Tuning the Guitar Player

[6]

I stared at the note and carefully controlled my breathing for several long seconds. Parsley quietly clarified a couple of the more complicated scoring rules for the game and repeated them to herself. I looked over at her, attentively listened to her explanation of how things would get started, and then politely asked for the scoring pen on her side of the table.

Holding the paper close, I wrote out my reply.

“Go eat a fat, slimy shit beetle with diarrhea after it’s crawled out of your ass. If you dare to do anything to my guitar. If you dare to move one hair on her head out of the way, linger in her presence, or darken the sun in her eyes for one moment, I will summon all the energy I have to hunt you down in whatever wretched corner of reality you’re hiding. I will break the walls between us and make you regret you ever lived a day of existence, let alone sent me a single word of your presence. No matter what you do to me, you will not do anything to her or you, and every generation before and every generation after of whatever you are will rue the day that you ever did anything to Parsley. Am I clear?”

My heart was racing when I was finished, and I had thoroughly blanketed the paper with my missive.

I heard Parsley quietly ask me, “Are you all right, mm-uh…Tony?” My eyes carried traces of tears even though I had no idea where they came from. I cleared my throat and squeezed the note closed.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I was just writing something out… for myself. Excuse me a moment. Thank you for the instructions. I just need to take a quick stretch.” Parsley still looked concerned about me, but she didn’t say anything as I got up and squeezed the paper as though I could strangle the original message out of it and send an even stronger reply. There were no real covert yet obvious locations to leave the paper, so I just set my hand by a deep shelf full of role-playing books and laid it out of sight. No one said anything, and I quietly returned to my seat.

The actual game practice with Parsley was fun. She was so nervous about doing everything according to the rules. My poor girl was going to get warped from twisting herself in knots. When her frantic hands actually stopped moving for a moment, I reached across the table and rested my hands on them. She jolted with concern before relaxing against my touch. What she really needed was my independent confirmation that she had followed everything correctly. Unfortunately, the intricacy of the gameplay soon hit her. Just because you did what you were supposed to do didn’t mean you had the advantage.

Shuffling cards, peering really close at them, and adjusting her play area were all things she attempted. The problem was I could see that she wanted to be good at this almost as much as she desperately wanted to be good at the awkward forms of music available to her, whether between her legs or trying to understand how to hold another guitar. At the same time, she appeared to know, in at least a rudimentary way, that this was a competition with a winner and that idea made her eyes widen. I urged her that the only way to learn is to try. Same with music or the same with anything, you have to do it to get better at it. You’re going to suck when you start and for a long time before finding what’s comfortable and deciphering the way things are supposed to be played. Work at it, face challenges, and get better. No one can know what to do starting out.

She acknowledged this but still clung to the possibility that secrets and perfection would somehow click into place if she looked at or moved the right component at the right time. I gave her up a faint melody with a ditty containing fragments of what I wanted her to remember. She rocked her head and bopped to the mellow sound. I kept it quiet enough so as not to disturb the other, nearby players. I didn’t notice any dirty looks or sighs. Singing to Parsley amused me for all the obvious reasons and it seemed to do the trick as she released a breath, looked away from the rules, and set forth a series of cards as her initial challenge.

From what I gathered and understood of the game, it was a solid opening hand. However, I immediately saw flaws and points of attack in her alignment or whatever the game terminology called it. That didn’t mean I was going to exploit every opening she left me. I answered against one of her draws with a careful move. It didn’t take her long to realize not only that mistake but a few others she made while following the rules.

It was fascinating to see her hands clasped in front of her mouth as her curious little eyeballs bounced from one section of the play area to the other. She was thinking and feeling and working through so many thoughts. I found it staggering to imagine that mere hours ago she was a tool made mostly of wood. A lady Pinocchio touched by light and awakened as a real girl. Now it was my turn for the tears to really start showing up.

I quickly brushed them off as some random allergic irritation from being so close to the air vent. Parsley expressed quick concern, but accepted my continued reassurance that things were fine.

Somewhere in our follow-up round, I noticed that another paper appeared next to my hand which hadn’t been there mere moments ago. I meant everything I said… Although I wished that I had made some requests for my current condition, even though it would’ve blunted the point I was trying to make. Well, it was done. Whatever consequences I reaped were fine with me so long as nothing bad happened to my girl. Pulling in a steadying breath, I shifted the paper over to covertly unfurl and inspect it.

