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Intro:
The world changes a lot in little time as does the human race. They're a prime example of evolution at its finest. It's almost become a contest or a race to become faster, smarter, stronger...
Better.
It feels like everyone is becoming better—Everyone but us.

What are we exactly? There have been many speculations. The general consensus is that we're a subspecies of the human race; a developmental flaw. They call it “Mutaresis”--a developmental mutation of the genetic make-up before birth. We're not quite human, we're not fit for the human world. Some people compare us to rodents, but it seems the official term for us—is just “muts”. A demeaning term that only enforces a sense of inferiority and failure as a group. Some folks even refuse to call us 'people'. How can we be people if we are so unlike them?

We almost look human, but something in our genetic make-up went horribly amiss. We're tall, lanky, frail people with over developed, elongated ears. I think it's those long, expressive ears that helps to pitch the idea that we are more animal and less human.. When I was much younger, I thought it was an interesting quirk that I should be proud of. Now, I tie them back with my hair in a vain attempt to hide them away.

Our senses are grossly acute. I've always relied on my hearing to see—my eyes have been blindfolded since I can remember. Smell, touch and taste have always been other prominent senses for me and it's only those senses that give us any kind of value to anyone. We are used as mere tools to test purities of chemicals and other substances, to help predict toxicity levels in environments, or changes in weather...just tools.

People don't like us. They don't want to recognize us as sentient, emotional beings with rights and needs. We're all just disgusting creatures to them. We're all just...muts.

























I was surrounded by a group of people just like me. I grew up surrounded by these same people yet we've never actually seen each other. We just knew were were all there, doing the same thing for the same reasons. The man who owned us like dogs was a man who specialized in the drug trade; specifically, opiates. We were to test the purities of the stuff he would later sell—that was what he bought us for.

I normally kept to myself, and payed little attention to the faceless muts that surrounded me on a daily and nightly basis. I was ignorant. I chose to be that way. To amuse myself as I worked, I'd hum tunes that I fabricated on the spot. I hummed happy tunes until the drug I worked with brought me to a state where humming was no longer possible and my mind would all but slip into a strange coma.

On this particular day, I remember the acrid alley way we worked in dragged in a distractingly cool breeze. I heard the low drone of muts exchanging conversation around me. It was almost unsettling—it was rare for there to be any exchange of words here. Talking was generally a sign that something was going to happen—and I couldn't recall a time when that something was ever pleasant.

I tried to ignore it—and hummed my tunes to drown out the distracting buzz of their voices. As I readied an injection, something suddenly snapped—and the slow, sullen mood around me changed in an instant.

Immediately, I tensed up as everyone around me took to their feet and bolted simultaneously. Panic—that was all I could feel for a number of seconds until someone grabbed me by the shirt and dragged me to my feet. The stampeding feet of muts hammered around me and I could hardly hear anything else except, “Run, run! We're running. We're escaping to hide! Run!”
And then—urgency. It washed over me like a wave of boiling water and a sudden burst of adrenaline propelled me forward. I ran as fast as I could knowing full well that if anyone caught me, there would be a chance that I would not live to see tomorrow.

I sprinted as fast as I could—until I couldn't hear anyone or anything around me. I hadn't even taken the time to think what was really happening until I finally ran out of breath and fell to my knees panting. I sat with my palms flat on cold, hard pavement. I didn't know where I was—if I was in the middle of the road, on the sidewalk, or in someone driveway. I didn't know how far I had ran, or if I ran far at all. As I panted, I tried to listen for anything. I could smell decaying leaves, the chilled air told me it was probably night time, and the only sounds I could hear came from small animals. I couldn't orient myself. I couldn't for the life of me guess where I might be.

I felt my way around for a place to hide until morning—stumbling over a sidewalk curb and almost colliding into a street lamp. My hands grasped a small, decorative iron fence—and followed it to a flight of concrete steps. That would do. Crawling on my hand and knees, I tucked myself into the small, dingy crevice under the stairs just happy to have a place to sit and think over what had just happened. The ground was moist with decay and dirt—but it was an easy hide out.

I tucked my knees up to my chest as the situation began to settle on me like a ton of bricks. I had been tucked away in that alley since I could remember. I didn't know much else outside of that. I didn't know where I was, and I didn't know where I was going to go. What was I going to do? What had I expected to do? I wasn't even thinking when everything happened...I didn't have time to. A feeling of regret weaseled its way into my mind as I realized I had no insurances. Nothing was going to ensure I would be able to survive now. Nothing was--

“Are you hiding?”

