Taylor

Friday, December 16th, 2010.

The boy next door, Walt he said his name was, shut his window before I could question how he knew that. Well, hearing dad's truck coming down the road quickly answered the question. He's home on time tonight, wonder if he'll make dinner tonight. More than likely not, leftovers and takeout are most likely. I hear the door open and Dad lumber into the living room, my cue to come down, anything would be better than lingering at my window. There's nothing on the kitchen table, Dad's snoring clues me in; he must have fell asleep the second he sat down.

I don't really have an appetite and I'd rather not wake Dad up. So back upstairs I go, back to my room, and back to thinking about that downright bizarre conversation I just had. I know Dad is acquainted with the family that lives in the house next door, the McCullough family, I think that's their name. Never seen any company over at their house, same two cars, whenever I look. I thought hard, he made no mention of when he got in, but I can safely assume that he got in the same day he started staring at my win-

The house. He said he was staring at the whole house, as much as I don't believe that. Today's Friday, that means Tuesday he must have got in, probably in the early morning or while I was at school. He looks about my age, but nobody new was in my classes. He's got the rugged look that a lot of The Trio and their hangers on would gossip about and he had that accent. Oh how those girls would sigh and swoon over that accent!

Ugh!

What even is that accent?

Better question; who in their right mind would willingly move to this hellhole? This is the kind of place people move away from not move to. Still, he must be in a bad way if he has to move here of all places. I should apologize for snapping at him, I really should. Tomorrow, tomorrow I'll apologize, and then with any luck he doesn't end up going to Winslow, and barring the awkward social courtesy of "Hey neighbor" we'll never interact with each other ever again.

Walt

Saturday, December 17th 2010, 1:20 PM

I thank any and all gods who would care to listen for the invention wool lined jackets, I thank my grandparents for shipping me to the east coast as opposed to some gods-forsaken hot and humid year round locale. My appearance catches the eyes of a few passersby, I imagine it's rare in this part of the country and so far from anywhere rural for someone to be walking around with a black cattleman, aforementioned wool lined jacket, and honest-to-god cowboy boots with spurs that go jingle-jangle-jingle.

Don't judge me, I only had so much time to pack and I didn't quite have the time to find my damn steel-toes. If I'm going out looking like I just came off the set of some western I'm committing to the look. Grandpa Finn and Grandma Saoirse didn't seem to mind when I came downstairs this morning in the getup, if anything they seemed delighted.

The morning routine in the McCullough house seemed to be as follows; Finn and Saoirse get up at the same time around 5am, they have their morning shower soon after. Once their morning grooming is done, Finn comes down to brew coffee around 5:30 while Saoirse is finishing up her shower. While coffee is brewing he gets started on breakfast, Finn has a list of meals written down on a calendar sticking to the fridge by a magnet by day and meal, on further inspection breakfast is usually some hearty affair fitting for a full family of four rather than just a husband and wife. Finn and Saoirse seem to be in relatively good health for people their age but I do not know when, where, or how they exercise. Maybe it's good genes? Breakfast is served at 6am sharp just in time for Saoirse to head down with a large smile and a skip in her step, befitting a woman a few decades her junior rather than the kindly old woman she appeared to be. After food is plated and the table set, breakfast begins. In stark contrast to the morning meals held with Grandfather, Finn and Saoirse engage each other with loving and warm banter and attempt to include me into the conversation. Breakfast at the Connolly family ranch was always a cold and quiet procession, Grandfather didn't believe in spoiling breakfast with conversation. I've done my best to oblige Grandpa Finn and Grandma Saoirse, but I have always had little to say and was never one for small talk. This morning's conversation topic did not seem to follow the pattern the past two days held when Finn and Saoirse were sharing knowing glances before staring at me with mirth and mischief in their eyes. I waited a solid three minutes before breaking the silence, I really don't enjoy doing that.

"Is there something wrong?" I ask with as much respect and as polite as I can manage. I've been told I have an issue with tone when I speak. Personally never understood that

Finn merely chuckled into his coffee as Saoirse got up and gave me a hug. Another change I am not used to. I stiffen a little at the physical contact but do nothing to get out of it, it'd be rude.

"Aw wee lamb…" she said with an Irish accent before resuming in that vague New England accent "Not even three days in town and already courting the girl next door…"

Finn put on a faux stern expression and pointed his coffee mug towards me "Now listen here lad, we will have no shenanigans in this house. No going off at all hours of the night trying to woo the fair maidens of Brockton Bay, y'hear?"

His grin returned as he took a sip of his coffee, cream and seven sugars, while Saoirse began patting my back. I sighed and slumped into my seat as I replied.

"I take it you heard me last night?"

Saoirse returned to her seat to the left side of the circular table. "Of course, dear. Walls aren't that thick and the both of you were speaking rather loudly."

I resisted the urge to slam my head into the nice table. "I don't suppose either of you know a suitable peace offering to a teenage girl you have been unknowingly staring at her bedroom window this whole time?"

