I Am (Not) the Walrus by Ed Briant

Author:Ed Briant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: music, musicians, Beatles, cover band, romance, first kiss, friendship, guitar, humor, love songs, bass, bass guitar, identity
Publisher: Llewellyn Worldwide, LTD.
Published: 2012-05-10T04:00:00+00:00

17

Saturday

I don’t go to sleep, but instead drift somewhere between being awake and dreaming, and in this state one of my last memories of Shawn comes flooding back to me.

There’s a loud rap on my bedroom door. It’s dark. The middle of the night.

“Who’s there?” I say, forcing my voice to go deep, although even like this I don’t think I sound particularly intimidating.

The door kicks open and framed against a pale light is Shawn. “What’cha, Tobias,” he hisses, pronouncing the last syllable of my name as arse. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?” There’s another loud clunk, which is followed by a rustling sound.

I push myself up onto my elbows to see better. He has a large object under his arm. “What you got there?”

Shawn puffs out his cheeks, and backs into my room. Whatever it is he’s holding, it’s too wide to go through the door. “Flick your light on,” he says in a half-whisper, “and I’ll permit you to have a gander.”

I reach over to my bedside table, feel for the switch, and flood the room with light. I shield my eyes, but I can still see that he is carrying a long object wrapped in two or more black bin liners.

“Shift your plates of meat,” says Shawn. I pull my feet up under the covers to make space and he plants himself at the foot of my bed with the object across his knees. “You are not going to believe what I’ve got.” He gives off a low growl that turns into a deep rollicking laugh. Wooar-haw-haw-haw!

I push myself up into a full sitting position. “You going to show me or just leave me to guess?”

Shawn tilts his head toward me. “Sometimes, Tobias, talking to you is like talking to Mom.” He burps, then sways for a moment. “Get a load of this.” He draws off the first bag, revealing the neck of an electric bass.

My pulse quickens so fast I’m almost knocked over by the G-force. “Bloody hell, Shawn! That’s a Fender.”

He pauses with the second bag half off. “Yeah. I know what it is.”

“It’s just about the best electric bass that money can buy,” I say. Even though I don’t want to, I lean forward and reach out to touch it. The yellow-colored wood of the headstock is as smooth as a kitten’s stomach. “These are worth a fortune.”

“Keep your hair on,” says Shawn. “It’s old, for starters, plus the electrics need a bit of attention.” He finally peels off the second bag, exposing the whole instrument.

I can’t contain a gasp.

“It is a bit like seeing a bird in her birthday suit, innit?” Shawn leers at me.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” I say, although the instrument really is sexy, for want of a better word. The deep oranges and reds glint, and the yellowing chrome reflects shafts like laser beams across the ceiling.

“Not that you would know, of course.” He reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Not yet, of course.” He does his growling laugh again, Wooar-haw-haw-haw! “Depends on the bird in question, I suppose.

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