Summary: His eyes begged me not to speak, but I couldn't control the words. "We can go far away, far away from everything. We can have a new life. A better life."
His fingers danced on the strings, plucked and prodded. "This is a real beauty," he whispered. With great affection, he stroked the neck of my guitar. Looking up at me, he smiled, truly and genuinely. "You picked out a good one."
"Thanks." I had to agree.
"Why that one?" my dad had asked. It was only three hundred dollars. "Why not the Gibson SG? Or a Strat?" I had shrugged. "I just like this one. It's beautiful. And the sound is amazing." Dad had shrugged as well. "Okay. I'm not gonna complain. I'm just surprised you didn't pick out the two thousand dollar one." I smacked his arm in irritation. He laughed.
An hour later, I sat on my bed, marveling at the quality of my new guitar. A Danelectro '59 Double-Cutaway… a black and white beauty. Danny.
I blinked my eyes and returned to the present. Silvio was still messing around with it. And I had to admit… he was good. Why hadn't he pursued a musical career instead?
"I'm gonna start by teaching you the basic notes." I smirked. "Already know them." He didn't seem surprised. "Oh yea? Show me."
He handed Danny to me and our fingertips brushed. I shivered. He didn't seem to notice. Carefully, I played each note and stated what it was. Silvio seemed impressed.
"Good." He sounded relieved. "That's the hardest part. We can move ahead now." I already knew basic chords and simple things, much to his delight.
"There's nothing more difficult than trying to explain something to a clueless person," he confided. I had giggled. Then his hardened gaze returned, as well as the harsh tone in his voice. "What are you laughin' for?" My eyes diverted from his instantly. "I—I—um…" But then he broke out into a large grin. "Just messin' with you, kid. Don't be so serious all the time."
Bastard. He nearly gave me a heart attack. I shot him an annoyed glance and resumed playing, praying that my cheeks weren't reddening.
He was still chuckling. Bastard.
Later, my dad asked me how the lesson went. "Great!" I exuberantly replied. "Did you know he was such a good guitarist?" Dad nodded. "That's why you're learning from him." I nodded. "Thanks Dad. You know… for getting me lessons." He pecked me on the head and left me alone to ponder.
Did Silvio know I was scared of him? But maybe it wasn't just fear. It was… a morbid curiosity. Who was he really?