Saving Laurel

30. Guitars & Sawdust

Wes Thompson

"You sure you're good?" My mom calls from the driver's window of her car.

I nod even though I'm not entirely convinced I am okay.

Ryan's arm lands on my shoulders, heavy like Sawyer's and anxiety surges through me. Not that it had to surge far, I've been anxious since we planned this.

But alas here I am and I'm trying not to think about anything that might possibly cause my tics to increase. Jokes on me right?

My head jerks to the left, momentarily stuck there with a grimace creasing my features but this particular tic did exactly what I was hoping it wouldn't. It crossed the line. And I repeat it to settle my OCD immediately following.

I love acquiring new ones. It's great.

This is definitely fine.

"I'll see you later baby!" My mom calls as she waves out the door and I'm not sure if she's talking to me or Ryan. The thought sits a little weird in my mind but I push it to the side as she leaves with one more wave.

"Ready?" He smiles big at me, excitement bubbling out of him.

Not really but I say "yeah" and as soon as he turns around I tic. And I allow myself to tic multiple times as we walk the short distance to his garage, hoping that it will give me a chance to get it out of my system so I can seem as normal as possible for as long as possible.

His garage, shop, whatever the technical term for it is a mess. Saw dust lays like a blanket on everything, scraps of wood decorating the floor, a hazard. Projects in various stages of completion.

"Here's some gloves and some glasses." He points in the general direction.

So I carefully pick my way over there wondering if it'd bother him if I at least picked up the scrap wood. What if someone tripped? Or stepped on it and rolled their ankle?

And then my mind makes the jump easily to asking the question has my mom been in here? What if she tripped or slipped or anything because this place is a mess. And if she fell there's so many things she's could have landed on or hit her head not to mention the concrete floor.

As if that's not enough, there's my old bookshelf, standing tall and sturdy because even I know there probably isn't anything wrong with it. Regardless it still haunts me with thoughts.

A backload of urges pile up, my discomfort rising as I continue to shift my gaze around and think of all the possible outcomes this garage could produce. Basically I'm spiraling down a tunnel and pretty soon I'm just going to fall apart but it doesn't matter how hard I try to divert myself I can't seem to block out the thoughts.

Ryan calls my name, breaking through my muddled mind long enough for me to turn and find him with my eyes.

I think he might have asked me something, his eyebrows raised as he watches me from across the large wooden table he's leaning across. But before I can ask him I see the body of a guitar behind him.

"What's that?" I ask, tic-ing through my question as my thoughts transfer over.

He follows my gaze to the area behind him and a soft chuckle leaves his mouth.

"I like to build guitars on the side. A little hobby." He tells me, wrapping his fingers along the neck of the guitar and swinging it onto the table in front of him.

"You play?" It's a dumb question but it's out of my mouth before I can stop it alongside a whistle.

He flashes me a grin again, his smokey eyes filled with something that looks a little like longing.

"Not as much as I'd like these days but yeah, I jam on occasion." He beckons me over to the guitar and I go willingly. "I haven't touched this guitar in a while, one day I'll get around to finishing it."

"Do you have (shoulder, neck, inhale, nose) others?"

His head bobs. "Yeah a couple in the house, want to see?"

Now that's a dumb question. Of course I do. Anything music related I want to know.

We leave the guitar where he placed it on the work table and I follow behind as he leads me into his house, noting as I go the overgrown flower beds that are more weeds than flowers.

"Just leave your shoes on." He tells me as he holds the door open.

Let's just breeze past this OCD, okay?

His house smells like sawdust, just like his garage but it's clean, sparsely decorated which I actually prefer. Less things to worry about it.

I follow him through a living room with an old wood burning stove that sits on a stone hearth. Even though it's warm out there's the lingering scent of smoke and pine that lingers as we pass. He steps through an open doorway, flicking on a light as he does and as I pass the threshold my eyes instantly find the few guitars hanging on the wall.

"Did you make all these?" The urge to tic grows but I force it down.

"All but this one." He points to a blue acoustic. "That one was my first guitar, I was probably about 12. Couldn't quite part with her."

Alright maybe just my normal tics. They're not that obnoxious, I think.

As I work through my cycle, Ryan plucks one of the guitars off the wall and holds it out toward me.

"Want to play?"

A grin spreads across my face as I take the guitar and breathe out my answer.

"I'm not that good." I tell him. "I only know a few chords."

He chuckles, taking the blue guitar off the wall and taking a seat on the couch that's in the room.

"I'll show you a couple things, have a seat."

He definitely doesn't have to ask me twice as I settle onto the couch beside him and get comfortable with the guitar in my hands.

"Hopefully they're not too out of tune." He muses as he strums the strings. We both cringe at the sound that emits and as Ryan laughs he looks at me and says "wishful thinking."

But I don't care. I'll gladly sit here and tune his guitar for him, my mind is focused, I'm relaxed and I gotta say for as stressed as I was about this I'm glad I'm here.

Bonus if I get to learn more on the guitar.

                              ———————

The hubs and I went out on our first date since this whole pandemic started. It was weird to be back in public again 😂. But I had some delicious fish tacos.