I Strum To My Own Tune

"Just write down everything that has happened to you since your first thought of the whole fame thing," My lawyer explained as he paced back and forth in his office. "Every emotion and event should be on that paper. No skipping the hard spots."

I wiped my stubbly face, "I got it," I said in a slightly irritated tone. A tone that made the lawyer cock a fuzzy, white eyebrow.

I sighed and cracked my knuckles. This was going to be a long one, I thought as I stared at the white lined paper.

Than I began to write,

My name is Randy Sweeney and my record company is suing me for 2 million dollars.

~♠~

My nose was pressed against the cold, glass window of the music store. My eyes glued to the one thing I have dreamed of ever since I saw my grandfather pick it. It was the interment of the Gods. There was only one thing separating my fingers from its strings, my parents. I have asked and pleaded, all they say is, "It is the instrument of the low life hillbillies, and my son is not a hobo."

I pouted slightly, looking at the thing I could never have. My heart screamed to be able to hear its sweet tune again. The only time I was able to hear its sweet melody was when I visited my grandfather, even than, I could only hear it when my parents stepped out.

I peeled my eyes away from its perfect figure. My mother grabbed me softly by the arm and pulled me away.

"Come along now Randy dear," She said hastily, "you're going to be late to your piano lesson."

I rolled my eyes as the cold air conditioner smacked my face, leaving a shiver down my back. Truthfully, I hated, absolutely hated piano. It was mom's idea of elegance and high class. She would not have any of the, 'I want to play the drums, I want to play the harmonica, I want to play the banjo.

My mother was a caring woman, but she was persistent and a princess at the same time. My father on the other hand, he likes to shut himself in his den with his pipe, not to be seen until dinner, even than he eats swiftly and picks up and leaves. Needless to say, I do not get much time to talk to him.

"One two three, one two three…" my energetic piano instructor sang to the beat of my piece. She was an elderly woman, maybe at the age or 73. She had cropped silver hair that she almost always stuck some hair piece in, whether it was a flower or a headband, it was guaranteed to be interesting. She had a small room in the back of the store. The walls were painted a soft blue and were decorated with an assortment of pictures and posters. There was a black fold up chair in the corner where she sat every time, close enough to her beautiful black and white piano. The piano was where her students would make noise that pleasured the old woman's heart. She loved what she did and made sure everyone could tell.

Everyone in that little music store was just peachy. They all loved what they did and loved every child, or adult, they taught. It was a wonderful place, a wonderful place if you wanted to learn the piano or the flute.

My fingertips hit the last white key and my piano instructor finished the lesson. I emerged from her lesson room and was greeted by my mom who hugged me and ruffled my dark brown hair.

"How was your lesson sweetie?" Her kind eyes where full of wonder.

"Good," I mumbled pulling my 10-year-old body away from her. "When are we going to Grampy's?"

Her eyes deflated slightly, "As soon as you wash up when we get back to the house."

I smiled to myself and pushed open the door of the music store, letting the warm summer breeze blow around me. My house was only two or so blocks down from the store, so we never bothered to take our dark blue sedan.

Our house was a split-level that was located on the side of town. It has four bedrooms, one on the first floor and three on the lower level. There is a family room, dining room, kitchen, and a room designated to all instruments and toys. I tossed my piano book into the Misc. room and pushed by one of my little sisters, Beth. She was four with blond fluffy hair and a big mouth.

"Watch it," she said to me as I raced down the carpeted stairs and took a hard left to go into the bathroom to take my shower. I tied the door but it was locked. I pounded on the on the doors hardy wooden surface.

My older brother, Sam's voice told me to leave him alone. I shared a room with my thirteen-year-old brother. He had dirty blond hair that touched his earlobes. I waited patiently for my turn to clean up. I loved to visit Grandpa, every time we went there, him and I would always end up sneaking somewhere. He had a gray beard that was silky smooth and a couple gold teeth. The one thing I loved most about my grandpa was that when he was young he was in a bluegrass group. He traveled and met some of the most famous bluegrass musicians. He played the banjo and sang. He was a fabulous banjo player. When he played, his fingers where a blur of light colored skin.

Our grandpa lived in the next town over, so my mom called us all up and out to the car. Callie, my eight year old sister, Sam, Sarah, the moody fifteen year old of the family, Beth and I all jumped into the sedan. When we pulled up to our Grandfather's house and turned into his paved driveway, we were greeted by they happy old man.

"Grampy" I yelled and ran into his arms.

"Hello Randy," he grinned and leaned down close to my ear, "I have a surprise for you."

My blue eyes widened with excitement, when Grandpa had a surprise, it was almost always guaranteed to be good.

"Is it for all of us?"

He shook his head and his beard shook with him, "No Randy, its only for you, but you have to promise me to not tell mommy and daddy."

I ran my index finger and my thumb over my lips in a zipping motion. Grandpa's eyes crinkled with delight as we entered his small brick home.