Hi! My name is Julia Trick. Yes - you got it right! - Trick. I've been bullied about it quite a lot; people just seem to feel so amused, when one's name is similar to 'gag' or something like that. Especially during the Halloween the jokes about me are really popular... (Trick or treat, you know?)

Well, anyway. My 'artist name', however, is Juliet Cradle; you see, I happen to play the guitar in a band called minus∞degree, which is really written like that, as we've wanted. 'We' means 'us', meaning our wonderful group that consists of me and three other dudes: drummer Jim, singer Zander a.k.a. The Sandman and bassist Kinde, who is actually our spine that keeps us together and kicking. Kinde's real name is Kim, but everyone calls him Kinde, and quite few people probably know his real name.

Our band has been alive for about a year already, and though many people praise us, maybe partly because of this 'case Mstery Man' (I'll tell about that later), I still think that we suck. You just don't dare to say that in front of Kinde, because he is so confident about our success and up-coming conquest of the World. He has been sending our lousy demo to some record labels, but every time we've had back a copied note that says something like "You're not exactly what we're looking for at the moment".

We've had a few gigs, for example at our youth center, where we've invited, or ordered all our frinds and frindes' friends to come, and there has been a nice audience every time. I guess that we still suck, though maybe not as much as we did before this Mister Mystery Man.

So this story is actually about this absolutely odd guy who we once got to know. We had been together as a band for about three months by then, when one day a strange man came to our small town. Everyone talked about him, but that man himself didn't say much. You see, he was mute. I guess we'd never even noticed him if he hadn't had that guitar bag with him where ever he went. We figured that it was always good to know some new musicians.

Shortly after the man had arrived here, he came for a visit in the Asylym, which is a nick name for our youth center. We had a rehearsal then, and we sounded really awful. However, at that moment, when that guy stepped in (he wasn't actually that 'young', maybe a little under thirty), the whole place went silent. The only noise was the hum that came from the two amplifiers we had. Every pair of eyes were fixed on the long-haired man, who didn't seem to mind about the attention at all.

He put his guitar bag on the table and took a fine, regal brown Ibanez RGT320Z out of it, a whole lot of better guitar than mine, which was a lousy package solution model. Then he came in front of me and pointed at the amplifier next to me. Luckily I understood what he was trying to say, and unplugged my guitar, passing the cabel to him. As I was doing that, I noticed how long and thin fingers he had; it reminded me of all those spooky vampire stories I had heard.

Until that it had been completely silent, but then the guy started playing. And what was that LIKE! His fingers just flew across the neck of the guitar lightly as if they were butterflies, knowing exactly where to go and what to do; it was like dancing. I had never seen anything like that, nor heard anyone playing like he did. First it was so sad I could've cried, and then it was so jolly, so über weird that I could've just laughed. He made playing look so easy that I nearly forgot how lousy my own skills were.

Then he stopped. At first the silence came back, but then everyone, every bloody individual in the Asylym began clapping and whistling, and Jim played somekind of an applause for him with the drums. I would've thought that in a situation like that it should've been easy for him to smile, but no. The guy just took the applause in like a wooden indian, bowed and threw his guitar back in the bag. Then he left, just like that.

And suddley all the people started talking again like nothing, but now everyone had the same topic of conversation; the mute guitarist. We quitted our rehearseal, because that performance had brought everyone of us down, though I was the only one who played the guitar. That guy was supernatural!

After that he came to the Asylym nearly every night to play, and every time there was more and more people. Everyone had heard about the guy and they wanted to see the Amazing Mute Guitarist live.

Of course he couldn't actually communicate so well with anyone, because no one of us adolescents understood the real sign language. He just mimed, or wrote, when needed. At times he invited me with eye contact to join his playing, which seemed to be a great honour to the audience's mind. It was like the guy was some sort of a god or something.

To be honest, I felt a bit ashamed, just comping his solos, especially when I didn't even know which keys he was going to use and when. Probably he just improvised it all, or played some songs that I had never even heard before.

Shortly after that the guy had in a way joined our group. We dragged up a third amplifier from the basement of the Asylym, so that we were able to plug all our three stringed instruments. In truth it was only about his solos, but we didn't dare to complain. We even gave a few gigs with the guy, and after them we've had praises from every angle.

Altough that guy was like a thousand times better guitar player than I was, and in some way even better than anyone in our band, finally our envy towards him disappeared. You see, we somehow realized what he was actually trying to do. He really wanted to help us go forward. We didn't even notice how much we improved during the time we were playing with him, not until we played in our group of four again after a long time.

I'm not sure how did it happen, but one day I just relized that he had asked me for a coffee with him to a small café. It was a quiet meeting, because I was naturally the only one who spoke. Luckily he had a piece of paper and a pen with him, so that he was also able to tell what was on his mind.

Well yes, at first he was supposed to accompany my way only for a short while, but of course he ended up coming for a visit at my home. Fortunately no one else was there at the time.

He sat on my couch and played my guitar proficiently. He was actually pretty cute there. I told him I would never be able to play as well he did, but he just looked me in the eye and shook his head. He put his hand on his chest, on his heart and looked at me significantly. I didn't undersatand what he meant with that.

Then he arouse, and so did I, and came towards me. I don't know, what had I been expecting from him then, but at least I can tell it wasn't a handshake and a plectrum hanging in a necklace. It was the same plectrum I had seen him playing with many times. I had no idea, why he wanted to give it to me, but I took the present anyway. Maybe I had after all been waiting for something more, something deeper, something physical.

For a moment we just stared at each other as if we had never met before, then he gave a kiss on the back of my hand and left. Left for eternity, I realized later. No one knew where or by what, but he was no where to be seen. He just vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared.

It has now been about six months after he left. A while ago I got a post card from Rotterdam, and before that from Berlin. Though there was nothing more but my name and address written on them, I knew who had sent them. And the heart thing he had shown I finally understood the other night. I was sitting on my bed on a rainy night, desperately trying to play some tricky song. It just didn't go right no matter how hard I tried, but then, out of the blue I got this idea. Maybe the guy had meant that it doesn't matter, can you play or not, as soon as it comes from your heart; as soon as you are able to love the thing you do more than anything. I suppose it was something like that.

I decided that next summer I would take my guitar with me and go interrailing, maybe even hitchhiking to Europe; only me, the guitar and the highway. It sounded good, really good. And I promised myself I would at least visit the Netherlands and Germany, absolutely.