Chapter 1: An Odd Friend
"Your sorry eyes
They cut through the bone
They make it hard
To leave you alone..." The city was rather quiet this time of day, no car alarms and sirens blaring off in the distance, no horns honking and raucous shouts of road rage sounding from the nearby interstate, nothing. It was weird to her to hear such things, to be able to hear the cool autumn breeze whip through the abandoned alleyway, the soft, gentle whisper of impending winter, the little chirps and chimes of songbirds and pigeons flocking to their nests to prepare for the cold snap ever encroaching. And of course...there was the other sound she loved to hear so much... She strummed her guitar softly with her pick, her fingers gracefully moving up the frets and playing every chord precisely, closing her eyes and singing to herself, letting the music take her...elsewhere.
"Leave you here
Wearing your wounds
Waving your guns
At somebody new..." The man sitting beside her in the alley, a grizzled looking thirty-year old with tired, bloodshot eyes and five o clock shadow, only a pair of dirty, ripped up Arizona blue jeans, a dull gray beanie atop his head, and an M-65 olive green field jacket to shield him from the brisk air, sighed listening to her melody in peace. He seemed to enjoy the music quite a bit, given the gentle smile etching across his hard, dry features. The second verse though...his eyes misted over a bit upon hearing hit, his calloused, rugged hand reaching into his jacket to caress a pair of old, rusty dog tags, but a piece of his dismal past. Two bits of metal that read:
MICHAEL J. WINTERBOURNE, UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS. AFGHANISTAN; 2006"Baby you're lost
Baby you're lost
Baby you're a lost cause.
I'm tired of fighting, yeah
I'm tired of fighting
Fighting for a lost cause..."And with a last, resonating strum of the strings, her last lyric sung, she sighed and set her guitar aside.
"...Wow." Was all
Mike had to say. He stood up, giving a nice applause clapping his hands together, his smile a bit wider now than his usual wry expression.
"Not bad, kid. So that's how you scored fifteen easy. Here I was thinking you were hooking or slinging dope.""What? Fuck no." Liz chuckled pulling the hood of her jacket up over her head.
"I ain't that fucking desperate. I just started playing my guitar and then...people just gave me money. I didn't really think it was that good.""You kidding?" Mike laughed, his hand falling hard on her shoulder, though he meant well.
"You got some talent, kid. Don't sell yourself short. People like music. It keeps their mind off things, or...it helps them remember..." His voice trailed off somewhat, his smile fading slightly. Liz furrowed her brows, her eyes filling a tad with concern.
"Shit. Hey man, I didn't mean to..."Mike shook his head.
"It's all good, Liz." He murmured wringing his hands together to keep them warm.
"My time in the Corps, Afghanistan...it's part of who I am now. Can't change that, even if I wanted to." He looked over at Liz, his smile starting to return. Liz smiled as well.
"Hey, I'm gonna go grab something to eat. You want anything?" She said staggering to her feet and dusting herself off.
"Just a cup of coffee and a few donuts." He replied.
"Watch your back out there, kid. Gangs have been getting bad lately. Some poor ass got his head blown off just the other day for walking on their turf.""I'll be alright.""I mean it, kid. You be careful.""And you lay off the booze." Liz smarted back, but in good spirits. Mike, of course he knew he killed a bottle of Jack every day, so he just shrugged it off. Liz was one to always poke his sides. The girl ambled away down the alley, disappearing from his sight behind a brick wall.
The city, only 8:30 in the morning and it was just starting to come alive. The laughter of children, about the only shred of innocence left in the dingy ghetto, could be heard as buses pulled up to take them to school, a stark contrast to the sounds of distant gunshots, police sirens, and heavy bass speakers blasting hip-hop's finest throughout the city streets. Not to mention the average drone of a jet flying over about to land at the nearby airport. Twas a dangerous place, the city, but still...she would rather be here than where she was before.