In 1999 I became more interested in learning to play the bass, just to add another feather in my cap of musical prowess. May of that year saw a dear friend by the name of Joe offering me his old bass guitar, one he said he never played anymore. Joe brought the bass to school on a Friday, handed it to me and told me to take it home for the weekend. The last thing I can remember him telling me was to let him know how I liked it on Monday. The issue being, our school district had a funny way of rewarding me with more days off from school when I had previously not shown up to school. I was suspended most of that following week, and by the time I returned it was too late. I went back to school with the intention of returning the bass to Joe, but Joe had passed away that Thursday night. Meningitis. He was only 15 years old.
I tried numerous times to get his bass to his sister, but our schedules rarely ever crossed paths. From 1999 until about ten years ago I continued to try and make it happen, but things never worked out. It was as if Joe was telling me this is where he wants the bass to stay, and it has ever since he gave it to me. On the surface it's nothing special. It's a red Mako brand, P style body, maple fretboard, single pickup bass. The strings are still original, as I can't bear to take them off. They're the last set of strings Joe played. Needless to say I've not played it since 1999. It's more a keepsake of a friend who I guess decided I was the safest home for his bass.
I think this year I might just go through and give the bass a tune up, see how it performs. After leaving school in 2000 the bass moved with me to Michigan, then back to Indiana. It's been packed away in box in my closet untouched, but not forgotten, for decades. A new pack of strings, a thorough cleaning, make sure the neck is doing alright, and it might be ready to rock. I still feel as if this belongs with his family, but it's just never happened. I think at this point they've probably long forgotten it.
