Tuning the Guitar Player
[8]
No breaking. I shed all the bags and clung to her.
“It’ll be OK,” I told her without any evidence to back that up. The glowing golden smoke thickened around her body, as though she were underwater and shedding luminous dirt or was made of a strange sand that was bleeding away. That last prospect horrified me, especially after what this Nadia said. Pars was fine until she showed up! Mostly fine. But this light, this glow, it appeared a little like what happened when Parsley first changed into a human. Was the invisible bitch going to take her back anyway?
If the friggin curious girl was worth her salt, then she would’ve known one way or the other! I fumed in her general direction despite my suspicion she didn’t deserve it. Elements of the crowd motioned and took some hesitant steps toward us but mostly stared at poor Parsley losing her footing. She wasn’t heavy, but I probably wouldn’t have been able to hold her up before all this. It was a frustration of feeling weaker than I used to though. Having to manage little girly limbs along with positioning myself with these Gigantosaurus hips and where my still scrambled sense of balance wanted to go, along with so many fleshy soft places. The messed up meatsuit.
More than anything else, I made absolutely certain to protect Parsley’s head as she fell down, even if it meant me getting crushed and bruised. At least I could use these stupid boobs for something.
I slid with her across the frigid tile and almost shot my glasses off my face and across the floor. One of the fallen bags helped with cushioning and I did the rest. Not pleasant, but I had her safe.
The pain took a while to settle in, so I gently brushed her hair and stroked her cheek as she weakly shifted in my grip with her eyes half closed and the strange shimmer still building. I attempted to brush it away, but it didn’t seem like it was reacting to me. No idea what that meant.
The gawping onlookers finally got their behinds in gear and rushed over when we were a sad pile on the tile. A few adjusted our bags and I immediately worried that they would run off with them. At least I had my stupid garish purse and phone secured on my person. Some words of concern scattered around us as I struggled to regain my footing on the chilling, slippery floor. One guy with strong hands actually managed to pull up the both of us as one mass. His hands felt nice on mine, but I did my best not to dwell on that. Parsley still couldn’t remain on her feet for more than a second of frail stumbling.
I begged fervently, from whatever force in the universe and other realities might listen to me and render aid, for strength. Somehow, I didn’t stumble, stagger, or fail. I brought Parsley up to her feet as her eyes cautiously widened and she found stability. The crowd backed up as I held her and started to maneuver her to somewhere she could sit and get her bearings.
Suddenly, she tensed up and froze in place. Before I could ask what was wrong, a noise suddenly burst out like a scream, a gasp, and a violent sneeze all coming at once. With that outburst, a bright blast spread out from her and echoed like a shockwave.
Several things happened in the aftermath. First of all, I swear I could taste colors. The vague brown and tan coloration of the floor had a synesthesia sensation like cookie dough ice cream, oddly sweet but strangely thick and muted. The brilliant golden wash was caliente, somewhere between a splash of lemon juice and biting into a striking pepper. The blue afterglow had the sensation of brisk toothpaste. The advancing smell of sounds, like butterscotch questions, hit me before this fusion confusion relented. Next, I found a solemn island of relief to see that Parsley stabilized. She flashed warm, chocolate-flavored awareness and energy while scanning for me.
When she found me, she squeezed over to my side and wrap her arms around me. It was like she possessed more stability and cognizance than me. That didn’t bother me, I was just glad to see her smile and know that she was okay. Then, the last thing hit. We were surrounded by women.
It wasn’t as though a crowd of women had pushed through the previous gathering and replaced them. Everyone in sight was a lady, a young girl, or an old woman. Without any potential ambiguity. The big muscular man on the side who lifted us up without breaking a sweat was now a blonde woman with concerned eyes and a little crest of hair arching from her forehead. Her face vaguely reminded me of the actress who played the child vampire in that remake of a Swedish film. Josh showed me both versions one night. The lady still looked tough, but was a fraction of what he had been.
