Suzie’s House 355 : When He Plays, No One Speaks

“I think I might have killed my father.”

Gene dropped that bomb shell, then started playing his guitar with an intensity that made Tracy stumble. He was playing Last Man Standing, one of their newest songs. Bruce was still standing behind his keyboard, so he jumped in right away.

Then everyone was scrambling for their instruments. Tracy never got a chance to ask what he meant. She’d set her bass in a stand by the practice room door and ended up the last to join in on the song. It was all kind of dramatic. But it didn’t necessarily mean anything, did it?

“The bouquet of victory, the acrid smell of defeat…” Emma sang with feeling even as she fumbled with her little black practice session mask.

Maybe too much feeling. The words had seemed great when Tracy put them down on paper, but now she wasn’t so sure.

She glanced at Gene. No way he really killed anyone. He just wasn’t that kind of guy. But he didn’t usually tell great big lies either.

He was getting better and better at lead guitar, but she still thought they should switch instruments. How could she get him to do it? When she tried before, he pointed out that his guitar used to belong to Kurt Cobain. I wasn’t about to hand it off to anyone, even her.

Which just made her feel more insecure about being his girlfriend. He’d never been that big a talker, but now he didn’t even want to kiss her much. Like last night when that Drew guy showed up. She and Lisa had gone to Gene’s house for dinner and to hang with Gene and Ben, but Gene wasn’t there. She hung around as long as she could, but he never turned up.

She didn’t matter as much to him as his guitar. And maybe not as much as his dad, either. Was he avoiding her now?

“It’s a disease,” Emma sang.

“Quarantine, quarantine,” Tracy and Kate sang in the back ground. It was the first time Tracy had tried to add background singers to one of her songs. But now it sounded stupid.

Maybe it was just her, because she couldn’t get her head in the right place. Or maybe she didn’t have any talent as a song writer. All the good songs she’d written were co-written with Bruce, weren’t they.

And how come Gene didn’t mind that she spent so much time with Bruce? Wasn’t he even a little bit jealous? That didn’t seem like a good thing to Tracy. She glanced at him again.

The knuckles on his strumming hand were raw and scabbed over.

She couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten into a fight, though she knew he used to do it a lot. Could he really have killed his father? If he’d gotten into a fight with the old man? Why would he even see the guy? And why hasn’t he told her?

“Because I am the last, the last, the last man standingggggggg.” Emma’s voice strained at the end and she closed her eyes either to savor the moment the song ended or in pain. Tracy wasn’t sure which.

Justin hit the gong, spoiling whatever mood Emma had created. Everyone put their instruments down.

“Nothing’s right,” Tracy said. “The words, that progression after, ‘Take the hill’ and the gong at the end. It sucks. It all sucks.”

“Well, pardon me for not playing well,” Bruce snarled.

“It’s my crappy song writing, not your playing,” Tracy snapped back. “Let’s not play this one at the gig you were talking about. I’m going to have to rebuild it from the ground up.”

“Oh, thank God,” Emma said as she slumped into a chair. “I was afraid I’d have to say something.”

Everyone except Tracy laughed. Tracy was too busy trying to find a way to ask Gene all the things that needed to be asked.

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