Rock n' Roll
Mary bustled through the streets, not once slowing her pace. Even as the heat made sweat bead on the back of her neck. She was not one to be late and she must return home soon. The Fitzgeralds would be waiting.
Having done the shopping for Mrs Fitzgerald, she had promised to be back in time for dinner. She was used to calling the meal 'tea', but the Americans had their funny ways. Nevertheless, this was where the wind had brought her and she would complete her work.
She passed a church, white-washed brick and a plain wooden crucifix outside. Her stepped faltered, unusual for her, but her attention had been caught by a little boy on the steps of the church, guitar in hand. He strummed the instrument, his fingers changing chords in an uneven rhythm.
"That is a funny way of playing guitar," she told him.
The boy glanced up, pausing his lively tune. "I wouldn't say that, ma'am. There's loads of ways to play a guitar."
Mary smiled. "Well, you are quite talented, either way."
"Why, thank you. I practice every day." He beamed up at her. "My parents let me. I get to play sometimes during service."
Bending down slightly, so as not to tower above him, she nodded in approval. "That's good to hear…"
"My name's Charles but you can call me Chuck."
She held out her hand, still gloved, even in the heat. He eyed the gesture, weary. Scrutinising her face and then the hand, he decided that she meant no harm. They shook hands.
"I am not a fan of such music myself," she said, "but I expect great things from you, Mr Berry. Keep working hard and you'll make history."
"I don't know about that," he shrugged.
Mary stood straight, feeling the weight in her arms from the brown paper bag. The shopping beginning to take its toll.
"I must be going but good luck; I doubt you'll need it." She barely waved goodbye as she continued on her way. "And finish your chores tonight, please."
The boy barely had time to respond before she disappeared. To him, she seemed a strange woman, but he felt that she meant well. That there was something about her to trust. Continuing his guitar practice, it didn't occur to him until later that day that she had known his last name. Even though he hadn't told her.
But he forgot that within seconds. Inconsequential compared to what she had told him- that he would make history. Somehow, he trusted that she was right.