It was a bright dawn, marred by the cold winds that blew west against town. There was that seasonal change bringing about an end to the summer months, and well it makes sense to enjoy these times. I would’ve gone out there, and done something like raking away the leaves for neighbors, making a few bucks and spending it on whatever I could think of.

Yet, it felt like nothing was happening. It was just so boring and it drained the mood out. I felt as though a ghost had just taken over, and apprehended to the confines of my bedroom. I tried reaching for my special magazine, which was on my right (I intended on reading). But, my flailing arms made it slide down and onto the floor.

Then, a knock on the door happened. It was by far the most interesting thing to happen. It opened and my aunt walked in. She was not a bad woman, I swear, but the face she’s putting really makes me question myself. It felt like she wanted something from me. I helplessly just remained lying on my bed, holding the shit in.

“Neil.” Her voice nastily screeched against my ear. “What are you doing just lying down here? You’ve not been keeping up with the quota, you lazy boy.”

I kept silent, throwing a fake snore.

“...I know you’re awake.”

I had one of my eyes peek once or twice, and a shudder of fear wracked my body at that moment. She bent over, and had my magazine in her hands. Oh dear, oh dear… I wanted to jump out, and snatch it from those fingers, but she lingered about staring at me for what felt like the saddest years of my life, rearing a few smug laughs at me, before she went back down to do her pedicures. I hope she doesn’t ask me to pick her nails up, they’re nasty.

I hopped off the bed stretching and yawning. I wiped the tears off his face, and went straight to the bathroom. I grabbed the doorknob, and tried pushing it open. It was locked. I bet that she’s in there. My older cousin, Stella. She’d often spend most her time wading away in the bath, and while she may be off many’s game, she’s stuck in the shed and is a big ass tool.

I pounded on the door.

“Who’s that?” A voice echoed through the door.

“Open up…” He yawned. “Stella? Are you in there?”

“Yes, now go somewhere else you perv. I’m taking a bath here!”

“...Sigh, fine Stella.”

I then promptly went downstairs, still in a dreamy but now cynical daze. It was hardly in my best case to continue waiting in that bathroom. If anything, I would’ve walked down the stairs immediately, but here’s the thing. I wanted to take a bath too. I took out a pizza that was hanging around in the fridge, and took a slice or two. My aunt loved pizzas, especially those from Motown, and she’d often stop by a pizzeria there while working. Although, if Gramps and Grammy see this food in their fridge, they’d probably rile up and tell us to eat something more healthy like corn soup.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Speaking of which, they’ve not yet returned from their trip in Europe.

Then, the doorbell rang.

“Morning, Neil.” Roger waved, nuzzling on his scarf. Right on my face.

“Morning, Roger.” I smiled.

Roger was my next door neighbor, and lives right across the street. He had that hairstyle every boy had since the mania went in full swing and was a tall boy for his age, and quite athletic, although fall would fatten him up. Today, he was hardly acting normal. He had this… this happy-go lucky face on him. It was unnerving.

“Did you hear?” He continued, “They’ve released another album!”

“Really, Roger? Who’s they?”

“You know who’s they!”

He was unusually ecstatic, which could only be his favorite band, and the chill from the outside was getting to me. I invited him in, and he would get more hyper. I noticed a blue spot on his face, but before I could ask him anything about it he continued his Beatle small talk.

“I’ve heard from Keith and Georges that the album’s available at the record store a few miles away from town, but they’re being sold out. Neil, do you have some cash on you? I really wanna listen to that album.”

“I’ve not a lot of money.” I shrugged. “Isn’t your dad a rich banker?”

“What do you mean?” He looked at me confused.

“Forget about it.”

“Alright, well I’ve got nothing to do. What do you think we should do?”

“Maybe… We could play in the basement.”

“You and me alone? But we sound terrible together!”

“Well you know Georges can’t play at the moment. You know what, follow me. We gotta get the instruments.”

I stood up from the couch, and went to the staircase. Behind it, was another set of staircases. I flicked the switch and tumbled my way downstairs. The basement was furnished well with antiques that Gramps owned. He’d tell me not to touch them, but the basement was simply full of the furniture, and therefore impossible to avoid. I did my best to avoid them, and went to the empty space that lurked behind most of it. A shiny brass saxophone, an disconnected amp, an electric bass and two guitars, one electric, sat on the rug.

“Neil,” Roger piped up, asking a question. “Why do you keep the instruments here? Why don’t you just keep them upstairs in your room?”

“Stella hates the sound, she’s intimate with her baths.” I replied. “Well Roger, pick one instrument. I’m gonna take the saxophone.”

“The sax?!” He said surprisingly. “...Fine, I’ll get the Les Paul. I hope the sound doesn’t get drowned out by the furniture.”

“It’ll be fine. I’ll ask Gramps if I can reorganize the antiques and turn this into a cozy set. We can do gigs for our pals, and if I save up enough, maybe I can buy that album you wanted!”

“Really? I’ll help you with it then.”

Roger plugged in the guitar to the amp, and I began cleaning my sax reed. Then, we began playing imitations of old jazz songs from the 20s or some blues songs. We both agreed on the following.

We weren’t that good, but we were decent. It’s like a divine comedy. Roger looked like he enjoyed it, but I always glimpsed at that bruise on his face. It brought me some questions that may or may not be answered, and traveling on three lanes that Roger may or may not be being beaten.

But whatever the case, Stella came rushing downstairs and told us to play music and not shit. She looked like a rather wet dog in those bathrobes. Roger looked disheartened when she said it, but I just told her to buzz off. We continued to play until lunch, and Roger had to leave by then.

Not bad for a day that seemed to bore me.