The sound of her voice made me jump as my ears flicked up in immediate alert. I had been so intently focused on my own thoughts that I completely failed to notice that this girl had been hovering over my little hiding spot for a good minute or two. I tried to push myself back further away from her.

“I-I'm not hiding. I'm just--” I tried to grasp for a safe explanation.
“You're a mut! If your ears didn't give it away, your bad accent did. Are you lost? Do you belong to anyone?” The tone of her voice was not threatening, and it helped ease me slightly.
I bit my lip before replying, “No—I don't belong...” I trailed off as I felt hands reach around to the back of my head. She was fidgeting with the lock on my blindfold, “It can't come off, it's lock—” I heard a click and the blindfold was pulled away from my eyes.

I was forced to squint as my retinas took in every ounce of light they could handle. It was blinding and all I could see for a while was white. My eyes quickly worked to adjust to something they hadn't been allowed to for years—and all the colors, all the shades, all the shapes—they overwhelmed me. They were beautiful.

I sat a moment in silence to take everything in. I had been wrong when I assumed it was night time—the sun was just in it's last stages of setting. The girl was smiling down at me with gray eyes and pink lipstick. Her hair was cropped just above the shoulders, and her hair was a deep red. Her bangs were cut short and sported a lock of pink in the middle. She was young—and warm.

She offered her hand to help me out of my little hole, “Do you have a name, boy?”
“Tu.” I replied as I heaved myself up.
“Two?” She held out two fingers.
I nodded with a hint of a smile, “Yeah, Tu—Turu.”
She gave a humored grin, “That's cute!” She offered her hand for a friendly handshake, “Well, Tu, my name's Mari.” I took her hand and she shook it for me, “I always kind of wanted a mut. You looked lost—and since you say you don't belong to anyone, would you want to belong to me? I promise to take good care of you!”

My eyes narrowed for a second while I thought it over. There wasn't much to think. I simply didn't believe I could make it on my own, and so conveniently Mari came to scoop me up. There was very little to lose. I heaved a sigh of relief, “That—that would be really great.”

Mari clasped her hands together with a pleased smile, “That's so wonderful! Here—come to my apartment! Are you hungry? I just bought groceries!” She went off about her day and how thrilled she was to have me.

I was just thrilled to have her.

Mari took good care of me, as she promised. She took really, really good care of me. From when I woke up that next morning, well into the evening, she had me cleaned up and pampered like royalty.

The entire day simply flew by. After a long scrub in a warm bath that morning, I was taken to her personal hair dresser. My blond hair that was tangled and matted well past my shoulder blades was chopped off, tidied, and neatly cropped to chin-length. It took the lady about two hours to get it done, but after her hard work, I had never had my hair feel so light, clean, and soft. The rest of the day, I couldn't keep my fingers away from running through my own locks.

We proceeded to eat some lunch from a restaurant. To Mari, it wasn't much more than a quick break—for me, it was a novel event that I was just as excited for as I was everything else we had planned. I'd never eaten at a restaurant before—and my first experience was something I still treasure. The smells, the tastes, the idea of being served and waited on by someone who you didn't even know—I never knew anything like it before... And the food—was amazing to me.

Following lunch, we spent the rest of the afternoon buying new clothing. Mari enjoyed this more than me—not to say I didn't enjoy it. Like everything else, I was looking forward to having new clothes. But these clothes—where never worn by anyone before—these clothes were clean, brand new, and just for me. Mari had me try on everything in every store as if I was her favorite doll. I didn't mind at all—I liked the soft feeling of clean clothing.

She had me try on shoes with socks—which I have to say was the only part I wasn't so thrilled with. Shoes didn't feel right—they felt restrictive, harsh, and incredibly uncomfortable to the point that I refused to try anymore on. Mari tried to have me change my mind—but we both decided it was probably better that I not be forced to wear them.

Either way, by the end of the day, we walked out carrying three rather large shopping bags each. I felt like an entirely different person. Neat and tidy, prim and proper, I felt like I could be one of them—like I could be just as human as Mari. I felt like I was on top with everyone else. It was so wonderful to me. I felt like I could be king.

We were back home in time for a late dinner. I knew I was being vain—but I couldn't help going out of my way to walk past a mirror where I could glance at my reflection when ever I moved around the house. I was so impressed with how good I looked!