I immediately regretted my choice of words as my grandparents gave each other that damn look to each other, a look that seemed to say "This is something you will have to figure out on your own, kid"

If I could have slunk further into my chair without falling to the floor I would have. Luckily the conversation soon shifted to what we'd be doing today.

Which brings us back to the present, I already knew what was needed for the future semester and getting those supplies was quick. The most rugged backpack I could find, notebooks, binder, paper, and finally pens. I refuse to get pencils, they are suited only for drawing, not turning in work. Anybody man who says otherwise is a coward. Checkout was quick, which left ample time for my grandparents and I to head to a thrift store Saoirse said she swore by.

I took in the city streets as we drove. While the largest city I'd ever been too was Cheyenne back in Wyoming, this place was nothing like it beyond the architectural style a few buildings had. Cheyenne had it's seedy areas, this whole cesspit seemed a seedy area. Even the "nice" part of town. I tuned out Grandma Saoirse's explanation of where we were and what could be found, I had no intention of lingering anywhere. I may just try my hand at online shopping if it'll keep me from wandering about this shit-hole. How the hell did people live like this? How the hell could people let a city fall apart then act as if there was nothing wrong? I doubt I'd ever get the answer to those questions, or at the very least satisfying ones. The car was slowing down, and Finn pulled us into a parking spot under a tree. I guess we're here.

When I got out of the car and looked around I did not spot any thrift store, what I did see was a welcome surprise. Something I did not think I'd see in a city like this; a hand carved sign hanging off a rather sturdy looking awning "Wayland's Western Wear and Leather-working" was carved into it.

Finn clapped his hand on my shoulder as he gestured to it "I figured you'd like it. Saoirse found it on her way home from the thrift store the other night, she had to make a detour after some road work was being done on that road."

Grandma Saoirse went on ahead to hit the crossing signal, I looked to Grandpa Finn and gave my thanks. When we finally got into the store we were greeted by an old man manning the counter, he had a name-tag on that said "Wayland". My guess is he's the owner. Taking in the store, the racks were neatly organized, the counters clean, and the fluorescent bright making the store very visible. The whole shop seemed to welcome any and all who set foot within its walls.

The prices here were fair, and it seemed most of his revenue came from the leather-working and leather repair judging by the pricing chart on display behind the counter. Hefty pricing, too. He must be getting a lot of return customers if he's still in business. Hell the man had everything I needed in this store; shirts, jeans, belts, and actual work boots, not just the kind I'd wear to a rodeo. I just may become a return customer myself.

I came out with two tall paper bags with enough clothes to last me for the foreseeable future, and two pairs of boots; both steel-toed, both suitable for hard work, though I would still have to purchase a pair of sneakers for physical education and possibly suitable gym shorts or sweats. Either way, my shortage of clothes was all but rectified, my school supplies were bought, and all that was left was to head home.

As we left the store, Finn stopped me and pointed at my face "You got something on your face their kiddo."

I don't feel anything. Wonder what he's going on about, I walked a bit to the next-door shop's window to check myself in its reflection. Nothing out of the ordinary, hair was still short and light brown, still clean shaven, eyes are still blue, my mouth wasn't open, so I doubt it was something in my teeth. Ah!

I was smiling, for the first time since coming here I had a genuine smile on my face. Hmm, guess that was Finn's idea of a jape or a jest. It was then I noticed what was in the shop window; a very tarnished flute and almost destroyed case.

I took in the sad state of the instrument, it seemed to still be in one piece but was covered in rust and stained with some old filth. Yet another thing I hated; people mistreating tools of any kind. What kind of scum would mistreat such a precision crafted object and then sell it to some secondhand store for a pittance? All the love and craftsmanship undone by the foolish and shortsighted. Hell, the inside of the case even had a name embroidered on the inside, Annette Rose-Hebert…

Could be a coincidence, a common name, could be completely unrelated. The embroidery of the hyphen and Hebert were an off color, more than likely a different brand or even different color shade than the original, a later addition.

"What'cha looking at Walt?" Saoirse's voice broke my stare with the embroidery, and I took a breath before answering.

"The flute in the window, the person who used to own it's name was Annette Rose-Hebert. Any relation to the Heberts from next door?"

Her silence did not alleviate my concerns. I turned my head to look at her, and the grimace on her face gave me the answer I was dreading. Finn walked over to her and embraced her with one arm.

"Annette was Daniel's wife, Taylor's mother. She passed away two years ago, hit and run. That is most definitely her flute, Saoirse here did the embroidery herself back at the shop." he said, this was the first time I had heard him without a voice full of mirth. "Daniel never really recovered and Taylor took it especially hard. She used to talk the ear off of anyone who would listen, and was filled with so much life. You'd never know it by looking at her now."

Shame. One of them must have lashed out at the flute and sold it then.

"But what on earth is it doing in a pawnshop window of all places? Daniel and Taylor would never toss something of Annette's away like that nor would they mistreat one of her most prized possessions." Saoirse said with mournful curiosity.

