The next morning Emil was exhausted. He had stayed up all night, writing out plans for this second chance at life. 

He was surprised how organized and tidy he had already been as an 18 year old. He even had a day planner, a professional kind with a calendar. That's how he figured out that he had traveled back to August 30, 1999.

In the planner were carefully jotted down notes for his move to college, mostly lists of things to bring from home, things he had to purchase once on campus, and important dates to remember for the academic year.

Before starting his day he took a final inventory of things in his spartan dwelling. There was a weathered classical acoustic guitar without strings in the corner, a new aquamarine imac that his aunt had allowed him to use his savings on, and a stack of business and economics textbooks that he would soon return.

"There's a lot I have buy," Emil mumbled.

After taking a quick shower, Emil headed out to the cafeteria, which had just opened up for the day. He grabbed a black coffee and a bran muffin to go, planning to eat and drink on the way to the registrar to change his major and classes. Looking down at his breakfast, Emil chuckled at his middle-age palate.

Once he exited the cafeteria, Emil instantly realized that he had forgotten most of the campus layout. His memory of 1999 was fuzzy.

He had gone to James College, a small liberal arts institution, in the Eastmoreland neighborhood of Portland, Oregon. He was starting his first year of college as a business major, with plans of going to law school afterward.

In the original timeline, Emil had transferred to a college in New England the following year. He hated the other students at James, who were all known for being geniuses in the performing and liberal arts. As a business major, he didn’t mingle especially with the musicians, actively avoiding them. He would, however, secretly listen to them as they practiced.

He still had a week before the term started, so he had planned to switch majors and register for classes. He also planned to take out much of his savings to purchase musical instruments and equipment. The news of spending his savings on music would give his aunt an aneurysm, so he planned to keep it a secret.

Although she had been his legal guardian since his parents died, they didn't have a particularly intimate relation. From what he remembered she was definitely more of a silent authority in his life.

Although there was some surprise expressed at the registrar office, he was able to eventually switch his major to music and completely overhaul his class schedule. He would be taking all music courses for the semester. 

After going back to his room and exchanging his business textbooks for music ones, he noticed that it was already lunchtime. While others were ordering pizza and hamburgers, he decided to buy an egg salad sandwich, carrot sticks, and some green tea from the cafeteria so he could eat it outside. He again chuckled at his middle-aged palate. 

After finishing up his lunch and people watching, he went ahead and grabbed a campus map from the student union. He looked for the Coltrane music building, and burned the location into this memory. This would be where he would spend the next four years of his life, he vowed. 

On his way to the Coltrane building, Emil passed various lawns and somewhat familiar buildings. The campus was made up of rolling hills, with many pathways leading behind groves of trees.

It still felt like summer, with the warm air mixing with the strong smell of still lingering green leaves and pungent flowers. James College was a beautiful campus, Emil regretted never recognizing its beauty the first time around.

He also regretted never appreciating the music in Portland. The city was a strange outlier during the early 1990s Grunge boom. Sitting in the periphery of the Seattle epicenter, it would develop a quirkier, less ambitious music scene than the city up north. Nevertheless, it was wide and thriving, developing a complex network of makeshift all age house shows.

In the early 2000s, James College would be at the epicenter of a revived music movement in Portland. The city was cheap to live in, there were plenty of used recording equipment and instruments and musical knowledge leftover from the 1990s. Musicians at James would live in the surrounding neighborhoods after graduating or dropping out, building up the music scene.

Eventually major record labels would flock like parasites to feed off the Portland buzz. Emil would work for some of these labels, drawing up exploitative contracts that sucked promising musicians dry.

At the same time, Emil was obsessed with the scene, reading music blogs, magazines, and eventually the Portland music scene would be on television and all over the internet. Bands would end up touring all over the United States and the world, even headlining huge festivals.

Eventually, however, by the end of the 2000s, many would move to Brooklyn or Los Angeles, abandoning the Portland scene.

After a ten-minute walk, Emil found himself in front of Coltrane hall. Anxiety filled his body. Was he really going to dedicate this second life to music? Was he really willing to take this risk? These nervous emotions were a mixture of his 18-year old and forty-year old risk-averse selves.

Although he had played jazz bass throughout high school, he was intimidated by what he knew to be the immense talent that existed at James.

During his senior year he quit the jazz band, and would sell off his bass and amp, and even all his music books and CDs. The only thing he kept from his childhood was his father's old classical acoustic guitar.

Emil clenched his fists and took a deep breath. His determination returned. He worked his way through a life in corporate law, a life he hated. What if he actually devoted his life to what he wanted, what he loved? Emil then smiled and jokingly thought. If I mess this up, I’ll try something else in my third life.

The building smelled of old wood, warm from the lingering summer weather. Emil began wandering the halls. Black and white portraits ordained the walls. They were of musicians that had attended or performed at James.

The majority were classical or jazz musicians, and there were some who were in rock, pop, or soul. Various office doors of instructors were decorated with flyers, magazine covers, and other music-related paraphernalia. The music department certainly did not suffer from a lack of world-renown faculty.

But Emil wasn’t interested in learning. Instead, what he really wanted from the music major was access to instruments, studio equipment, and rehearsal space.

Emil headed down to the lower floor, to the rehearsal rooms. His heart was jumping out of his chest and he quickened his pace.

Classes wouldn't begin for another week, so all the rooms and studios seemed to belong to him. He felt drunk with power, and couldn’t contain his laughter. 

Emil would jump in and out of different rooms, playing a few keys on a piano, or if there were no instruments, he would sing loudly and listen to the echo reverberate across the empty space.

Many rooms would be locked, however. And he would peer in, seeing common instruments like guitars, violins, drums. Some rooms would contain electronic equipment, like samplers, synthesizers, drum machines. Some rooms were studios, filled with microphones, soundproofed walls, and heavy mixing consoles.

Emil was lost in this euphoric state, when he unexpectedly heard a faint sound. He strained his ears and could make out a rhythmic percussive beat. It was clearly dampened and small, but consistent.

He headed toward the hall to try and pinpoint the source of the sound. Focusing his mind intensely on the percussive sound, suddenly Emil’s eyes widened as he saw something strange.

He rubbed his eyes, thinking his lack of sleep was playing tricks on his vision. But rubbing his eyes didn’t make what he saw go away.

Before Emil were threads of light, moving and weaving together, about chest high. The deep purple strands would intertwine and slightly vibrate every time he heard the thump of a kick drum.

The lines came from down the hall. As he walked toward the origin of the lines, he noticed as the lines changed shape and grew thicker. As the sound got louder, more strands appeared, converging and entangling.

The color appeared darker as well, Emil could see gradients of deeper crimson and navy blues mixed in with the purple strands, especially as he could more easily make-out the sound of toms, snares, and cymbals.

The strands themselves started to make more rigid polygon shapes, spreading out as if creating a gigantic shell that cut through the walls.

Emil peered through a cutout window in a door leading to a rehearsal room. Emil’s eyes followed the lines of light as it moved through the door.

At the center of these threads and lines of light was a woman playing a drum kit, emphatically yet maintaining a consistent rhythm.

Flams, drags, paradiddles, rolls and other kinds of rudiments interweaved with one another. Every time that her drumsticks would move toward the bright timbre of cymbals, warmer colored lines would spill out splintering in yellows, pinks, and oranges.

In disbelief, an unthinkable thought entered Emil’s mind: was he actually seeing music?