Jagged Edges

No matter how hard I tried to keep the ‘make friends with Gian’ promise to myself, old habits take over my days until I’m reduced to self pity in the music room during study hall. Every time I see him, prepared to approach him with a carefully thought out proposal to have lunch together, just me and him, I also see either Skipper or one of her lackies not far behind and I wimp out.

Old habits die hard, I guess. Besides, he’s kinda cute, I’ve never been very articulate around people who were attractive. This idea was probably not very well thought out but I don’t know how much better I could have planned it. The truth is that I was not cut out for friends. I’m the kind of guy who grows old and dies alone. Well, actually, I wouldn’t mind having a dog. I’ve always loved dogs.

Maybe a nice Beagle or Great Dane. That way I don’t have to sleep alone every night. God, what am I thinking? I’m even more pathetic than I thought.

“Treason?” Mr. Rexroth questions as I enter the room.

I look up, startled from my thoughts. “Hey.”

“You’re early today.” He says, looking from the guitar he’s re-stringing, to the clock, and then to me.

“Yeah, I just had to . . . not be in study hall today. Do you, uh, need help?” I ask, noticing the thirty or so guitars scattered about the room and the strings littering the floor.

“Yeah, that’d be great. The ones on the wall are already done and the strings are in the closet.” He instructs, tuning the newly strung guitar in his lap.

I hang my bag on the back of a chair and pick up a guitar along with a packet of strings. Mr. Rexroth hands me the tools necessary and we start working in silence.

Neither one of us minds and I think that’s part of the reason I like him. Kyle Rexroth is a man who’s in his late twenties with an unquenchable thirst for music. In other words, a would-be perfect person to befriend if it weren’t for the fact that he was a decade older than me. That would be unorthodox.

Either way, he’s a great mentor. The tips he gives me about the way I hold a guitar or my posture while I’m playing the piano are among the best pieces of advice I’ve ever received in my life. Besides that, he’s also offered me lead musician in the showcase, which I’m still unsure about. How could I not respect this man?

“Treason, what are you doing?” He asks suddenly, coming to stand in front of me with arms crossed.

“Uh, re-stringing this guitar?” I answer uncertainly.

He rolls his eyes, takes the instrument from me and sits in the open space on my piano bench, “I mean what are you doing here everyday instead of with your friends?”

“Oh.” I shrug and look away from his scrutinizing eyes. “I just don’t really . . . I mean, I’d rather just be here, honestly.”

“Why?” Mr. Rexroth is quick to reply.

I shift uncomfortably and swallow a few times. “I don’t like being around my peers.” I answer, somewhat honestly.

“As in avoiding everyone?

I sigh and cave in. “Not everyone. Just one someone.”

“Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

Mr. Rexroth nods slowly and wraps a hand around my shoulder. “ I can respect that, I’m here if you change your mind and the music is here when I’m not.”

He winks and returns to his guitars, leaving me to ponder his offer. Maybe I really do need to talk to someone. As quickly as the thought comes I shake it out and return to re-stringing the beautiful instrument on my lap. I can handle this myself

I have to handle this myself or that would mean I wasn’t getting anywhere.