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SINISTER

19.

Garren took his shirt off because he wanted both of them, but especially the daadee, to see the cut on his side. It was healing, but he’d forever wear an ugly reddish scar where the tear had been. It was important that they saw it because then they’d know that he’d patched himself up, but that he’d always remember – fucking always.

The basement was cool and dark and the hairs on Garren’s neck rose as he set up the practice amp. He’d selected a small model because it was loud when cranked, but compact and easy to carry. He stood with the guitar slung around his shoulders, letting the phrase of music circling through his mind settle down so that he could figure out how to finger it. Then he bent to power the amplifier on and raise the volume as far as it would go. The amp hissed, a sound like waves made before crashing onto a beach. This wave never washed ashore, only hovered, preparing to pounce, a permanent, threatening roar. He listened to the phrase of music again. It was simple, like so much of her music, but the power of it… Absolutely beautiful.

He cast the cord behind his right leg, adjusted the pick between his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes. He snapped the pick, skipping strings lining up full note bends. She wailed through the amp and, in the last stanza, he thought he heard the house rattle as if its wooden frame had been jilted off its foundation.

Sweat layered his chest and the shadows in the room whirled. Dizziness clouded his vision and he covered his face with one hand, stepping backwards to catch his balance, and clutching her against his side as he did so. He heard noises above, footsteps, then the squeak the basement door made as it swept past half-open. The dizziness lifted, the dark fog cleared and he saw his mother standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Your daadee won’t like it so loud,” she said. Her eyebrows were raised in fake doting, as if she was loving and giving him a nurturing warning.

The anger – he felt the other presence inside him leap. It came alive because she hadn’t asked where he’d been or why he’d run away, only told him what the daadee wouldn’t like.

“I should’ve known that’s what you would say,” Garren said, his voice little more than whisper.

The amplifier hummed, its harsh roar threatening.

“You don’t want to make your daadee mad.”

Oh, God, how he hated that she called him your daadee what fucking right did he have to that title he’d never been a daadee never even been a father nothing but a sperm donor and he’d probably been angry about that, too, Jesus, the way she said it Daaaaaaaa-Deeeeeee like she was coddling a baby – a fucking baby!

“By daaadee you’re referring to that hateful guy who lives here? The one who’s never said one nice thing to me ever?”

Garren liked the look on her face, an instant mix of shock and fear. More so, he liked the way it felt to put it there.

“Is that who you mean? The guy who made sure I hated myself every second of my life?”

He made a bar chord, the fingers of his left hand found it easily without needing his eyes, like they just knew where they were supposed to go. He slammed the pick across the top strings. The clash exploded and made his mother jump. His heart raced and he realized it wasn’t beating fast out of fear, but on adrenaline and excitement. He slammed the power chord again, then started riding the bass note. He moved to the root’s fourth position, aware that the chord change came instantly and without thinking about it. Then he muted the strings.

“Tell him I’m in the basement.”

She shook her head, bewildered.

“Tell him that I want to talk to him.”

She backed away and turned toward the stairs.

“Tell him I’m waiting.”

He watched her climb the stairs. His left hand tingled, a burning sizzle deep around his bones. The tears came a second later, a boiling stream of them, like they’d been simmering for decades. He didn’t bother to wipe them off his face. The heat of them felt good on his cheeks. Everything felt good.

In a little while, all hell was gonna break loose.

“Good,” he thought, “’bout time.”

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