The Toro Coincidence
A life beyond the bunkroom.
My eyes widened as we wound up the driveway of Ray’s house. It was far from what I expected – although I hadn’t known exactly what to expect in the first place.
If you were to image a totally awesome guitarist from an exceptionally awesome band’s house, Ray’s was probably the opposite.
But even if it wasn’t a mansion complete with a swimming pool and a million bathrooms, Ray’s house was far better than Belleville Children’s home, and I was more than happy to make it my new home!
I was so busy, swept up in my thoughts, that I didn’t realise that we’d finally stopped and both Michael and Ray had got out of the vehicle.
Michael was getting the suitcases out of the boot – including mine, he sure was doing his best to impress Ray, or maybe he’d come to his senses that I wasn’t poisonous, or carried a deadly disease.
But I was mistaken when I stepped out of the car, and Michael plonked my suitcase in front of me.
“Oh, you’re such a gentleman, aren’t you Michael?” I spat at him.
“Sure am, I make sure my little sister doesn’t forget her suitcase, how nice of me”, he replied, cheekily.
Ray must’ve noticed our bickering, as he picked up both our suitcases, grinned at us, and made his way towards the front door, and we followed without a word.
As we entered Ray’s house, both Michael and I were overcome with a mix of happiness, joy and excitement. Michael and I both exchanged glances when Ray led us into the lounge, and plonked down on the sofa. He let out a long sigh and we both took the hint and sat down.
“I guess now it’s a fight for the best bedroom now, isn’t it?” Ray joked,
“Don’t panic, I’ve got the bedrooms sorted, and I put you far away from Bob so you two don’t stay up all night with his snoring”.
Bob? I knew that name as the drummer of My Chemical Romance, the man with the beautiful baby-blue eyes, who was very shy and hated cameras. But my luck was about to get a lot luckier when Ray explained that Bob was staying until he got his house sorted out again, as it had mysteriously caught fire one night, with Bob thankfully waking up before the flames chewed up his only escape.
“That’s awful!” I exclaimed, not meaning to shout as loud as I did.
“Yeah, Bob was pretty lucky to escape, and the Police are still treating his house as crime scene, but it should be all sorted out in a few months”, confirmed Ray.
But it was obvious that he didn’t mind Bob staying, he must’ve gotten pretty lonely by himself.
“So, I suppose you two want to see your bedrooms?” asked Ray, although I had a feeling he could sense that we were eager to have rooms to ourselves, living life with seven other kids all packed into three sets of bunks wasn’t exactly five-star accommodation.
As Ray showed Michael to his bedroom, I sat in the lounge, admiring the guitars that were mounted on the walls. Their shiny finishes reflecting off the light, and their strings still smelt strongly of new steel, never been played, and just for show.
They definitely made my guitar look a little shabby, with its chipped and battered coat, worn throughout the years, and the old leather strap that was obviously past its used-by date.
As much as it was humiliating when my Fender suddenly flopped out of tune while I was in the middle of a masterpiece, the guitar itself had many stories to tell, but it surely took it’s time in telling them.
I was standing in front of a display cabinet admiring picks signed by legendary guitarists such as Jimi Hendrix, when Ray returned.
“Your brother was telling me about your guitar”, Ray said, causing me to nearly jump right out of my skin. I didn’t realise he was standing so close behind me.
“Yeah, it’s a little shabby though, it was my Dads” I replied, realising very well that my voice was shaking through my nerves.
“Mind if I have a look?” Ray asked, reaching for my guitar case. I nodded, blushing slightly, hoping he wouldn’t laugh at its condition.
He carefully took it out of its case, admiring the shape and feel of the guitar, and marvelling at its antique beauty.
“She’s a nice one” Ray commented, as he turned her back over and strummed lightly across the strings.
“I could do her up if you wanted me too, give her some new strings and do up the paint job for you, maybe even replace the neck if I could get a hold of a new one”, Ray said, still engrossed with my guitar.
“That, that would be great”, I grinned, already looking forward to seeing it in brilliant shape.
