(COMPLETED STORY)
Uncorrected draft, under revising.
While everyone believes he's dead, Isla is still determined that her younger brother is alive and in need of help somewhere. Isla's brother, Grayson, had a mental obsession with clues and patter...
"Hide not your talents, they for use were made, what's a sundial in the shade?" - Benjamin Franklin
*****
Guitars were hung on the sky blue walls, different sizes, diverse colors, a variety of models. Some where signed by artists I had no idea who were, probably country singers, I suspected. Grand pianos were exhibited beside the guitars, I walked over to one of them.
My fingertips lightly traced the keyboard, from one side to the other without pressing down. The moment reminded me of my toddler years, when I used to take piano lessons. I wasn't especially great at it, but I had learned to play a few children songs.
As a kid, loving those private lessons were a bewilderment to my parents. I had always been a quiet kid, very much unlike Grayson who had always been all over the place. Being shy was always my first senseless preference, never daring to talk to strangers. Developing relationships as a kid had also been hard, while everyone made friends I was in the corner doing my homework.
Although, as I grew up, naturally, I matured. My insecurity faded and was thereafter replaced with vague boldness. Talking to my classmates was also an advantage on the 'social' section of my grades, a surprising delight to Maman.
My mom had always pressured me to be more social, always telling me to go speak to this and that. Ordinarily, I shrank away shyly. Hiding my face in Maman's stomach, I was barely able to hug her. I was too small, my hands to short to reach her back.
Someone was playing the guitar divinely, I began to hum to the sound. Mozart. I left the piano and turned around to see Nick holding one of the instruments. His fingers expertly fiddling with the perfectly tuned strings, I had never heard Mozart been played on a guitar. The fact that he was performing Mozart on that particular instrument was somehow strange, but the intact music was far from strange.
I realized he hadn't caught me watching him, he was too caught up in his playing. His eyes followed his fingers working on the strings, moving his head to the melody. After playing the last note, I unexpectedly started clapping. He looked up at me, startled for a second but then began laughing. I stopped clapping, amazed at his skill.
"What was that?" I grimaced.
"Symphony No. 40," he chuckled, ignoring my real question. "It was nothing, I just used to play guitar a bit, back in London," he looked embarrassed.
Why would he in a million years be embarrassed?
"A bit, you say? It sounds like you've been playing for years!"
"Yeah, I don't know," he reached out to hang the guitar back on the blue wall, awkwardly dropping the subject. Nick was always "hiding" his talents, his ambitions, dreams. I didn't think I would ever understand his reasons, if there even were any. We walked out the store.
"God help you," I sighed under my breath, hoping he wouldn't hear it. But he did. Nick looked at me and started laughing.
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