“Tutu, have a seat—food's ready!” Mari tugged on my brand new shirt towards the table, “Hope you like rice, 'cause I made way too much of it...”

I sat down with grin that had been spread across my face all day, “Great, I love rice!”

“You just love food,” Mari giggled and she loaded dinner on my plate for me. She sat down, took a polite bite out of her own plate, and swallowed before opening her mouth to talk, “So—I haven't asked yet—what were you doing before you ended up under the doorsteps to my apartment? How did you get here?”

“Nothing really—I don't know how I got here.” I gave my haphazard response in between mouthfuls of food.

Mari furrowed her eyebrows, “Well, where do you come from? Everyone comes from somewhere.”

I paused to think about it, “You want to hear the whole thing?” She nodded with enthusiasm, “Alright—I'll give you the nutshell version—but it's kinda gray and boring...” I replied. I took a few more bites of dinner before starting, “Well, my parents didn't want me at birth—probably because I turned out to be a mut...Or maybe just because they couldn't afford to have me, or couldn't handle the burden. I don't actually know. Anyways, they sold me at a very early age—I can't actually remember how old I was—I don't remember it at all.” Mari nodded for me to continue as I put another forkful of rice into my mouth, “And this guy bought me—he had me blindfolded as soon as I was his, and by the time I could walk, he had me working under him. He specialized in drugs—like heroin and stuff, but I didn't even touch it until I turned thirteen. He said exposure any earlier than that had potential to be fatal. But we worked to test the purity of the substances he was given by other people. We were to taste minuscule amounts and report if there was anything odd about what we tasted. He had a problem with paranoia and was always worried that at any time, there could be something deadly in what he was being given by other people. He kept telling us that he thought, or knew people were out there to get him—and we were there to make sure he wasn't got. I didn't really understand it. He was a little weird. He gave us a reward every day—some morphine to calm our nerves. It's a nice thing, I found myself always looking forward to it. I'd use a little bit of what he gave us—and I'd save the rest for emergencies, if I ever needed it.

“I guess eventually, the other muts got tired of it—and wanted out. I think they had been planning their escape for a while, but I always kept to myself so I didn't really know anything about it. It kind of caught me off guard when everyone started running. I panicked for some reason and I just sort of ran where ever my legs would take me—and that's how I ended up under your door step. I was trying to hide.” I finished off the contents of my plate as Mari digested what I just told her.

Mari was resting her chin on her clasped hands, leaning forward with interest, “You were owned by a drug lord?”

“Well—was.” I corrected.

“Does he have papers?”

I rose an eyebrow at her, “What? No. It was a pretty casual transaction.”

She gave a sigh of relief, “Oh good! Then he has no proof that he actually owns you!”

“None at all.” I confirmed, “Besides—if he saw me know, I bet you he wouldn't even recognize me!” I rewarded her with a grin and she returned it.

“Well, I couldn't have you all smelly and dirty! I want to take good care of you.” She paused for a moment before going on to ask, “who gave you your name then?”

I had to think about that one for a second, “Well—the drug guy called me 'two'--as in the number two--because I was the second mut he bought. We were all given numbers. Everyone I worked with called 'two' for a while—then I guess they got bored enough to start giving each other more creative names. They didn't get too creative with mine though—and I was just called Tworoo. It's easy to say. And others were amused by it.”

Mari kind of frowned, “That's...werid.”

I shrugged, “We had a lot of free time on our hands, and not much to do with it.”

“Probably didn't help that everyone was probably drugged out of their minds!” She laughed, “You still take morphine then?”

I nodded, “Yeah—I had a little bit this morning before we left to do stuff.”

Mari furrowed her eyebrows at me, “So you still have your 'emergency stash'? You know that stuff is really illegal and bad for you.”

I stood up and took our dishes, “Not really—they use it in hospitals and stuff, so it can't be that bad.”

“Whatever, to each their own. I just don't really care to see you taking it. Out of sight, out of mind, okay?” Mari stared at me to make sure I understood.

I grinned and offered her a quick wink, “Of course.”

Sleeping never came easy to me. I'd carefully monitor every last sound around me. It would get to the point that I could even hear spiders scuttling around the ground—and I'd never want to sleep for fear that anything could happen at anytime. I was use to sleeping out in the open—where anyone could come by and do anything.

In Mari's house, it was totally different. I wasn't sleeping on cold concrete, and the most distracting noises came from the fridge, furnace, and the rare car that'd pass by outside. None of those things held any potential danger to me. Mari had allowed me to sleep anywhere I wanted in the house, and for the most part, the couch was my favorite place to curl up. She gave me a thick blanket to wrap myself up in—and for the past two nights of my stay, I had never slept better in my life.

