The Lunacy Fringe

Forty

That night, after everyone left, I changed into my PJs and went downstairs to watch TV with my dad.

"So that was really nice of you," I said. He smiled at me from his armchair.

"I've been thinking about doing it for a while," he told me. "They've got some real talent. I'd hate to see it wasted."

"Well—you made them very happy."

"I was hoping it would make you happy too."

"I know." I leaned back and stared at the screen. A few minutes went by before he spoke again.

"I know it's not the best—of gifts. For you, anyway. I just figured making Felix happy might make you happy too. But...."

"I understand, Dad."

"Well, I do have a gift for you—an actual gift. I was sort of planning on saving it. But I think now might be a good time."

"More gifts?"

"Helping Felix and making you happy was more of a lucky coincidence. It was obviously more of a gift for Quinn than anyone else. But I got you something I've been planning on getting you since you were a kid. I was planning on giving it to you for your graduation, but I could pay it off earlier than expected. And—now it's just sitting in the closet. Unused. C'mon." He stood up, and I followed him into the office at the bottom of the stairs. Once we were there, he pulled a hardshell guitar case out of the small closet.

"You bought me another guitar?" I asked as he set it down on the desk like it was a bomb.

"Not just any guitar, Kid." He unlatched the case and lifted the lid. I actually gasped when the glossy black guitar was exposed.

"Dad—this is a Les Paul."

"Yep."

"Isn't this like—crazy expensive?"

"It was custom made."

"What?"

"Look closer." He lifted the lid back all the way so the light touched every inch of it. I gasped again and couldn't hold back from touching it. My name was painted in calligraphic letters along the surface. There were red gems in the frets. It was so shiny I was afraid I'd ruin it with my fingerprints.

"Dad, are those...?"

"Yep, rubies."

"Are they real?"

"Yes, they're real."

"This cannot have been cheap."

"It definitely wasn't." I gave him a startled glance. "I bought each one individually, payment by payment. I started saving up when you started junior high."

"Dad, this is—unbelievable."

"It sure is. The guitar alone was more than we could afford at once. But whenever I had extra money to spare, I handed it over. I thought the move would push us back, but Crystal offered to help. I do plan on paying her back, though."

I was still flabbergasted.

"I can't believe it," I said.

"Here, just listen to the quality."

He gently pulled it out of the case and came around the desk to pull the strap over my head. My name was embroidered into the strap, right over my heart. I was almost too afraid to touch it. The guitar was heavy, but it was the most beautiful instrument I'd ever seen in my life. I ran my fingers down the strings, and my spine tingled.

"Oh my God," I said. "It's amazing. So clear."

"It's arguably one of the best guitars in the world," he agreed.

"Dad, this is—I don't even know what to say."

"Just say thanks and get it over with."

"I don't think that's enough! Thank you! Thank you!" I reached up to hug him from the side, careful not to bump the guitar.

"You're welcome, Kiddo. Play something for me," he said. So I played one of the songs Felix was trying to teach me. He seemed to really like that.

"Dad, can I...?" I looked up at him, and he sighed.

"Just go. Come back soon, though."

"I will, I promise!" I set the guitar back into its case carefully and made sure the latches were secure. Then I held onto it and rushed back out into the living room.

"I'll be back soon!"

"Have fun!"

As soon as I got the door closed, I booked it across the front yard and over to Felix's house. I rang the doorbell, trying not to be annoying but obviously too excited to only ring it once. Felix's mom answered and looked out at me with concern.

"Hi, I'm sorry for bothering you so late. Can I speak to Felix?" I asked.

"Yeah, sure. He's in his room," she said, letting me in.

"Thank you!" I hurried off down the hall, following the sound of his guitar. I was glad he was already playing. I clutched the case in one hand and knocked roughly. The song cut off, and he opened the door, looking out at me with surprise.

"Ruby, is everything okay?" he asked. I pushed my way into his room, too excited to be polite. "Is that a guitar?"

"Not just any guitar, Felix," I said, setting it on his bed. It was the first time we'd ever been alone in his room, but I was still too excited about the guitar to think about it. "This is—Oh my god. I can't even speak. My dad got me a present. Come here." He shut the door and walked over to me, looking a bit confused and stunned all at once. He watched me lift the lid, and then I stood back. I bounced on my feet and tried not to squeal. He stared at it for a long time, like an art appraiser at a museum.

"Holy shit," he finally said.

"Isn't it beautiful?" I replied.

"This is—this is the most beautiful guitar I've ever seen in my life."

"I know, right?"

"Are those...?"

"Rubies. They're real."

"Holy fuck."

"I know." I tried to hold in my excitement, but it wasn't working. He turned to look at me.

"Can I touch it?" I nodded excitedly. So he reached out his fingers to stroke the spot where my name was written in red. Then he stared at it, apparently deep in thought. And then tried to rub off the smudge of his fingerprint with his shirt sleeve.

"Incredible," he said.

"Uh-huh." He was looking at it like he'd never seen a Les Paul in his entire life. "Do you want to play it?" I asked.

"What?" he quickly replied. "No. I couldn't—that's just—it's yours—it's like—sacred."

"It's fine, really."

"Have you played it yet?"

"Well, kind of. A little."

"You have to play it first." He went and unplugged his white guitar from the amp by his bed. Then he handed it out as if too afraid to touch the guitar himself. So I pulled the strap over my head and plugged it in. We stood there in silence.

