Chapter 1

I guess we were typical teenagers. When we were teenagers, that is.

We had dreams and hopes and aspirations. Some were realistic; others were wildly improbable.

My best friend was named Greg. He was a drummer in the school marching band. And a pretty darned good one by most accounts. He played soccer and baseball, but his first love was music. His second love was Carrie.

Carrie had been Greg's girlfriend since, well, since forever, I guess. I can't remember a time they weren't together. They started going out in seventh grade and were still going strong into their senior years of high school. Carrie was the one who got Greg interested in band. She played the flute in the marching band but she came from a musical family. So she also played guitar, a little bass and some banjo along with a host of percussion instruments.

Carrie's best friend was Kellie. I knew Kellie better than Carrie when I was younger — mostly because Kellie and I went to the same church. Kellie played the piano for the youth choir. I should know because I was a member of the youth choir from the time my mother forced me into it at age 9 until I could finally claim I was no longer a youth at age 17.

My name is Todd. I am not musical. I rarely listen to music and when I do it rarely is for very long. I prefer to read a book or to write stories of my own. I have been told I have a pleasant singing voice but I can not read music. I never could. Even when The Collection hit the big time.

I can say without reservation it was all Carrie's fault.

Her father's family was having some sort of get-together and she invited us all to attend. It was a weekend camping trip and it sounded fun. Carrie neglected to mention a couple of things. First, was that her entire extended family were serious musicians. Sure, I knew her father was the local high school band director and that her mother taught music in the elementary schools. But I had no idea that everyone associated with Carrie's family was proficient in a variety of musical genres.

Her uncle was an opera singer; her cousin was a Nashville session recording artist; her niece was a piano prodigy.

The second thing Carrie failed to mention is that her family get-together was more like an extended talent show. The small children kicked off Friday night with a series of musical skits that the families obviously had worked on for months.

Saturday afternoon was a square-dance and hoe down complete with shit-kicking country and western music provided by the various family members. Saturday night the adults performed a variety of duets and solo singing acts. Then it was Sunday morning.

Sunday morning was for newcomers. Apparently Greg and Kellie were aware of the necessity to perform because they came prepared with variety of things — things such as harmonicas, Greg's drum kit, a bass and lead guitar and an electric keyboard.

I admit I was looking forward to what they might put together. I knew the three of them had had "jam sessions" in Greg's garage periodically. I lived two houses away; it wasn't like I could have missed them. They sounded pretty good.

Then Kellie handed me a list of songs and took my arm. I was scanning the list and I thought it was a pretty eclectic mix. A little bit of Jewel mixed in with the Commodores and a couple of country ballads and a duet from Patty Smythe and Don Henley. I was nodding my head in appreciation when I realized what Kellie was doing.

"No way," I said.

"You know the words to all the songs," she said. "The ones with an asterisk are the ones you sing lead on."

"Uh-uh," I said trying to dig in my heels on the hard ground.

"Please," she pleaded. "Come on, no one will know. Carrie's family will go back to wherever they came from and you'll never have to see them again. I've heard you sing. It'll be awesome. We can't do it without you. You've got the best voice out of all of us."

She seemed on the verge of tears so I relented.

It really wasn't as bad as what I thought it would be. I mean, the songs that I didn't sing, I had nothing to do. I couldn't play an instrument and I couldn't even sing harmony because I was somewhat unfamiliar with the concept. So I stood in the background and tried not to pick my nose.

Carrie's family let out a wild whoop when we finished with an acoustic version of "Seven Bridges Road" by The Eagles.

Our styles were different. Greg had a soft tenor voice reminiscent of Billy Joel. Carrie had a harder alto almost like Beth Hart. Kellie had a sweet, kind voice that lent itself to slow ballads in the style of Martina McBride. And I just sang what they put in front of me.

I would copy the melody from the times I had heard the songs on CD. I had no idea what chord we were in; I had no idea of when I was off pitch or what to do about it when I figured out I was.

Still, it was fun while it lasted. Carrie's grandmother wound up giving us our name: The Collection. When we finished up, she clasped each of us on the shoulder with her bony fingers and told the group, "What a fine collection of voices we have here today."