Written on it, prominently, was a single word.

“Gotcha.”

Even though it seemed to be confirmation of my… request, the simple reply still made my stomach drop about twenty feet past the ground. More text was added separately underneath a flap.

“Your friend will remain as she is, with all her qualities and talents therein, brightly and harmoniously expressed. Will that be all?”

That sounded like a carefully worded trap or a monkey paw wish granting with a tease to invite another wish to pervert. I knew what I wanted to ask. I knew a multitude of things to put to paper. Turn me back into a boy was at the top. Let me change my appearance circulated somewhere around there. Then followed requests to control aspects of my biology. Different name choices and modifications of my situation. I could fill the small scrap with so many things.

Weighing the wisest pick against my desire to vent again, I figured I had nothing to lose as I wrote out, “Turn me back into a guy or make the hot guy in the corner interested in me.” I added a few physical details to distinguish him from anyone else in the room. I kind of hated myself for writing that.

Before I could chicken out and scratch away my answer, I got up for another stretch and lingered my hand across the collection of genuinely interesting books. I wondered how Parsley might respond to a more fantastical variety of games. She clearly seemed to make the leap from a card just being a card to a card representing something within the rules and world of the game.

She was doing quite well with eight points for her and eleven for me when we finished the third round. I wasn’t pushing every advantage, but I was also sincerely competing. At some point, it was clear that the paper was gone. A reply didn’t pop up in a similar amount of time to the previous one. That was either a good sign or a terrible one. If this mysterious, invisible figure actually took my words seriously, then where did that leave me?

I might just poof back into Anthony. Parsley might be happy to see my real face, but it would present fresh complications. She would be on her own in the bathroom unless we found a unisex or family one. Hopefully, she picked up the important details. Clothing would get even more awkward. But she was mine. I would take care of her, no matter what happened.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

My answer eventually showed up when the hot guy finished up his game and ambled over to our end of the long table and deeply spoke, “Hello. My name is Curtis.“ His voice resinated…err resonated through me. I had to look away to gather up my resolve.

“Oh, hey. Curtis. How you doing? What’s up?”

He politely asked if he could sit with us. There were open chairs and I wasn’t going to push him away. Pars greeted him as a friend as I wrestled with how to introduce myself. He had a kind face and a relaxed demeanor but all the blood in my body felt like a wild sprinkler trying to set a new oxygen speed run. If I got a paper cut, I was liable to exsanguinate. A minor miracle that my brain cells were able to tackle enough oxygen to comprehend that word. That was the right word, right?

Curtis replied, “I just wanted to introduce myself because you seem cool. Never seen you around before. Having a good time? You two seem like you got the game down pat but I can offer up some advanced strategies that they don’t really cover in the manual.”

Was this a come-on? I could shove all sorts of innuendos into practically everything he was saying. I opted to be cautious. Uh…which questions to answer first?

“Oh, cool! It’s nice to meet you… Curtis! Yeah yeah… the t-the game…the game...the game is fun. Strategies sound nice. My… My name is Celestina…”

I swear my voice is rose and tittered like I was huffing helium. Curtis nodded. He had a luscious, relentless gaze like a magnifying disk for some Archimedes death ray. It was destroying my brain and all hope for rational thought. And I wanted more.

It didn’t matter what clothing bulkheads I had constructed through new purchases, I still felt like I was naked in his presence and he could see right through me. He lavished warm appreciation on my name, and I actually felt like it didn’t suck. Tina wrapped around his tongue, and it felt like he had me in his mouth. Pars was watching, and I felt a slight pang about what on earth I was teaching her. Pars…

I leaned back and took in the whole heap of Curtis. He was handsome with strength and he had softness, flowing hair, and a sharp jawline. Something bothered me though and it took a quick, quiet moment of running my eyes all over his form for it to finally click.

He looked just like what a guy version of Parsley would be. Fuck me… it was all there, from his leather jacket to his flowing hair, prominent lips, slim body shape, and welcoming mood. Did the invisible bitch know? Probably having herself the best laugh, whatever it was. My money was leaning towards trickster spirit.

The magic was broken though. What blissful attraction I had towards Curtis now felt like a disgusting sense of trying to smooch a sibling. He also seemed a little lost, as though awakening from a brief trance. He was soon looking for a reason to stand up and return to the other chair. Call me what you will, but I hung onto him for one last moment and stole a bold kiss from the side of his lips. Conflict traced his eyes as I offered up my phone number and he quietly accepted. Then, he went back.

