So this is the first fanfiction I've ever liked enough to post! I always think Roger had so much potential back story and so I tried to include some of that in this. Reviews are brilliant and constructive criticism welcome.
Disclaimer: Roger Davis and RENT belong to the late great Jonathan Larson. James and Louise Davis belong to me. The lyrics are Drift Away, originally Mentor Williams' but I had the Dobie Gray version in my head while I wrote.
Roger was eight when he first picked up his dad's guitar and began to strum. His father laughed when he saw his son on the sofa, hair spiked up, one strand flopping into his eyes, face screwed up in concentration. James Davis flashed back briefly to himself at that age - almost a carbon copy of his youngest son. His eyebrows raised slightly as Roger began to sing a slow rendition of Drift Away, his small fingers occasionally finding the correct chords. Years of watching his father play and a photographic memory served him well. But what made James sit up was his voice: soulful, and much older than his years. His son was talented. Raw, but talented.
From that moment on, Roger was rarely found without some kind of instrument in his hands. James even bought him a second hand vintage acoustic for his thirteenth birthday. His wife chastised him as their son become slowly more alienated from them, spending every free hour he had practicing and writing music. He got his first gig when he was fifteen, playing and singing back-up for an underground band: The New English. James smiled to himself when Roger came home that night, without so much as a 'hello' to him nor Louise, placed his guitar down lovingly and crashed into bed within 5 minutes.
Roger often reminisced about the early years. When it was just music that drove him forward. When people told him he was going places. When girls fawned over him and sent him perfume-scented love letters in shaky handwriting.
It was time to regroup. Roger put his beer bottle down on the staircase and walked back into the freezing cold apartment, suddenly inspired. He grabbed a stray notepad and dug into the sofa to find the pen he'd stuffed down the side about 6 months ago, when he last wrote anything. He bit his tongue subconciously and began to scribble down lyrics. His small spiky writing was illegible to anyone other than himself, and Collins if he was high. Roger clicked the pen purposefully and reached over to his guitar, pulling it onto his lap. He strummed a few chords with a quiet sigh of concentration before he began to play a familiar tune.
As he played, he lost himself in the music like he always did. Roger closed his eyes and let memory guide his hands to the right chords. He smiled slightly and began to sing.
Day after day I'm more confused
So I look for the light in the pouring rain
You know that's a game that I hate to lose
I'm feelin' the strain, ain't it a shame
Oh, give me the beat, boys, and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away
Oh, give me the beat, boys, and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away…
Hope you liked it. It's very short - I'm in the process of writing something a bit longer. Review review!
Also, cookies to anyone who spotted the not-so-subtle tick, tick...boom! reference.