a rule. That’s a slogan.

OliverIt is better than “Do something.”

SydNothing has ever been made by someone who only thought about making it.

OliverNothing worth keeping has ever been made by someone who refused to think.

A bell rang inside the theater.

The headliner would begin in five minutes.

The lobby started to empty.

Neither of them moved.

Syd looked again at the wall.

SydWhen I ask why, I’m not trying to catch you.

OliverIt can sound that way.

SydI ask because I think your answer is worth hearing.

OliverThen leave room for me to give it.

SydI’m working on the delivery.

OliverThat is preparation.

Syd laughed.

SydThere it is.

OliverThere what is?

SydThe whole argument.

OliverIt is not the whole argument.

SydIt’s close.

They walked back into the theater.

Stagehands had cleared the opening band’s equipment. A single microphone stood at center stage. Behind it, the red curtain had been lifted to reveal a bare brick wall at the back of the stage.

The crowd returned to its seats.

Syd and Oliver stood where they had been before.

SydThis only works because I assume you mean what you say.

OliverAnd because I assume you might listen.

SydGood faith.

OliverGood faith does not fix the microphone.

SydNo.

OliverIt does not make a bad argument true.

SydNo.

OliverIt does not make a bad beginning harmless.

SydNo.

Oliver turned to him.

OliverThen what does it do?

SydIt keeps us talking while someone fixes the microphone.

The lights went down.

The crowd rose with a roar.

A woman walked onto the stage carrying an old wooden guitar. She stepped to the microphone and said something no one could hear.

The microphone was off.

She looked toward the sound booth.

The crowd laughed.

She laughed too.

A technician raised one finger.

The theater went quiet.

The woman waited.

Then the microphone came alive.

She leaned toward it.

“Let’s try that again,” she said.

The crowd cheered louder than before.

She placed her fingers on the strings.

Oliver looked at Syd.

OliverThe first brick matters.

Syd nodded.

SydOne of a thousand.

The first chord filled the theater.