It didn’t take long to finish our game. I just barely beat Pars and congratulated her on how close it was and made sure she knew it was fun. She appeared uncertain with recent events, processing all that Curtis and I said to one another, but soon perked up with delight and hope that we might play it again soon so she could learn even more about how to do it right.

We didn’t win the hourly raffle, it went to the big guy in the middle. But he overheard Parsley’s warm exuberance and offered to get her one of the small starter kits. That one lacked the flashy components from what we loaned for our match, but he assured her it would have everything she needed for a two-player competition.

Pars was practically beside herself with surprise and delight. She made absolutely sure with me, the owner, and the guy that this was all right. Following my example, she expressed her gratitude by kissing him. Oh boy… I was a bad influence. The dude had wide eyes and was at a loss for words as Pars shimmied and pranced around the store. He didn’t seem too bothered by the contact, but he definitely looked to me for an explanation. I probably could’ve mouthed the word “autistic”, but I was growing wary of leaning on that troublesome excuse.

As she delighted in a balletic display, Pars also belted out a full-throated melody even more exuberant than her effort in the guitar store. Everyone seemed to appreciate it. Passing behind her game gifter with the addition of a quick hug, I noticed that the big guy’s girth suddenly seemed to dwindle as his shirt receded to match. His light brown hair got extra puffy with a small bit dangling over his ears. His hesitant, socially shy voice softened and brightened with infused energy. What the fuck was going on?!

“Parsley…” I called out with a tinge of fear and uncertainty more than anger. My girl paused and looked at me with quiet curiosity before asking, “What is it?” The changes to the geek guy did not go away despite stopping her song. I cleared my throat and pressed on a smile.

“We should go get something to drink. And finish walking around the mall. And thank you to everyone here for your generosity, assistance, and warmth. We promise to come back often.” Pars snuggled her starter kit in a big plastic bag and we offloaded a few of our purchases into that. I wasn’t going to weigh her down even though she gladly accepted it last time. Getting out was priority number one before some action or melody of my guitar had further crazy side effects for the entire group.

The notion settled in my head that our gaming benefactor looked perceptively but faintly more like a girl than he had been when we first arrived. I wasn’t sure how to take that, but I had the fuming supposition that the invisible bitch had done something. No special note in the spot where I left them, on my person, or in my hands. I flashed a covert, quick middle finger in that direction though.

Relief and melancholy simultaneously infused my bones once we were outside. It was better with just the two of us, but I liked it there. Why did Pars’s singing voice do that though? Nothing like that happened with Bill. The old guy may have been a little chubby, but I would’ve noticed if he started developing boobs. That unseen jerk promised that she wasn’t gonna mess with my girl. Darn it…

Pars clung to my arm and pulled me back slightly. Nervous concern stretched across her features. “Mom? Oh, sorry. I didn’t check to make sure we were… we were completely alone. There’s…”

I pulled her close in an embrace. “Don’t worry about that. I’m sorry about rushing out of there. I got scared. Everything feels like a confused mess. I want to make sure you’re okay.” Something within urged me to say the L word with all its complexity and snarls, but I resisted.

Parsley squeezed me gently with the absolute confusion of tipping bodies and balanced bags. “Thanks, mom. It was a puzzle, and I felt full of so many things inside me I couldn’t touch. I had to sing or else I would’ve burst. So many things are such mysteries, but I want to learn as much as I can. I want to be with you and I wanna be where all sorts of people are. I’m still so small and weak in so many ways, but I promise to get bigger and better.”

I clung to her hands and looked her in the eye. “You are the biggest thing in my life, and I treasure every moment you share with me. I don’t understand a lot and I get upset and worried all the time. But you are great and beautiful. It’s going to be fine.” Parsley marveled at my words, and I would’ve been surprised by them as well if I stood apart from myself.

“Pardon me. May I have a word?”

An unfamiliar voice came from the side, too close for comfort as I clung to Parsley and took several careful steps back. It was a woman in silver jeans and a pale coat. She looked young, as though she were still in high school. Her skin had a modest but clear tan tone to it. She bowed her head and introduced herself.

“My name is Nadia Miray Baris, and I’d like to help.”