Two Bands, One Drummer

Laszlo had played drums with the same three friends since he was twelve. They practiced in Zoran's garage every Thursday, and they were not very good. But they had a name, a few songs of their own, and, at last, a real concert. It was on Saturday night, at the youth café.

Three weeks before the concert, a tall boy named Aldo came up to Laszlo after school. "I heard you play at the talent show," he said. "My band needs a drummer for the city competition. The final is on Saturday."

Laszlo's heart jumped. Aldo's band was well known. They had won prizes, and they had real equipment. "Which Saturday?" Laszlo asked, already afraid of the answer.

Aldo told him. It was the same night.

That evening, Laszlo lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Aldo's band would push him to play better. A good result in the competition could open doors: lessons, new people, maybe even a future in music. His friends' concert would be small, and nobody important would be there.

But he kept thinking about Zoran, who had spent two months making posters. He thought about the Thursday practices, where nobody minded mistakes. If he left, the band would have to cancel, or find a stranger in two weeks. For three days, he told nobody.

On the fourth day, he asked himself a different question. Ten years from now, which Saturday would he be sorry to have missed? The answer came faster than he expected. There would be other competitions. His friends' first concert would only happen once.

He found Aldo first. "Thank you for asking me," Laszlo said. "It means a lot. But I can't play that Saturday. I promised my friends."

Aldo nodded slowly. "That's fair. If there is a next time, I'll ask again."

Then Laszlo went to Zoran's garage and told him everything, including the offer. Zoran was quiet for a while.

"Why are you telling me?" he said at last. "You could have just said nothing."

"Because it's true," Laszlo said. "And because I chose you. Nobody made me."

On Saturday night, the youth café was almost full. They played badly in places, and Zoran forgot a verse. But when the last song ended, thirty people shouted for more. Laszlo sat behind his drums, hot and out of breath, and could not stop smiling.

Later, his phone buzzed with a message from Aldo: "We came second. Next time I'm asking early."

Laszlo typed back one word: "Ask."