Clint walked in to the practice room with Ben's skateboard tucked under his arm.
"What the hell happened?!" Ben asked.
"What?" His tone was distant.
"Your arm!" Ben exclaimed.
"Oh. Right. I hit a Coyote on my way home yesterday."
"How?!" Ben exclaimed.
Clint yawned and sheepishly walked towards the guitar.
"I was going pretty fast. It came out of nowhere."
"Can you play?" Ben asked.
"I can try." Clint replied.
He opened the latches on the guitar case with his right hand. He picked it up by the neck and grabbed a chair. He tried the first few bars of Carry on my Wayward Son. Chord changes were either delayed or played wrong.
"You sound like like a bigger pile of shit than usual." Ben said.
"You're really going to diss on a disabled man?" Clint asked.
"You're hardly disabled and you're definitely not a man." Ben said.
"Don't I get at least some pity?" Clint asked.
"Only the dog deserves pity." Ben said.
"Coyote." Clint corrected.
"Hey guys, any luck at sounding competent today?" Lina asked as she walked in to the room.
"Opposite. Garbage collectors won't even touch Clint now." Ben said.
Stolen story; please report.
"Shut up." Clint said.
Lina still hadn't seen Clint's arm. Although, she did notice the large bandaid on his forehead. As she walked closer to the two boys Clint stood up and angled it away from her, hiding it with his torso.
"You know, something seemed off about your drums when I walked in. You should check the hi-hat." Clint said.
She was close. He'd put his arm behind his back. She kept trying to glance around but he twirled in a semi-circle and avoided her gaze.
"What are you doing?" She asked, jokingly.
"Nothing. Just felt like moving around. I've been siting too long." Clint said.
"Ah, then; you came extra early today?" Lina asked.
"It's Saturday, of course I did."
She was a few feet away from him. She quickly dashed behind him but he spun around before she saw the bandages.
"Just show her dude. You're going to end up making it worse. Watch, she'll tackle you." Ben said.
Lina stopped making arcs around Clint.
"Make it worse?" She asked.
"Don't get mad." Clint said.
He brought his arm forward.
"What the hell Clint." She said, plainly.
"It happened last nig-"
"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked.
"I didn't want to worry you. I wasn't sure how you'd react." He said.
"You could have bled out and I wouldn't even have gotten a goodbye." She said, with a strikingly melancholic tone.
Ben snickered.
"If I'd been on the verge of death I would have called. It's only a scrape."
She wiped an imaginary tear from her eyes.
"I'm sure I wouldn't even cross your mind. Same as last night."
Clint ran his good hand through his hair.
"You were my first thought. But-" he hesitated, "my phone broke."
"Really? How'd you text me good morning then."
"Telekinesis." He said.
She snickered.
"Can you play?" Lina asked.
"Not well." Ben replied.
"Yeah, my shoulder's still stiff and moving my hand quickly makes the pain flare up." Clint said.
"Well shit. So you're going to lose a few weeks of practice. We're already so behind." She said, mostly to herself.
"I can still practice." Clint said.
"You practice now; it's going to take longer to heal." She said.
Ben walked over to the chair where Clint had left his guitar and picked it up. Clint didn't notice him.
"I can't just sit on my ass till it heals." Clint said.
"You can still study. Learn the key's. Maybe study chord progression. Actually get to know theory." Lina said.
"Why would I do that." He said, disgusted.
"It would help you stop playing random chords every few measures. You could even start improvising and composing if you really dedicate yourself these next few weeks. We could open with an original song." She winked at him.
"That's so much work." He said.
"You said you didn't want to sit on your ass." She said.
"That isn't what I meant." He replied.
"I'll send you some YouTube videos and a few websites later. But, as of now, you are officially banned from playing on any guitars." She said.
"How are you going to enforce that?" He asked.