overhead lights and fireworks, he’d pick up his famous Gibson guitar. The loud sound of thousands of fans would die out as a hush went over the crowd. The fireworks faded away followed by the dimming of lights and a single spotlight on that perfect muscled man would remain. Just him playing his Gibson.
I shook away the fantasy. My eyes widened at the familiar pink guitar on a chrome mental stand. I swallowed.
Certainly not.
That’s his Gibson.
Why is it here?
I bit my lip and looked around quickly to see if anybody else was on stage. There wasn’t.
I let out a long breath and just stared. It was a piece of music history. I scratched away at the growing gooseflesh on my arm as I walked closer. It was his Gibson. No other guitar has that pink color.
I let out a breath mixed with nervous laughter.
He wasn’t the first to own it. A long string of successful musicians had it before him. Rumor said he sunk every bit of money he had into buying it. I don’t believe in magic or the supernatural but the band stopped playing bars in two horse towns once he got it.
It shouldn’t be here unguarded.
It was a mistake or somebody would come soon. I grit my teeth as a bad thought went through my mind. I shook my head hard as soon as I visualized it.
You have to touch it.
I walked over and ran my fingers over the long shaft of the fret board and strings. So much history. My eyes widened, and I held back a tear. It saw free love, disco, heavy metal, alternative, grunge, and everything between. My heart raced, and I heard the sound of my heavy breathing.
Just take it. Strum a few licks over the strings.
I shook my head. I can’t. It’s Blake’s guitar and disrespectful.
When are you going to get a chance like this? You didn’t wait in Austin.
My head tilted. Shit. I make a good point.
My hands went under it and I lifted up slowly. The smooth wood grain pressed against my fingertips. I’m a big girl and I can lift several guitars but this was heavy in my hands. Almost like the decades of music had weight.
I blinked several times and bit the side of my mouth.
Just a few notes. You can say you played Blake Brook’s famous Gibson.
My heart pounded in my chest.
After six months, didn’t I deserve some bragging rights?
I nodded my head and looked toward the sides then behind.
If you going to do it, do it now.
I softly stroked the long strings along the fret board. My hand went out an inch from the strings and I closed my eyes and my body trembled.
Just a few notes of ‘Dream Girl’.
My hand went down and a sharp yell came from behind. “What the hell is this?”
Her voice wasn’t sugary sweet, but I still recognized Miranda.
I jerked and the guitar with decades of musical history fell out of my hands. It took less than a second but it seemed longer. The guitar spun down toward the hard wood stage. I reached out to grab it and missed by several inches. The leather strap ran over my hand and caught on my ring. Blake’s guitar stopped two inches from the floor with a jerk.
My eyes were still wide when Miranda stepped in front. Her face flushed with red as her nostrils flared. She reached out and bared her teeth. Her fingers reached under the guitar and she took it back.
Her voice was quick and quiet when she spoke. “This isn’t for you. None of this is. It’s for real musicians.”
I swallowed away at the lump in my throat as best I could. “I’m sorry. I just saw it here and–” I coughed hard as I tried to finish explaining.
She shoved me back or as best she could. “Shut up. You must be stupid as you are fat to touch anything of Blake’s.”
I grit my teeth.
She smiled and her sweet as sugar voice returned. “See me in twenty minutes about your new assignment.”
***
I wasn’t sure what my new assignment entailed but anything that made her smile wasn’t good. I walked to her office. Miranda was there watching Blake through the monitors. She saw me and smiled. “Giving you a new
I shook away the fantasy. My eyes widened at the familiar pink guitar on a chrome mental stand. I swallowed.
Certainly not.
That’s his Gibson.
Why is it here?
I bit my lip and looked around quickly to see if anybody else was on stage. There wasn’t.
I let out a long breath and just stared. It was a piece of music history. I scratched away at the growing gooseflesh on my arm as I walked closer. It was his Gibson. No other guitar has that pink color.
I let out a breath mixed with nervous laughter.
He wasn’t the first to own it. A long string of successful musicians had it before him. Rumor said he sunk every bit of money he had into buying it. I don’t believe in magic or the supernatural but the band stopped playing bars in two horse towns once he got it.
It shouldn’t be here unguarded.
It was a mistake or somebody would come soon. I grit my teeth as a bad thought went through my mind. I shook my head hard as soon as I visualized it.
You have to touch it.
I walked over and ran my fingers over the long shaft of the fret board and strings. So much history. My eyes widened, and I held back a tear. It saw free love, disco, heavy metal, alternative, grunge, and everything between. My heart raced, and I heard the sound of my heavy breathing.
Just take it. Strum a few licks over the strings.
I shook my head. I can’t. It’s Blake’s guitar and disrespectful.
When are you going to get a chance like this? You didn’t wait in Austin.
My head tilted. Shit. I make a good point.
My hands went under it and I lifted up slowly. The smooth wood grain pressed against my fingertips. I’m a big girl and I can lift several guitars but this was heavy in my hands. Almost like the decades of music had weight.
I blinked several times and bit the side of my mouth.
Just a few notes. You can say you played Blake Brook’s famous Gibson.
My heart pounded in my chest.
After six months, didn’t I deserve some bragging rights?
I nodded my head and looked toward the sides then behind.
If you going to do it, do it now.
I softly stroked the long strings along the fret board. My hand went out an inch from the strings and I closed my eyes and my body trembled.
Just a few notes of ‘Dream Girl’.
My hand went down and a sharp yell came from behind. “What the hell is this?”
Her voice wasn’t sugary sweet, but I still recognized Miranda.
I jerked and the guitar with decades of musical history fell out of my hands. It took less than a second but it seemed longer. The guitar spun down toward the hard wood stage. I reached out to grab it and missed by several inches. The leather strap ran over my hand and caught on my ring. Blake’s guitar stopped two inches from the floor with a jerk.
My eyes were still wide when Miranda stepped in front. Her face flushed with red as her nostrils flared. She reached out and bared her teeth. Her fingers reached under the guitar and she took it back.
Her voice was quick and quiet when she spoke. “This isn’t for you. None of this is. It’s for real musicians.”
I swallowed away at the lump in my throat as best I could. “I’m sorry. I just saw it here and–” I coughed hard as I tried to finish explaining.
She shoved me back or as best she could. “Shut up. You must be stupid as you are fat to touch anything of Blake’s.”
I grit my teeth.
She smiled and her sweet as sugar voice returned. “See me in twenty minutes about your new assignment.”
***
I wasn’t sure what my new assignment entailed but anything that made her smile wasn’t good. I walked to her office. Miranda was there watching Blake through the monitors. She saw me and smiled. “Giving you a new
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