I stared at the ceiling, recapping for well over the fifteenth time—everything that had happened over the past two days. I felt like I was reborn into a world that had always been above me—one that I can finally see in every sense of the word. It was my thoughts on this that eventually lulled me into an easy sleep.

***

“Rise and shine Tututu!” Mari's voice jarred me awake and I squinted against the sun that leaked through the living room window into my face.

“I want to make some french toast,” She continued from the kitchen without actually checking to see if I had woken up, “Buuut I don't have enough bread—and I don't really feel like going out there right now.”

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, “I'll go!”

Mari peered back with a generous smile into the living room from behind a wall that separated it from the kitchen, “I knew you'd want to—get dressed then, take a quick shower, and what ever. I'll give you the money and you can run to the little strip mall that's just down a couple blocks for me.” I scampered off to do so and Mari continued to talk, “I've got work tonight, so you'll have the place to yourself. I hope you don't mind entertaining yourself this evening.”

Not at all—I had been 'entertaining myself' for the past nineteen years of my life. Without actually replying to her, I ran myself a hot shower. The warm water massaged my back and melted away my current thoughts. I loved being able to take showers.

I made my shower short, towel dried my hair, and threw on a pair of blue jeans and a warm, green hoodie. As I walked back into the kitchen, Mari handed me the morning news paper, “You are one lucky boy, read the front page—here!” She pointed to a headline and begun to read it out loud to me. My heart sunk.


"26 Muts Euthanized for Disobedience by Drug Lord

The owner of thirty muts put twenty six of them to death Sunday night after every last one of them escaped just the day before. Arman Harold, 46 told press, “They took off and I didn't know until the next morning. I had a party search for them. We caught most of them, but four are still out there. I'd like to have them back as well so I can deal with them properly.”
Police later took Harold into custody after 400 kilos of illegal opiates were found in his house.
Read the whole story on page 13A."

Twenty-six of them put to death? Twenty-six? A large lump had swelled up in my throat—and it became incredibly difficult to swallow. I hadn't even known that kind of thing was allowed—being put to death for—disobedience. It was so petty! They had just gotten a taste of freedom, only to have that and their lives ripped away from them. There was an extreme sense of injustice that washed over me—and I could only meet it with a saddened emotion. I tossed the paper onto the table—feeling sick that there was absolutely nothing I could do about the situation I had just read.

“Crazy, huh?” Mari didn't seem shaken at all, “You're one of four who wasn't caught! And now he's in jail for having drugs—so you'll never be caught! It's great, isn't it?”

I took a deep breath, “Yeah, it's awesome.” I don't think she understood—even if I had never seen any one of them, I felt I had some kind of connection to them—they offered a sense of security while I was there. Security in that I was never alone.

“Here Tu, this is ten dollars—it's more than enough for bread. You can pick something up for yourself as well!” She handed me the bill and I stuffed it in my pocket. As I headed out the door, she hollered after me, “Be quick!”

The sunny weather brought up my mood slightly, but I couldn't keep myself from mulling over what had happened to those twenty-six muts. Somehow, I felt like I had some responsibility over the outcome—and that only made me feel worse. It was a pang of guilt that was probably very uncalled for.

I had just made it to the strip mall—and was headed to the store, furrowing with my head stuck on that news article when someone called out to me, “Hey! Heey! You—with the ears!” The voice had humor—and when I turned to see where it was coming from, I saw him waving me over from the doorway of a small music store.

His hair was so blond, I thought it was white, and he has a bit of sparse stubble growing on his chin. But the first thing I actually noticed—were his ears. He was a mut. He was dressed about as well as me too.

The second thing I noticed were the flowers he had tucked behind those ears...I didn't know what to think of that...

My eyebrows rose, intrigued—and I couldn't help but to just walk over and say hi back, “Were you—calling at me?”

He had a cheeky grin, “I don't see anyone else with with ears worth mentioning. Except me—of course! But really, why would I be calling at myself?” He gave a chuckle and extended his hand, “It's not often I see brothers or sisters dressed like you—my name is Cougen.” His voice was a lot deeper than mine—but the accent caused by his speech impediment seemed slightly stronger.

I took his hand, “Turu.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “We always get the weird-ass names don't we?”

“Well I—”

“No worries! Come inside the store, I want to know your story!” He disappeared into the shop.

