Daron's Guitar Chronicles Volume 1 by Cecilia Tan

Author:Cecilia Tan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-03-16T04:00:00+00:00

Don't Do Me Like That

Bart dropped me off in front of a gray three-storey house on the East side. Once upon a time it had been one huge house, but now it was divvied up into apartments, two on the first floor, one on each of the top two. Roger and I had been roommates for eighteen months, now, ever since I'd moved off campus to spare the dorm expense. The bedroom was his, I slept in the living room and paid only half rent. We'd been in this place three months now and I liked it. It was larger than our old place in Fox Point and closer to the campus. In the old apartment there hadn't even been a door between the bedroom and the living room, but I'd moved in with him anyway, the rent was so cheap. When it came time to quit the old place, I sometimes felt Roger had brought me along with his furniture. Roger liked to pretend that he didn't need anything but his music, only sometimes requiring food, sleep, and sex. With me in the house, Roger had discovered that to have all his needs met, all he had to do was go out for food.

I put my guitar down at the foot of the mattress I slept on and shrugged off my coat. It was too cold out for just the thin overcoat, time to start wearing a heavy sweatshirt, too. I could hear him moving around in the bedroom. I threw the coat over a chair and poked my head through the open door.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, a magazine open in his hands, but as I watched him I realized he wasn't reading the magazine. He was just sitting there, staring, seething. I opened my mouth to say something trivial and then his eyes locked on me.

I forced myself ahead. "Hey, Rog, how's that music history class going?"

"I'm sick to death of school. I'm sick of it!" Roger picked up the magazine and threw it at me. I ducked back out of the way. If he'd thrown it any other direction it would have hit some expensive equipment. "I hate this place. I'm never going to start my career by wasting my time in a library somewhere. It's just not fair!"

Sigh. I'd heard this rant before in several different forms, and didn't have anything new to add to the debate. I backed out of the room and closed the door. A while later as I lay awake on the mattress I heard the whine of a tape recorder and he started singing. The drum machine began to pulse. Some time around dawn I was just falling asleep when he came into the living room and sat down.

"What were you going to tell me?" he said, nudging me awake.

I yawned. "What?"

"When you came in, you didn't really want to know about my music history class. You were going to tell me something."

The band breaking up. "I don't remember," I mumbled.

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