Junior year of high school was inconsequential
No girlfriend. No driver's license. No job.
Just school, family, music, and church.
but very much--music.
I had given up on my childhood dream to play for the New York Yankees as a starting pitcher/second baseman with my good friend Cody Van-Es, when I realised that I would never attain the height necessary to play competitively at the Major League level. He, however, is following his father's timeless advice.
"Work hard, and good things will happen."
He is currently playing baseball at LA mission college and is a fine, hardworking good player, a good man, and a very good friend.
Because I had retired from baseball, there was fear--all this time, all this effort, and now what? Well, I had been playing piano for as long, in fact, longer than I had been playing baseball. And I played it pretty well. I was taking 'Jazz Band' at my school, Village Christian and was the pianist (alongside teacher aide, John Barnts for the first two years).
We had played many competitions, took first prize in many competitions, people were amazed at the dual pianists; the large (38 piece jazz orchestra) sound from a bygone era at these many competitions. During the final performance of the year (my 8th grade year, my second year in the jazz band), after I had received the band award for 'most annoying sound effects' I was called to play by myself, piano and voice, as an effort to showcase my talents. I gave a short introduction on the history of the song, and then played and sang the song 'Let it Be'.
The audience was riveted. They were amazed that this 13 year old boy had played so well, and sang so sweetly. After the performance my Band director, Mr. Shafer was equally impressed. The Soundman Joe Hernandez had exalted my performance in words I can't remember. What I did remember from his praise was his assertion that I could have won the school talent show with that performance.
I thought I performed well, and certainly would not have been able to have performed as well without the proper coaching from my father, the many years of practice prodded by my mother, the lessons given by my teachers: Ms. Hall and Dr. Lepley, and of course the ability to perform, breathe, and live by my most gracious God.
The next year, I performed at the school talent show.
I performed 'Rocket Man' with Alex Valdez on drums and Paul Long on Bass.
The performance was most stellar, everyone shone and when I peered towards the audience (the bright spotlight on my face made the view unbearable) I saw other lights in the distance. Started by Natalie Matti, a sister of Levon (played alto saxophone in the jazz band with me), people reached deep in their pockets, pulled out their cell phones and let them shine on during the song. It was recorded on tape, and it's a most compelling sight. After the last Chord rang out, judges Marc Canu, Vern Jones, and another village christian teacher went to their scorecards.
The audience went into hysterics. It took 10 minutes to manage the madness that was erupting inside the Basketball gym. At the end of the talent show, they named off the winners. starting with third: The VCS drama team for their interpretation of 'A Whole New World'. Second: Mandy MacDougal (Who had won the previous year with her dance to Michael Jackson's Billie Jean) for her dance to Britney Spears' 'Toxic'. And then student council President Tyler Martin announced, "This year's winner of the VCS Talent Show, is Jesse David Corti, Alex Valdez, and Paul Long for 'Rocket Man'." I couldn't believe it. They brought forth the trophy, roses, and money. I gave the roses to Alex, and eyed that warm, large stack of $1 bills totalling to $200 ($203). Tyler asked me, "How do you feel?" And being so taken aback at such a prize so quickly I responded, "I'm shocked." I tried to pass of the trophy to Paul Long, who declined. I gave $50 to Alex, $50 to Paul, and kept $100 ($103). Tyler Martin concluded the evening "He's shocked ladies and gentleman, thank you very much for coming, and good night."
The next year, I placed second for New York State of Mind. The following year, my junior year, a new student came and carried a reputation for being an accomplished songwriter, a singer-songwriter. That year, he and I performed on a nearly weekly basis for our school's "chapel days". He is a very talented songwriter, and an excellent performer. We butted heads creatively, but we respected each other's respective talents. He was bound to perform at the talent show, bound to perform his own material, and apparently bound to win.
I do not like to lose.
I love winning.
I was upset that I had lost out last year's talent show to a group of dancers (no bands, but a dance troupe could perform? Qu'est que c'est?) when I gave an even more accomplished performance vocally and instrumentally. I knew that in order to compete, in order to win, I had to perform an original song.
Only problem was, I had never written a song, and didn't know where to begin. He had a CD of 17 songs he circulated with staff and students; well received and well played (he performed his material occasionally at our chapels by himself with guitar), and people only knew me as 'Rocket Man'. During my fabulous Christmas vacation, our family spent time away from sunny California. It was a time for many things. reconnection with relatives, recollection with relatives, playing games with relatives, it was like a bunch of mini family reunions. A few of our reunions were visiting family friends.
One such 'family friends' reunion we made left quite an impression on me. She made quite an entrance. We had been talking with her family for ten or fifteen minutes, and down she came from the stairs. To type I was quite taken, is an understatement; other frequent supposed superlatives and alleged hyperbole will follow. It is how I experienced, it is how I remember. I wished time had been kind, my mind capture the moment as a film would, but alas, her entrance was swift; she sat down. Our families caught up, shared respective histories, and how it came about; I am unsure, but I played the piano and sang.
Immediately, my parents were tipped off, perhaps my sister, too.
Nevertheless, we went out to a restaurant to eat, and being so enamored (infatuated, perhaps?) by her whole beauty, in heart, mind, and soul. Asked her questions regarding music, what she was up to, etc. To which she responded, longer than one word responses, respectful, full responses.
I had an excellent evening, we left at one or two in the morning, walked down the parking lot, gave hugs, but I was careful to--shake her hand.
"Keep in touch," she said.
I nodded yes, and said "Of course, good night."
We left. The rest of the vacation blurred, my mind kept coming back to her. Pictures documented well, I was happy with the other reunions and can remember what happened at most, but meeting with her, was most fascinating. I came back to sunny california, after Christmas break, with a lot of sunny feelings, and yet here was this beautiful woman, having dealt with so much, dealing with so much at the moment, and I could only imagine her having to deal with so much more in the future. How I wished I could swoop and save her from such a fate.
But I didn't take her number, I didn't have her address, I didn't have her e-mail.
She didn't have myspace. I didn't know what I could do. But I did know that with these feelings, with this intensity, with this desire, it couldn't just go away; it led me to write my first song. She is, and always will be, the 'Young Pretty'
