"Like... guitar lessons?" I said, nervously. He nodded.
"Totally! It'd be so cool. We could have little jam sessions and .. yeah! It would be awesome!" He smiled, turning to Paul. "Can you get her a guitar?"
I looked back and forth between the two of them. "Oh, Paul, I can get a guitar... I mean... yeah! I can get one 'cause... " I gulped. "My dad used to play guitar."
Kurt smiled. "Used to? Like... he doesn't anymore?"
I looked around. I felt guilty.
"Uh, well..." ???, "He uh... died."
"Holy fuck, El! I'm so sorry!" He said, standing up to hug me. I collapsed into his arms.
-
I went home that evening and, for the first time in 10 months, opened my father's studio.
He used to work at this huge recording and publishing company for new music artists. A lot of his friends from work still know me and drop by from time to time.
There were guitars, basses, drum sets, a plethora of drumsticks, mics, mic-stands, amps, CD's and records.
"Woah.." I said, looking around at all my options. I went with a pink Les Paul.
I snuck out stealthily to my room and fiddled with some cords.
