to be sure.
He ran home, his book bag bouncing against his back. Mom and Dad were both at work, and Carrie had been left “in charge” of Lisa Sue and Kaleb. All three of them were glued to “American Idol” when he got home, and he was more than glad to leave them that way.
“Don’t start no trouble while I’m gone.”
“Where you goin’?” Carrie asked, her eyes not leaving the TV.
“Out. And don’t give them no sugar tonight.”
He grabbed his guitar and ran out, then realized he’d forgotten his picks, and his tuner. His excitement was making him crazy, but Alex was the first person he’d met who was serious about music.
Alex lived in an old, shabby Victorian house. On the outside, anyway – the inside was another story. The furniture was worn but funky, with a red velvet “fainting couch” in the living room, a pair of green easy chairs, and holy crap, so many bookcases. There was no TV in sight.
The walls were covered with posters from concerts – every kind of concert. Rock concerts, classic old Nashville posters that Dex recognized as Hatch Show Prints, a poster from the Salzburg Mozart Festival…
“Wow,” Dex said.
Alex nodded. “My mom and dad are music teachers. We’ve been to a lot of shows, obviously.”
“Damn…”
“Come on down to the basement, that’s where the studio is.”
“Studio? No shit. Wow.”
Alex laughed. “You sound like you’re in hog heaven. Just wait till we get downstairs.”
Dex really was in heaven then. Now he saw why so little money had been spent on the thrift store furniture – it had all been invested down here. There was a dazzling array of equipment whose uses Dex could only guess at, and the basement had been neatly divided into two rooms. A window looked from the mixing room into the studio itself, where he could see drums, a keyboard, and…
“Oh shit. Is that a…” There was a guitar on a stand, under a spotlight, clearly the jewel in the crown.
Alex put a hand on Dex’s shoulder. “Yes, sir. A Gibson J-45. Gifted to my dad by Donovan. John Lennon used that guitar to write some of the songs on the White Album.”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
Alex took it off the stand where it had pride of place in the studio. “Here. Try it out.”
“Oh, no, no way.”
Alex pressed it against Dex’s midsection. “It’s meant to be played. You won’t break it. Unless you do a Pete Townsend or something and smash it.”
Dex put his hands on the instrument. His skin prickled with the excitement that comes from physical contact with a piece of history. John Lennon put his hands on this, right where I’m putting mine, right now… He could hardly believe it.
“What kind of pick you like?” Alex said, fishing around in a bowl full.
“Thin. Thinnest you got.”
Dex hesitated. What could he play, not to embarrass himself, what could he play that wouldn’t…dishonor the instrument? The biggest thrill of touching history is knowing that you’re a part of it now. That someday someone might say, John Lennon and Dex Dexter both played that guitar.
He didn’t know why he picked the song he did, but it just…felt right. He launched into “Norwegian Wood,” whispering the lyrics as he always did, still not trusting his voice.
Alex picked up a violin and joined in. Dex could see it, suddenly, how perfect the song was for that instrument – maybe for any instrument. His fingers hesitated, as he tried to get in the same groove as Alex.
Alex lifted the bow. “Don’t overthink it. You’re leading the dance.”
Dex nodded, started over from the beginning. He fell into the music, his nerves settling as he focused on playing. Alex matched him note for note, playing softly, letting Dex concentrate on his own performance.
Dex finished the song, and looked up at Alex. His new friend’s eyes were glowing with exuberance, and Dex smiled, knowing
He ran home, his book bag bouncing against his back. Mom and Dad were both at work, and Carrie had been left “in charge” of Lisa Sue and Kaleb. All three of them were glued to “American Idol” when he got home, and he was more than glad to leave them that way.
“Don’t start no trouble while I’m gone.”
“Where you goin’?” Carrie asked, her eyes not leaving the TV.
“Out. And don’t give them no sugar tonight.”
He grabbed his guitar and ran out, then realized he’d forgotten his picks, and his tuner. His excitement was making him crazy, but Alex was the first person he’d met who was serious about music.
Alex lived in an old, shabby Victorian house. On the outside, anyway – the inside was another story. The furniture was worn but funky, with a red velvet “fainting couch” in the living room, a pair of green easy chairs, and holy crap, so many bookcases. There was no TV in sight.
The walls were covered with posters from concerts – every kind of concert. Rock concerts, classic old Nashville posters that Dex recognized as Hatch Show Prints, a poster from the Salzburg Mozart Festival…
“Wow,” Dex said.
Alex nodded. “My mom and dad are music teachers. We’ve been to a lot of shows, obviously.”
“Damn…”
“Come on down to the basement, that’s where the studio is.”
“Studio? No shit. Wow.”
Alex laughed. “You sound like you’re in hog heaven. Just wait till we get downstairs.”
Dex really was in heaven then. Now he saw why so little money had been spent on the thrift store furniture – it had all been invested down here. There was a dazzling array of equipment whose uses Dex could only guess at, and the basement had been neatly divided into two rooms. A window looked from the mixing room into the studio itself, where he could see drums, a keyboard, and…
“Oh shit. Is that a…” There was a guitar on a stand, under a spotlight, clearly the jewel in the crown.
Alex put a hand on Dex’s shoulder. “Yes, sir. A Gibson J-45. Gifted to my dad by Donovan. John Lennon used that guitar to write some of the songs on the White Album.”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
Alex took it off the stand where it had pride of place in the studio. “Here. Try it out.”
“Oh, no, no way.”
Alex pressed it against Dex’s midsection. “It’s meant to be played. You won’t break it. Unless you do a Pete Townsend or something and smash it.”
Dex put his hands on the instrument. His skin prickled with the excitement that comes from physical contact with a piece of history. John Lennon put his hands on this, right where I’m putting mine, right now… He could hardly believe it.
“What kind of pick you like?” Alex said, fishing around in a bowl full.
“Thin. Thinnest you got.”
Dex hesitated. What could he play, not to embarrass himself, what could he play that wouldn’t…dishonor the instrument? The biggest thrill of touching history is knowing that you’re a part of it now. That someday someone might say, John Lennon and Dex Dexter both played that guitar.
He didn’t know why he picked the song he did, but it just…felt right. He launched into “Norwegian Wood,” whispering the lyrics as he always did, still not trusting his voice.
Alex picked up a violin and joined in. Dex could see it, suddenly, how perfect the song was for that instrument – maybe for any instrument. His fingers hesitated, as he tried to get in the same groove as Alex.
Alex lifted the bow. “Don’t overthink it. You’re leading the dance.”
Dex nodded, started over from the beginning. He fell into the music, his nerves settling as he focused on playing. Alex matched him note for note, playing softly, letting Dex concentrate on his own performance.
Dex finished the song, and looked up at Alex. His new friend’s eyes were glowing with exuberance, and Dex smiled, knowing
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