“Now how about I show you to your room, eh?” smiled Ray, replacing my guitar in its case and picking up my suitcase and amp. He handed me my guitar case, and I followed him up the hallway towards the staircase.
If you were to image a totally awesome guitarist from an exceptionally awesome band’s house, Ray’s was probably the opposite.
But even if it wasn’t a mansion complete with a swimming pool and a million bathrooms, Ray’s house was far better than Belleville Children’s home, and I was more than happy to make it my new home!
I was so busy, swept up in my thoughts, that I didn’t realise that we’d finally stopped and both Michael and Ray had got out of the vehicle.
Michael was getting the suitcases out of the boot – including mine, he sure was doing his best to impress Ray, or maybe he’d come to his senses that I wasn’t poisonous, or carried a deadly disease.
But I was mistaken when I stepped out of the car, and Michael plonked my suitcase in front of me.
“Oh, you’re such a gentleman, aren’t you Michael?” I spat at him.
“Sure am, I make sure my little sister doesn’t forget her suitcase, how nice of me”, he replied, cheekily.
Ray must’ve noticed our bickering, as he picked up both our suitcases, grinned at us, and made his way towards the front door, and we followed without a word.
As we entered Ray’s house, both Michael and I were overcome with a mix of happiness, joy and excitement. Michael and I both exchanged glances when Ray led us into the lounge, and plonked down on the sofa. He let out a long sigh and we both took the hint and sat down.
“I guess now it’s a fight for the best bedroom now, isn’t it?” Ray joked,
“Don’t panic, I’ve got the bedrooms sorted, and I put you far away from Bob so you two don’t stay up all night with his snoring”.
Bob? I knew that name as the drummer of My Chemical Romance, the man with the beautiful baby-blue eyes, who was very shy and hated cameras. But my luck was about to get a lot luckier when Ray explained that Bob was staying until he got his house sorted out again, as it had mysteriously caught fire one night, with Bob thankfully waking up before the flames chewed up his only escape.
“That’s awful!” I exclaimed, not meaning to shout as loud as I did.
“Yeah, Bob was pretty lucky to escape, and the Police are still treating his house as crime scene, but it should be all sorted out in a few months”, confirmed Ray.
But it was obvious that he didn’t mind Bob staying, he must’ve gotten pretty lonely by himself.
“So, I suppose you two want to see your bedrooms?” asked Ray, although I had a feeling he could sense that we were eager to have rooms to ourselves, living life with seven other kids all packed into three sets of bunks wasn’t exactly five-star accommodation.
As Ray showed Michael to his bedroom, I sat in the lounge, admiring the guitars that were mounted on the walls. Their shiny finishes reflecting off the light, and their strings still smelt strongly of new steel, never been played, and just for show.
They definitely made my guitar look a little shabby, with its chipped and battered coat, worn throughout the years, and the old leather strap that was obviously past its used-by date.
As much as it was humiliating when my Fender suddenly flopped out of tune while I was in the middle of a masterpiece, the guitar itself had many stories to tell, but it surely took it’s time in telling them.
I was standing in front of a display cabinet admiring picks signed by legendary guitarists such as Jimi Hendrix, when Ray returned.
“Your brother was telling me about your guitar”, Ray said, causing me to nearly jump right out of my skin. I didn’t realise he was standing so close behind me.
“Yeah, it’s a little shabby though, it was my Dads” I replied, realising very well that my voice was shaking through my nerves.
“Mind if I have a look?” Ray asked, reaching for my guitar case. I nodded, blushing slightly, hoping he wouldn’t laugh at its condition.
He carefully took it out of its case, admiring the shape and feel of the guitar, and marvelling at its antique beauty.
“She’s a nice one” Ray commented, as he turned her back over and strummed lightly across the strings.
“I could do her up if you wanted me too, give her some new strings and do up the paint job for you, maybe even replace the neck if I could get a hold of a new one”, Ray said, still engrossed with my guitar.
“That, that would be great”, I grinned, already looking forward to seeing it in brilliant shape.
“Now how about I show you to your room, eh?” smiled Ray, replacing my guitar in its case and picking up my suitcase and amp. He handed me my guitar case, and I followed him up the hallway towards the staircase.