A woman in dark brown in front of me had obviously replaced the man in red and brown flannel. She looked like she just came from yoga practice, Judging from her outfit and the neat, small hair bun pulled atop her head. A mom with shades of bleached blonde through her otherwise brown hair wore a collared white top with shredded jeans, golden bracelets, and bright blue nails. Quite a color combo…
Her two daughters clung with curiosity to her sides. I couldn’t help but imagine that last one used to be some sort of rocker years ago or in a previous life. And that was all I could catch before the group of women began to disperse, move, and circulate with women and girls approaching us and others deciding that we were none of their business. Some part of my senses wanted to be sick but, fortunately, it didn’t have access to my stomach.
The nicest ladies in the group got real close and made sure that we were both all right and not going to collapse to the ground again. I was actually the one who got carefully guided to the nearest table and chair to take a load off while Parsley supported me.
Our bags and possessions all arrived safely and the Good Samaritan ladies eventually let us go. I was torn between the scope of what just occurred and wanting to squeeze the rejuvenated Parsley against me and never let her go. Everyone, literally everyone, was female.
The girls at the hotdog stick place. The Asian women at the little Chinese restaurant. The chatty girls with high eyebrows at the Greek place to the side. The women working at the small Taco Bell kiosk. The exhausted ladies behind the counter at Sbarro‘s. On and on and on. Crowds waiting to be served food were girls in their early teens, older moms, cane-clad grandmas, and even a handful of goth girls rocking a punk look even while still distinctively female.
I had no idea what to think. Had anything happened to me? Those accursed boobs certainly hadn’t gone anywhere, nor had they swollen to ghastly, watermelonious proportions. They were still a vast, bothersome size but hadn’t attempted titty jailbreak or pulled off a leavening. And I didn’t have them before today. Nor did I have any other female aspect. I knew that at least.
My name was Anthony Moretti even though reality and life tried to rebrand me as Celestina Moretti. It seized my guitar and made her cooch a six-string instrument. That sentiment made me wince though and not for the reasons that felt familiar. The sentiment burned like uncouth fire to my internal ears. I don’t curse a hell of a lot but my ideas fly unbidden with unfiltered language. It was like a part of me worried that Parsley could feel me saying bad words and wanted to do better for her sake.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
I squeezed her shoulder and held her against me. Parsley grinned. “I’m feeling better now. I’m not sure what happened, but it felt like something inside me is wrong or a string snapped. I couldn’t hold myself together, but you were there. I released everything, but I was worried it was gonna be like the bathroom and I was gonna make you sad and leave a mess and do other bad things. You’re not mad, are you?”
With all my concentration focused on her eyes, I calmly smiled and made sure she knew with absolute certainty, “I’m not mad. Things don’t make sense but please don’t ever feel worried that I might be mad at you. I love you.” Had I used love before? The word both felt perfectly appropriate and yet immensely awkward. The way I had explained it before with her being so big, treasured, and beautiful planted it firmly in the words that she knew and used. Would love make any sense to her? Did it make sense to me or feel like a word that had any business coming out of my mouth?
Somehow, Parsley‘s eyes widen again to the point she was like an animated cat translated into human form. All the tension in her face fell away and the years seemed to recede to make her like a kid despite practically matching me in age. Instead of bounding excitement and giggling enthusiasm shot through with concentrated sugar, everything about her relaxed and she rested against me with true comfort. I was her mom, even though I really still had no idea what that meant.
At precisely the same time, Parsley‘s stomach protested that it wasn’t getting enough attention with a ravenous gurgle and my phone went off with an urgent, simplified version of a Van Halen song. The call was from my aunt and uncle checking in. My uncle picked up and, to my relief, he hadn’t spontaneously grown boobs. Well, I mean he could’ve done that, but he retained the voice I was familiar with. Which meant that whatever happened with Parsley stopped before getting to their house. At least we hadn’t completely messed up the world.
The absolute mass of women all around us soon shuffled out for a light mixture of men emerging from other parts of the mall and perhaps somewhere in the parking lot, which shortened the possible spread of that weird wave to even less of an apocalyptic level. Still, I couldn’t help but find myself quietly and fervently apologizing to each and every girl around us who hadn’t been one mere minutes ago. Clearly, invisible bitch was the responsible party. Calling her that didn’t fluster my strangely maternal sensibilities.
