The drummer's sweat soaked hair--brownish black bangs that fell just below her nose--stuck to her face. Her eyes covered, she drummed as if possessed. Her arms moved in a blur, rapidly shooting out drumsticks in a myriad of angles.

Emil saw intersecting lines surrounding the drummer, creating a polyhedron that rhythmically contracted and expanded around her body and the drum kit. It was as if she was enclosed by a thinly opaque and reverberating dome.

Waves of cooler colored lines mixed with warmer colored lines, growing thicker every time she would cleanly complete a drum phrase. 

Emil started to notice a pattern about what he was seeing.

Higher frequencies tended to be warm colors and lower frequencies tended to be cooler colors. Moreover, the density of the lines seemed to relate to a kind of power of the music, something that wasn’t necessarily the sound wave itself, but an expression of the feeling.

Perhaps the density of the lines conveyed the emotion behind the act of drumming, how she was able to communicate musicality with how she chose to bludgeon a snare at one moment, a tom or kick at another, or to gently tap a ride symbol in place of an open high-hat. Emil speculated.

Her drumming was astounding, thought Emil. The drums provided no melody, but Emil heard the musicality nevertheless. It was as if she was possessed by the spirit of Max Roach.

Through her deployment of different phrases--the ordering of differently contoured and shaped sounds, the use of call and response, the creation of space and asymmetrical pauses, and the repetition of certain patterns--she was able to create the architecture of a melody, without musical notes.

Her solo was able to convey a story, an arc of tension and release that the listener would unconsciously follow.

As soon as his brain recognized the melodic nature of her drum solo, Emil’s eyes widened.

Fractal lines began jutting out of the core of his body, traveling toward the drums. And from the drums similarly shaped lines of light moved outward.

About midway between Emil and the drummer the lines connected, creating a plane of fractal patterns that began to expand into a three-dimensional cylinder. It was as if the connection had turned into a tunnel about a meter in diameter.

Like the dome that surrounded the drummer, the tunnel also pulsated with the rhythm. Warm and cool colors shimmered along the surface of the tunnel.

As the tunnel widened, Emil could feel the sound burrow deeper into his body, spreading out a warm comforting feeling. Tears began to gather in his eyes. He was truly moved.

The drum solo came to an end. As the lingering sounds finished reverberating, the lines of light slowly drifted away, like smoke dissipating in the air.

The drummer was breathing hard, drenched in sweat. She reached down and grabbed a towel next to her seat, and vigorously buried her head in the towel. As she more thoroughly dried her hair, Emil could better make out her face.

Emil was shocked by a flash of recognition.

The drummer was a baby-faced Roy Sarmiento.

In Emil’s original timeline, Roy was one of the most successful electronic dance musicians of the 2000s. She would also DJ at festivals all over the world, playing to audiences in the tens of thousands.

Emil also remembered reading about Roy’s sudden retirement in January of 2011, never to be seen again. There were no real reasons behind it, at least publicly, just speculations.

The most prevalent story that circulated was her troubles with her record label and her manager, who she claimed had stolen most of the profits from her record, ticket, and merchandise sales.

Locked into atrociously predatory contracts, she decided to end being a recording artist, rather than continue being severely exploited. 

From online interviews, the only time she seemed genuinely happy was when she talked about musicians, the different scenes they inhabited, and their myriad influences and legacies.

She was known for her vast knowledge of music, and was frequently featured on youtube videos. And although she always appeared to have a monotone and dry way of speaking, she seemed to really relish talking about music history, no matter what genre.

Emil also recalled reading about her life at James. How she was known as a jazz drumming genius, a music nerd, who graduated with honors from the music department. 

As these thoughts swam in his head, Emil pondered whether he should approach her on the off chance she would be willing to jam together. This was a crazy idea! At his current state, he'd be lucky if he could even keep up with her speed.

Luckily, he had time in this second life, and he didn’t have to rush such an encounter.

Still, after seeing such drumming, Emil was burning to play an instrument, especially since he had discovered this weird way of seeing music.

With his mind made up, he decided to leave Roy alone as she continued to practice. Emil turned around and made his way back to the exit, he could feel his heart racing excitedly at the thought of playing music.

Emil's presence did not go unnoticed, however. After taking a generous gulp of water from her Nalgene bottle, the drummer looked back at the door.

Although the person looking through the door’s window had left, Roy still remembered his face. Or to be more accurate, she remembered the face he had made.

It was a face that seemed shocked by what he was witnessing, eyes scattered all over the room, not just the drums. It was a strange sight to see someone so immersed in hearing drums all by itself, as if in a trance.

Roy was certainly curious about such a strange person, but not enough to try and chase him down.

Putting away her thoughts about the uninvited visitor, she decided to continue her drum practice. She played drums to lose herself, or to be more accurate, to try and transcend all the other nagging thoughts about her life, particularly the choices and time she’d felt she wasted in Portland.

She no longer felt joy in the jazz program, nor did she really get along with the other students. The local Portland jazz scene was not only wanting but composed of impenetrable cliques. Old men with old-fashioned ideas about jazz and its possibilities.

She was tempted to burn all her bridges before moving to New York or Los Angeles. Still, she was only one year away from finishing up her degree, and she still had fun learning about music history from many of the professors.

Some of her professors had even suggested Roy get a Ph.D. in music, so she could teach, since she thought like a music scholar.

Despite her wandering mind, she played consistently yet passionately, her arms joyfully moving in controlled chaos.