Lingering Melody

I guess I got the sleep I needed, because I woke up refreshed- good enough, anyways. Thirty minutes later I was dressed in my paint pants and dressed in a baby doll top with a scarf. I added a jean jacket with a sweatshirt beneath it. Then I opened the refrigerator, recalling I’d only eaten an apple and fruit juice yesterday. Meaning I was supposed to eat some grains to day… but what? My phone rang. The only person who calls me is Webster.

“Yello?” I asked, picking it up.

“Ready with the song?” He asked.

“Remind me why I have to write my own music,” I demanded first with a yawn.

He chuckled. “Because that’s what you wanted,” he informs me. “We’ve also been invited to a concert tonight.” He waits for me to speak. I wait a moment to see if he says anything else. He doesn’t, and I have to think on it.

“A concert.” I repeat it. “Tonight.”

“Yes, after the Lazer-Dark Records. We can grab a taco on the way there, okay? You may want to bring a change of clothes,” he said meaningfully.

Change of clothes. That meant changing who I was. Sky to Shy. Dissed schoolgirl to impressive singer. I sigh. “Fine. See you late.” I never say later. Why? I don’t know. I hang up and stare at my fridge.

Then I realize my grains are NOT in the fridge. “Bloody boogers!” I snap at myself and go to the cupboard. Most of them are empty, so I don’t get tempted or anything. I have five plates, piece of silverware and such, no more. They all fit in small space so I know where they are. Meaning I should know where the bread is… I can’t find it.

Twenty minutes later I remember I finished the bagels off last week. “Boogers!” I shout again and go to my cash jar, the one I keep full of obviously cash for random moments. Usually I have a credit card or something else.

I grab everything, shoving it in my bag and head out. On the way to school I take a detour to a little yummy place. I’ve never known the place, I just call it my little yummy place and it is indeed my little yummy place. There is NO room for arguments, kay?

I enter and wander in, my hood already in. Not to just hide whom I am and the fact I haven’t fixed my make-up today, but because I don’t really like being stared at, even if not completely recognized just yet. I can feel eyes on me too often and I don’t like it.

“One cinnamon bagel and small hot cocoa, please,” I say softly and that’s what I’m given. I pause to cut my bagel in two, and then I grab two napkins and a straw after paying. I slowly enjoy the food, recalling I didn’t bring cash for lunch and I didn’t bring anything to eat. But that’s okay. I was eating plenty of carbs right now and would be later with that taco- Webster always keeps his word, especially when it comes to food.

School goes the norm. Not the best of sociality, but at least I’m learning a thing or two. Now and then I wonder why I bother with schooling, because I already have a successful career, but then I recall my past and I want to be better than all that, and I continue to try harder.

Piano was nice and I was enjoying learning to play by ear- to me, it was a game, but it was a game where there was no choice to lose. This one the one class I refused to let myself fail. Then Guitar. It was in the same room, so I sat there a few minutes, waiting.

Finally he walked in. Somehow, I would have never guessed he was the teacher but instantly I knew he had to be. He didn’t look much older than myself. He was clearly 100% Native American. His blue-black hair was pulled into a think ponytail down his back. He was a slim figure in dark jeans, a t-shirt and a vest. He was strumming on his guitar until he noticed I was there. He gave a kind smile and I saw he had to be at least twenty-six, now. “Believe it or not, I am the teacher,” he gave a wry smile. His dark eyes didn’t feel dark, but inviting and friendly.

I gave a small shy smile and gave him a nod, still on my seat. This is one of the music rooms, and there are no desks. There are maybe ten chairs put in a half- circle and one in front for the teacher. In Piano there are fifteen of us, meaning five sit on tables behind the chairs, but we’re all comfortable wherever we sit in this room.

“Do you own a guitar?” He asked. I shook my head. “Ever used one?” I shook my head. “But you’re in Piano Finishing?” I nodded this time. “Do you speak?” He asked with a grin. I hesitated and then I nodded.

He gave a nod, satisfied and still wearing that easy smile. “Good to know. They say my name is Walker Blacksmith, believe it or not. But please call me Strummer.” He held out his slightly big and calloused hand. As we shook, I noticed his hand was nice and warm. Mine was forever freezing cold.

“Now, class usually begins a few minutes late, so you can either hide or stay here until then. Or find the other students who I believe are coming up with last minute plans to disrupt this class. But that’s nothing. There’s only nine others, so you’ll make ten, which is a good, safe number, don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for a reply but I only shrugged. What does it matter I think, anyways? “Here, our real names aren’t used, so I won’t ask- although I already do know. Unfortunately, the class will have the privilege of naming you but I will be able to stop them from giving you something too bad, all right?” He asked with a sparkle in his eyes.

I shrugged again. I was sitting on the very left on the end, so I wasn’t in the way of being too noticed, and it was the farthest away. It looked like… Strummer was about to say something, but the door behind us burst open. “The party is here!” Someone shouted. Somehow, I knew that boy was a freshman.