My aunt and uncle briefly circled around the subject that they were calling for, at first bringing up the weather and whether I was eating, but soon mentioned that my parents received a bizarre note from Cressman University’s administration office that events occurred. Their minds immediately went to some sort of active shooter, disaster, fire, or something else horrifying. Why my parents didn’t bother calling themselves didn’t strike me as much of a mystery, which meant they had been relatively unchanged despite my sex flip.
My uncle did place far more emphasis than usual on whether I was being social, adept with my studies, roommates were treating me fairly, and so forth. It was my aunt who seemed totally out of character with a sweetly casual embrace and curiosity about details of my life I had no idea how to express in any form she wanted to hear. It was curious to me that the university comprehended that something had gone wrong with the world and reality while everyone and everything outside that sphere just thought that this was the way things had always been. This had to be an absolute feces fair back at the dorms. Despite being transformed in transit, I didn’t regret dodging the girls storm.
We talked for a while as families always do, no matter how my life and reality shuffled. They offered me free dinner and a ride to their place. Stay over for the night, explain what’s going on as uselessly as possible, and enjoy my aunt’s amazing pickle soup. The wrinkle that I had a guest didn’t fluster either of them or invite pointed questions. It was still up in the air how the nature of things decided to resolve Parsley, if it was going to at all. So long as it settled that she would continue to exist. That simple true… I would fight for with every fabric of my being and flicker of my soul.
Even though my aunt would thoroughly and relentlessly feed Parsley and anyone else who walked through her door, I wanted to soothe the vocal rumblings. I passed along detailed instructions for when and where they could pick us up outside of the mall and then went snack hunting. Several possibilities spilled out in front of me.
Sushi got a quick veto for price and complexity. A burger didn’t seem too bad but raised too many questions. Some lamb meat wasn’t too pricey, but I felt a little sheepish about feeding the flesh of a living being to my guitar as her first real meal. Ultimately, you probably couldn’t go wrong with a cookie. A massive, everything cookie trying to challenge the bagel type. We split one.
Her reaction reminded me of an online video of a baby experiencing ice cream for the very first time. She went back for swift seconds and thirds with just a glance in my direction to confirm. The vast majority of the cookie went to her along with a foamy fruit juice. I could feel the contented appreciation. The warmth inside her was enough to keep even the longest season happy in my heart.
We walked along the back end of the mall, never quite making it to the fancy pants plaza section adorning the outdoors. It would be getting dark soon and the muted protest of my body from the full-contact events of the day were approaching a level I wouldn’t be able to suppress for long without a soothing shower. I grabbed a steaming slice of floppy cheese pizza from a stray cart vendor because it was cheap and I would be remiss as an Italian if I didn’t at least let her try it. She chomped enthusiastically through the cheese, marveling at the way it stretched and dangled. Her gusto nearly got her mouth burned but she was a quick study about blowing and shifting the food like a hot potato. A long sip of relief from the fruit drink put out the fire.
To the left, I noticed a comic book shop which I didn’t typically frequent. The windows were reserved for the latest iterations from Hollywood and Disney with a small, careful fragment set aside for storylines involving Superman’s Kandor. A clever, complicated little prop illustrated all the necessary details. I wasn’t intimately familiar with it, but Josh had exposed me to enough random animated works that I recognized it. Still, it was strange that my eyes settled on it so naturally. The exuberant Guardians and Ant-man displays should’ve instead caught my eye, but I remained with Kandor. Randomly, my heart raced.
I thought for sure I saw someone standing behind the window display who hadn’t been there moments ago. But it was empty. Parsley held up a gooey, generously cheese-laden morsel of pizza to share with me. I accepted it with a smile even though it was lackluster cheese, canned sauce, and crunchy bread.
It represented a low bar to blow into the stratosphere when I soon presented her with homemade pizza. I couldn’t wait to share it and so many other wonderful things with my special girl.