Ode to Bree

Awkward

Unedited Chapter 2 [1]

       Nathan woke up at five in the morning, just so he couldn't meet his father's eyes when he returned from work. He didn't want to see the look of disappointment in his eyes, though it was all too familiar in some aspects, he just couldn't handle it. Not today.
       He left for school at five fifty five; the walk to school would cover the time that it took him to wake up at seven to catch the bus just in time.

       It was still quite dark, but Nathan had nothing to fear, since most of the neighborhood was up and in their lawns, some picking up their newspapers, and one man trying to get his water sprinklers to work. Nathan laughed quietly as he saw the sprinkler go off into his face. How stupid could he be?

       Then his mind wondered to the advice Seth had given him the previous evening.

       Motivation.

       Inspiration.

       Everything Nathan had written was done on impulse; he grasped on to any idea that popped into his mind, any word or thought that struck his as 'song-worthy', if you could call it that. Still, those annoying love songs were a waste of his time and effort.

       There were about six people at school, not counting the guards or the teachers that normally came earlier (the six were couples, and of course, they were doing coupley things). Nathan made his way towards the basement, where he had hidden an old acoustic that would have been in the dump, wasting away at that moment if he hadn't sneaked it passed a few people.

       The janitor wasn't there yet, so he had a few minutes to practice. Playing random chords was easy for him, but Nathan felt his stomach burn with determination—he was going to write a song that would blow Seth's brains unto the wall.
       He sat on the stool and pulled the old guitar unto his lap; carefully, his ran his fingers along the body of the guitar, wiping away a thin, sparse layer of dust.

       Nathan's guitars that were laying in their cases back home were like his babies: he did everything to take care of them and keep them clean and tidy and out of harm's way. So why leave this one in dust central?

       Although it was pretty beat up and in some kind of bad condition, it played better than any of his others. He liked cleaning the dust off of it, carefully going over the body and the bridge, between the semi-rusted strings and frets and on the head stock, where it was harder to get the dust through the strings. It felt therapeutic to him—but when his ran his thumb down every string, or play a chord with his pick, it sounded... better.

       "Shallow waters settle beneath me," he sung quietly, softly strumming his thumb on a C chord. "I can see my reflection."

       He stopped. He heard footsteps.

       "Keep on playing, son. Just came here to get the mop," the janitor said with a small smile.

       He wasn't a feeble old man, but he wasn't young, either. Maybe in his late fifties, with a full head of dark, silvery hair.
       He got his mop, but before he left, he turned towards Nathan, his mouth gaping a little.

       "I got you some new strings for that thing. They looked like they need changing," he said. Out of his pocket, he took out a small packet and handed it over to Nathan.

       "Thank you, sir," Nathan said politely, slightly confused by his kind gesture. He always thought the janitor to be a grumpy old man that disliked the students here very much, probably because it was always a hassle to clean up their messes—he was exceptionally kind and generous to Nathan. He could have bought the strings himself, but the old man bought them for him, even without asking or saying a word.