If there was one thing I learned in my college level high school English class my senior year, it was to LAY IT ON THICK. My teacher was not very nice most of the time, and he was hard core about descriptive words. So he had us write a descriptive essay early on (October 2007). Reading this ridiculously AMAZING piece of ART, I imagine the essay was supposed to be about our favorite object. Well, ladies and gents, I still live in that room from childhood. And the drums are still in the same corner. So I wake up to this gloriousness every single day.
The orange glare of the setting sun through a large window reflects off of a hefty object in the corner of the room. This object is intricate; it is not quite a single entity. There are five separate standing pieces to this object and one matching stool to accompany it all. It is a DW Pacific drum set. The DW stands solitary in a corner, slanting toward a ninety degree angle where two walls meet in the pale peach colored bedroom of a seventeen-year-old girl.
Looking past the peach glow reflected in four of the five diaphanous heads of the drums, one can see their own reflection, clear as crystal. When properly cleaned, the black circumference and metal structuring of each specific piece display disproportional, although unambiguous, funhouse mirror reflections of the beholder. In this way, the drum set is able to reflect all of its surroundings, becoming one with the interests and atmosphere of its owner; transforming itself into perfection.
The “Pacific” symbol on the transparent vertical head of the bass drum tilts to the right, a manufacturing blunder that will remain for eternity. The Hi Hat cymbal pedal still misses a fastener, laying broken and unemployed since three months into its assembled existence. The top half of its pole is still crooked from uneducated configuration in the excitement of receiving the set in the mail. Looking at that defect, one is able to picture the exhilaration and passion which filled the room on the day of the set’s arrival.
The white maple innards of the drums have lost their distinctive perfume over time. The overpowering scent is of the white felt-tipped bass pedal. The pedal does not smell as it came in the box, but reeks of nail polish remover accidentally spilled during the scuttle of prom week in junior year. This particular stench clashes repugnantly with other idiosyncratic aromas, including those of metal and the “Sweet Temptation” body fragrance which has been misted over the entire room in attempts to create a luxurious atmosphere. These scents are those of the everyday life of the set’s owner. However unattractive the mixture of scents is, it further allows the set to become a part of its owner: perfect in her eyes.
The edges of both sets of cymbals are worn down from continuous play during the life of the drum set. Drumstick marks blotch the head of each of the five drums, some more visibly scarred than others. The scars appear on the white snare as black as night, while the tom toms demonstrate markings of a dissimilar nature; markings that appear as mere smudges on the translucent heads. These are battle scars: blemishes that identify the persistent survival of the drum set through the days during which it has been played beautifully as well as the days during which it has served as a stress-reducer. These blemishes are not signs of weakness, but individual signs of love and affection toward the object. Although not recently, it has been played, serving its purpose of existence.
The five drum heads are coated in a thin but perceptible coating of dust. This filth is particularly noticeable on the white head of the snare drum. One can almost see the vibrations that move the dust on the surface of the set; movements that bring the drums to life. In this instant, the rat-a-tat-tat of the snare and the deep booming sound of the bass are drawn to one’s ears, as if the drums are being played. However filthy these drums are, their sound is a constant echo in the ears of the onlooker. The drum set has been abandoned in the pandemonium of high school life, but is still gazed at in magnificence as a representation of the consistent rhythm with which its owner’s heart beats.