Buettner 8 the first non american i had ever met and

Buettner 8
the first non-American I had ever met, and I wanted to know everything about Peru and what it was like. Before
we could get talking, another girl walked through the door. She was my height with dark blonde hair and fringe
bangs that tailed out on the sides to frame her face. She was reminiscent of Gigi Hadid with her makeup done
flawlessly, and her crop top accentuating her tiny waist. Her name was Lila.
The day was a blur after everyone went to run errands. Lila and her mom went to TJ Maxx to get
bedding and sheets since she flew from Denver and couldn’t fit everything she needed in her carry-on, but now
I know it’s because she opted for clothes instead. Sofia and her family went to explore the area, while my
parents and I went to the cafeteria. There were way more kids than I expected, and to say I was intimidated
would be an understatement. After we ate and my parents said goodbye, I was left alone on my dorm bed now
adorned with a pastel green comforter. Alone at last. I unpacked everything else and organized my desk to pass
the time. I was hoping my roommates would come back before the welcome presentation they put together for
us so I would have someone to go with. Sure enough, as soon as I turned from closing the dorm door, Sofia and
her mom were in the hall about to go in.
After the performance center we headed back towards our dorm where we ran into Lila. We all got
dinner and thought it would be fun to go to the jam sessions that Berklee was having that night. We didn’t know
what to expect, or what was going to happen, but I knew from the kids that I was observing that it was going to
be interesting.
Café 939 was packed like a can of sardines when we showed up. Somehow, we managed to push our
way through the swarms of teenagers and found three seats. The chairs were in two groups with only a thin aisle
separating them. The room had a tiny stage that could comfortably fit four people, but that night somehow
squished seven. Everyone around us had their instruments out, getting it tuned before it was their turn to jam. A
bald man with a clipboard was on the stage passing around a sheet to scribble your name on to play, and a line
of musicians stretched down the aisle.
“Jack and Drew on guitar,

Buettner 9
Kaden on vocals…”
The man started to read off names from the sheet. He would basically skim for different instruments: bass,
guitar, piano, drums, voice... until he compiled a full band. The spontaneity intrigued me. The only people I had
officially met were my roommates and two guys named Alex who conveniently roomed together that we met at
the welcome assembly, but other than them I knew no one and the faces I was seeing were all strangers. I was
debating whether to sign up as I watched group after group get up and somehow produce coherent five minutes
of music despite their lack of practice and prep. In the end, I could never give up an opportunity to perform, and
after the needed push from my roommates I stood up from the cushioned black chairs and made my way
through the obstacle course of guitar cases and legs until I made it to the man with the clipboard. The kid who
had it before me handed it to me, and I wrote my name.