I fidgeted, “I kinda need to go get--” I paused and sighed before following him.

There were instruments all over the place. Guitars and violins hung on the walls, and sat on the floor in stands, and two drum kits and one piano sat on their own pedestals. I was rather fascinated, “Who owns this place?”

Cougen pulled up two chairs, “I do! Sit down, lets chat! I'm interested here—I don't see many free muts around!”

With slight hesitation, I sat down, “I don't really have time though—I need to get something for someone at home.”

“Someone at home? Family?”

“Not really...” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

Cougen leaned forward, “You're not owned by anyone, are you?”

I furrowed my eyebrows—I felt like I was in a pressing interview or something. It was very uncomfortable, “No—we just kind of found each other recently.”

He grinned at me, “Oh, how nice! Partnership is always great.” He stared at me for a few seconds before sitting back, “Did you read the news this morning? About the twenty-six muts?”

The corners of my mouth twitched, “Yeah.” Cougen continued to stare at me—with his eyebrows slowly creeping upwards as if he were expecting me to say more. I did, “I was one of the four who--”

Cougen gave a sudden, loud clap in conclusive enthusiasm, “Ha! I knew it! I had a sense that you had some part in that! Cool! Well—not cool—kind of sucks, actually.”

I shuffled my feet, “It's been the biggest damper of my day. I feel awful about it.”

“You shouldn't.” He shook his head with a serious frown, “It's not your fault in the least. I mean, it blows that you must have known all those guys forever—and probably would have wished them the best...But feeling bad about these things doesn't get anything done about it. Chin up—and start thinking about how you can rectify the situation. The only people who can start working towards any kind of justice towards this type of thing—is us. No one else is going to come along and do it for us.” He stopped to think for a second before asking me, “Do you like music?”

“Yeah--”

“Of course you do! Who doesn't?” He stood up, “Hold on a second--” He walked into the back room and came back out with a four stringed guitar, “Thiiiis--” He set it down on my lap, “is a bass guitar. It's a nice one, too.” I nodded slowly with a slight cynicism towards the notion that he was probably trying to sell me something—but he continued, “I have a very good feeling about you, Turu—I think you need an instrument. You can think of it as your weapon—your mighty sword if you want. Maybe you can bring justice with it!”

My expression dropped—and my sudden lack of enthusiasm was so hard to hide, I didn't even bother to, “I have no cash for this.”

Cougen looked put off, “Did I ask for cash? No—I don't think so. If you ever want to pay me back for this, you can—when you have the money to spare. Right now, I'm just trusting you to do something great with this. If you don't want to, you never have to come by this store ever again—but honestly, I'd like it if you did. Not as a customer or anything—just as a friend...Some one like me to talk to.”

I took a deep breath and furrowed my eyebrows in confusion—but as my fingers wrapped around the neck of the guitar, I exhaled with a sudden sense of comfort. I looked up at him, “Okay—Maybe I will come back. I need someone to teach me how to play this thing anyways.”

Cougen's face lit up, “Awesome! Come by when ever—maybe we can set up a schedule for lessons and stuff! This could be great!” He ran into the back again, “Here--” he bounded back with a bag case for the bass, “You'll want to carry it in this when ever you go somewhere with it.” He took the guitar from me and slipped it into the case, “I won't hold you any longer.” He took my hand to shake again, “Can't wait to hear from you again, Turu!”

I grabbed the guitar and wore the strap of the case over my shoulder, “What time is this place open until?”

Cougen shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “Ten p.m.”

I opened the door out of the store, “Maybe I'll come by later this evening.” I waved at him, “Thanks for the instrument!” He just grinned after me as I left the store.

After buying the bread, I scurried back home as fast as I could. The guitar slung across my back weighed heavy on my shoulder to the point that it actually hurt to carry it around. By the time I walked into the house, I was more than pleased to put the instrument down and leave the burden of it's weight against the wall.

“You took kind of long—I was almost getting worried.” Mari walked into the kitchen when heard me close the door. She quickly caught sight of the bass I brought home with me, “What's that?”

I put the bread on the counter for her, “It's a guitar--”

“No, I know—but what are you doing with it? Like—where did you get it from?”

“Oh--” I couldn't help but give a sheepish shrug, “This guy gave it to me.”

Mari narrowed her eyes, “Gave? Tu, people don't give these things out for free. Instruments are really expensive, you know? Did you make some kind of deal? You didn't make some kind of deal, did you? Turu?”

