"Perfect."
I looked at the hand she stuck out and noticed a logistical problem I hadn’t thought of before thismoment.
“You have longnails.”
“I just hadthemdone.”
“You won't be able to play with those. You have to press the strings down on the fret. See?” I lifted my left hand to show her my short fingernails. “You can always keep the nails on your other hand for picking, but I’m not sure that’s the look you want togofor.”
She looked down at her hands but didn’t sayanything.
“Or we could just cancel the lesson and call it a failedexperiment.”
“I’ll be right back.” MIchelle ran out of the room. I took that opportunity to look around. Her dad had expensive taste. The leather couches, oriental rug and artwork on the walls was a far cry from what I wasusedto.
We had a house full of mismatched furniture. Not because my parents couldn’t afford something new, but because they didn’t want to contribute to the mass production that our materialistic society caused. Everything was bought secondhand because of their strong feelings on the issue. Instead of fresh flowers on end tables, we had glass jars filled withkombucha.
Even the outside of her home was totally different. They had professional landscaping while we had a personal garden mostly filled with plants of the ediblevariety.
What was I doing here? What was Ithinking?
“Sorry about that. Just hadtoprep.”
Michelle sat back down on the couch and waved her fingers at me. She’d trimmed all the nails on her left hand while keeping the nails on her right hand long. It looked ridiculous. I didn’t dare laughthough.
“You said you just hadthemdone.”
“And you said I couldn’t play with them. Sowhat’snext?”
“Well, your hair’s too long and could get stuck in the strings," I said, looking forexcuses.
“Be right back,” she said, hopping off thecouch.
“Wait, I’mkidding.”
Michelle laughed. “I know, but I wanted to see your reaction. Just how far is Rainier willing to go to get out of thislesson?”
“Fine.Sitdown.”
“Yes,sir.”
“First, put this part in your left hand.” I pointed to the neck of my guitar before giving it to her. “You can rest the body overyourlegs.”
Her movements were jerky as she reached for the guitar and positioned it in her lap. While her left hand held the guitar, she kept her right arm awkwardly above the body. It was almost like she was afraid totouchit.
“It’s not goingtobite.”
“I know that,Rainier.”
“Then why are you acting soweird.”
Her eyes were wide as she looked at me. “I can’t remember the last time I did something that put me so far out of mycomfortzone.”
“What about thebookstore?”
Michelle snorted. “I practically grew up at Between The Pages. Even though it’s been years since I’ve spent any amount of time there, it’s not completelyforeign.”
This was news to me. I knew Michelle's dad had owned the store for a long time, but I never imagined little Michelle wondering around the place with pigtails and a dress frolicking between the isles. Maybe she used to have a love for books before she became hardenedbylife.