"Listen to that," he said like he was hosting a nature documentary. "It's silent."

"I know. It's amazing," I whispered.

"Play something."

"Where's your foot paddle?"

"Over there. But not yet." He handed me a guitar pick, and I strummed the strings.

"Sounds like my dad already tuned it," I remarked. I played one of his songs, and he watched intently.

"Amazing," he whispered. "Now try it with distortion." I tapped the foot pedal, and the amp released a grittier sound. I finished the song he taught me just like that. When I finished, I sat down on his bed like I'd just run a marathon.

"I almost want to cry," I said. He looked at me like he understood completely.

"Shit, me too."

"Your turn."

"No. It's—it's too special. I couldn't."

"C'mon. Just do it. You let me play your guitars all the time."

"Yeah, but none of mine have actual rubies in them. And none of them are Les Pauls. They're not special."

"They're special to you."

"No."

"If you don't pick up this guitar right now, I'll kick you in the shin."

"You wouldn't."

"Watch me."

"Fine. Give me the guitar."

I handed it over, and he took it like it was a precious family heirloom. Like if he moved too much, all the rubies would fall out, and the neck would snap. He pulled the strap over his head, and I helped him adjust it to fit his taller frame. Then I handed over his guitar pic.

"Wow," he said as he strummed. I sat back down on his bed and crossed my legs to watch him. He played a section of one of his songs and looked up at me with big, innocent-looking green eyes. I nodded to let him know he could keep going. I was probably enjoying it as much as he was.

After finishing a few more riffs, he turned off the amp and took the guitar off. He set it down on the stand usually used for Lucille and then flopped down onto his bed and rested his head on my lap. I ran my fingers through his black hair, and he shut his eyes.

"That was amazing," he said. I smiled. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Letting me play your guitar."

"There's no one else I'd rather share it with."

He opened his eyes and looked momentarily confused. I thought maybe I'd said something wrong. I went too far. Billie said he never let anyone use his guitars, and I'd let him play mine. Mine was expensive, precious, and made just for me. And I'd shared it with him. Maybe it meant more to me than it did to him. Perhaps it was too close to a declaration of feelings. And I thought it was very possible emotions were what Felix was afraid of.

Then his hand moved to the back of my head. He pulled me down closer to him and pressed his lips against mine. But the kiss was a bit more urgent than the other times. Even when he kissed me roughly, our hands never got tangled in each other's hair. We didn't usually struggle to breathe just to keep kissing. And I wasn't sure if it was the guitar or the fact that I'd shared it with him so willingly.

He pulled me down, so I was lying almost on top of him. But then he rolled me around so that I was flat on my back, and he was on top of me. I didn't think I was ready for sex, but I didn't want it to end, either. His mother was in the other room, so I didn't think he'd try to take it that far. So I comfortably wrapped my legs around him. The kissing got hotter and more desperate than before.

"Your dad is going to kill me," he said, breaking away for a moment.

"Why?" I whispered against his lips.

"I don't think this is what he had in mind when he let you come over."

"I mean—it's not like we're having sex."

"No. I wouldn't...." We went back to kissing. Deeper and deeper until I felt like I was sinking into his bed. His fingers were in my hair, and mine dug into his back.

"Amazing," he muttered again after pulling away. Then he laid down beside me and stared up at the ceiling. My lips were tingling. My hair was probably a mess. I couldn't stop smiling.

"I didn't realize a guitar would have such an effect on you," I remarked. He turned his head and smirked at me. His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I wasn't talking about the guitar," he said. Then he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me again.

"I don't want to leave," I admitted, breaking away for just a moment. He kept kissing me.

"I don't want you to either. But I also don't want to lose any of my fingers." I smiled and pulled away from his lips.

"I'll let you go then." I climbed out of his bed and went to return my guitar to its case.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked. He was still lying on the bed, leaning on his elbows and looking a bit more bedraggled than when I first came in. His black hair was messy and sticking up at odd angles. He was wearing sweatpants, and his shirt was a little lopsided from where I'd tugged at it. He was adorable.

"I'll be the one in the blue dress," I told him. He smiled crookedly, and I almost jumped right back into bed with him. Instead, he stood up and walked me out.

"Night, Ruby," his mom said from the couch once we reached the door.

"Night," I replied with a wave. He walked me all the way back to my front door barefoot. And then we stood under the porchlight, kissing to the sound of the frogs in the backyard until I finally had to go in.

My dad was back in front of the TV when I slipped inside.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Awesome. It sounded amazing on his amp. He was just as excited as I was," I told him.

"What'd you guys do?" I suddenly wondered if my hair was too messy and my lips too pink.

"We played guitar," I said. He didn't need to know about the rest.

"Did you let him play it?"

"Yeah, a little bit." He nodded to himself and turned back to the TV. It was the only light in the room, illuminating him with a dim, ever-changing glow. "He's really good, Dad. He wouldn't hurt it. I trust him."

"Guitars can be replaced. Even custom ones," he said. I caught what he didn't say. Guitars could be replaced, but my heart couldn't. I smiled.

"Thanks again. I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning." I went to give him another hug.

"Night, Kid. Sweet dreams."

"You too."

I carried the heavy case up the stairs to my room. Then I set it against the wall and flopped backward onto my bed. The star stickers on the ceiling were shimmering in the light from Felix's backyard. I could hear the frogs chirping from the open window, letting in the scent of dying jasmines. I shut my eyes and touched my fingers to my lips.