I unzipped the case—as if I thought showing her the actual guitar would assure her anything, “No, I didn't make a deal. He just gave it to me. He—was like me. You know—with the ears and stuff.”

Mari furrowed her eyebrows and cocked her head back as I just confused her further, “A mut gave you a free guitar?”

I was trying not to get annoyed with her, “Yes—he owns a music store. I don't know why. He had a bunch of instruments and just gave this one to me for free. He emphasized the 'free' part. Can we leave it at that?”

Mari sighed, “Weird.” She turned her attention to the fridge, grabbing eggs and milk, “Do you even know how to play?”

I responded with another shrug, “No—but he said he'll teach me.”

“Nice guy.”

I didn't catch the cynical tone in her voice—and nodded in agreement.

She took out a bowl and began to prepare the toast, “Does he have a name?”

“Yeah.” I ran a finger over the strings of the bass—without a clue as to what each string could do, “Cougen.”



The rest of the day was pretty lax. We lazed around the house, watching television, snacked on junk food, talked about anything that came up—and cuddled. That was my favorite part of the day... Just the feeling of being coveted—it was warm and comforting...I loved it.
By the time five o'clock came around, Mari had already left for work and I was left to my own devices. I wondered around the house aimlessly for a few minutes before stopping to stare down at the heavy bass guitar that leaned against the kitchen wall. I chewed on my lip in contemplation as to whether or not I should throw it over my shoulder and head out to the music store.

“Why not.” I grabbed the strap and threw the guitar over my back with difficulty, “I want to learn how to play this thing!”




*****

“Hey-ey! Buddy!” Cougen greeted me with a huge grin as I entered his shop, “You made it! And you brought your baby with you, I see!”

I returned the smile, “Mari's out—so I figured I'd come and learn how to play.”

Cougen furrowed his brow, “Mari is--”

“My uh—partner?”

“Oh right, right!” Cougen swooped over and gracefully took my bass from me, “Well, lets tune this puppy then.” I watched him as he'd strum a chord or two, turn the knobs at the end of the neck, then strum again and again until he heard what he wanted to hear. He did that for each and every string. Suddenly, I didn't feel any confidence what so ever that I'd be able to master this instrument. I couldn't even tell why one sound was better than another sound during the tuning process.

Coug looked up at me and barked a laugh, “Ha ha—you look terrified!”

“I well—I...uh,” I stammered for a bit before just saying it, “Actually, I don't think I can learn how to play.”

Cougen narrowed his eyes at me, “Definitely not—with that attitude. Seriously. It's not totally easy—but you've got to enjoy it. You have to feel it. You know—you're a mut. I hate that term—but that's what we're called. We—have an knack for music. You know? Our vocal chords—they're not meant for talking. They're not built for speaking English. They're built for holding prolonged sounds, vowels—they're built for music. I'll have you know that every single mut in existence today—can hold a note and sing in tune. We have an ear for music. Honestly, I think we're meant to communicate through it.
So sit down, listen up, and stop with the attitude or—you're right. You'll never learn how to play.”

I sat down quickly—taken very aback by Cougen's little spiel. I was baffled by how much he knew—assuming he did know what he was talking about.

“Do you think you can conquer this baby?” Cougen gestured to the bass.

I simply nodded.

“Good. Lets begin the lesson then.” He sat up closer to me so that i could see what he was doing. He plucked the first chord, “This—is the E string.” He plucked the next, “A,”the third, “D,” and the fourth, “G. You got it?”

I nodded once more.

“Great!” He put the guitar on my lap, “It's your turn! Position your hands like this—fingers like this...” He repositioned my grip for me, “Good—now, strike A for me.” And I did so, “Good stuff! Now D, E, G in that order.” So I did, “See—not so hard, is it! I'm going to have you play until your fingers bleed tonight. I'll teach you all the notes on each chord—and you'll know them before you leave.”

He wasn't lying. I didn't get home until nine thirty—and my fingers were bruised, blistered and very sore. I was exhausted—and the low cries of the guitar's strings still buzzed in my ears. I set the guitar down against a wall and went on to change into more comfortable lounging pants.

Mari hadn't returned home yet. As far as I knew, she wasn't going to be back until one in the morning. I slinked into her vacant bedroom, grabbed the remote to her television, and slipped under the blankets. I flipped through the channels on the television that was at the foot of her bed—and without meaning to, I quickly fell asleep before I could even watch an entire show.