And I am instantly proven wrong, I hope so anyway. I don't know how this flute got here, but I cannot just leave it here to rot. This wrong must be righted. The price tag was faced away from any angle I could see into the store from, I'd have to ask the clerk within for a price. I made for the door, but stopped when I read the sign. I turned to Finn and Saoirse, their expressions cluing me in on their understanding my intentions

"Cash only?" he pointed out the sign in the door "Come on honey, let's find an ATM"

I nodded my thanks to them before they went off and with my resolve steeled and ready I walked into the pawnshop. Whereas Wayland's store was well kept, welcoming, and friendly this pawnshop was in every aspect its opposite. The inventory was all in various states of disheveled or disrepair, the floors were caked in ages old stains and filth, and the stench of cheap menthol cigarettes and ammonia filled the air. The man behind the counter was watching something on a small TV, I did not care enough to note what it was. I say man, but he could be better described as a thing; rail thin to the point of almost being able to see the outline of its bone structure, a pallid and diseased complexion filled with grotesque blackheads and acne, hair that seemed to perspire with grease and a general odor wafted from the creature.

I did not bother hiding my disdain and contempt in my expression or voice when I finally spoke to The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter.

"The flute and case in your window, how much?"

The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter made no noise or motion acknowledging my existence, its eyes were transfixed on the small television as if in a daze. I could even see the stained and misaligned teeth in its mouth as it almost drooled. I waited ten whole seconds before asking again.

"The flute and case in your window. I'm asking you again; how much?"

This time The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter replied with dismissive wave "You can wait till I'm done man, fuck off."

This is ridiculous. I eyed the small TV, it's power cord was plugged into a socket in the end of the counter-tops. I yanked out the chord and pulled the TV further down the counter before staring at The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter. It seemed quite irate

"What the fuck is your problem pal?" it even spat a little, quaint "The fuck you want?"

Without breaking eye contact, I pointed to the display window "The flute and case. How. Much?"

The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter scoffed and gave me a look of utter scorn "Nine hun-dred dolla."

It chuckled, I imagine it was expecting me to leave it at that. It obviously never met someone like me.

I lashed out with my right hand, grabbing it by the shirt collar and dragging him halfway across the counter-top, with my other hand I kept it from going for what was more than likely a loaded gun or silent alarm. The creature's odor was closer and quire potently filling my nostrils. I didn't have time for this crap

"I want the real price, the one on the tag, the tag that's facing away from foot traffic. You're running this store aren't you? How do you expect to sell something with this kind of customer service and with poorly faced inventory?"

The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter began to sweat bullets, and stammer. Babbling nonsense out of fear.

"W-who the fuck are you with?"

Did he think this was a shakedown? Before I could ask, for the fifth time, how much for the flute and case I heard a door opening, a squeal came form the hinges as if they had never been oiled since manufacture. I turned towards the noise, The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter still in my grasp and looking towards the open door, perhaps for a savior.

Out of the door came some skinhead, maybe twenty years old, covered in poorly done stick-and-poke tattoos. The tattoos ran the gamut of Neo-nazi iconography, the skinhead seemed to favor their bastardization of Norse Pagan symbols. Skinhead was trying to stuff an 8-ball of something white and powdered in his too tight jeans, I had heard that it was some fashion trend in the coastal cities to wear jeans that damn near choked the balls of any "man" who wore them. Why he'd wear them in the middle of winter is beyond me. Looking past the skinhead into the back room, I saw what could only be described as a drug stash. Skinhead finally managed to get the 8 ball in his pocket and looked up, his eyes met mine. I didn't blink, he did.

The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter spoke up after a second of silence, his voice shaking with fear "Dude, I thought I told you to go out the back door?"

Skinhead was starting to shake, there was no fight in his eyes, just the look of a boy about to run the first chance he could. "Oh. OK." was all he managed to say, with all the confidence of a small child caught doing something stupid. My eyes did not leave the skinhead even when he looked down to the floor and closed the back room door. When the door was closed, there was a small clatter and the sound of a door opening with haste and slamming. I turned my gaze back to The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter. It was still looking at the back room door, its mouth agape in shock. Eventually it slowly turned back to me.
"Wha-wha-what d-d-do you want fr-fro-from m-me?" it stammered out

My scowl deepened, I quickly glanced out the window, thankful for the glare, streaks, and signs obscuring the view in to the store. I could see Finn and Saoirse at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. I turned back to the pathetic waste I was holding and finally spoke.

"Listen up and listen close, I do not enjoy repeating myself. An old couple is going to be walking in here any second, you are not going to utter a word about what has happened, I won't tell anyone you've got drugs stashed in your back room, you're not going to go after whatever you were reaching for under your counter, and once you have your money and I have the flute we will never see each other again. You understand me?"

The creature bobs his head up and down with so much speed that the grease in his hair may have started being flung everywhere.

"Good." I let go of its collar and wiped the sweat on my pants. I heard the front door open, and heard both Finn and Saoirse cringe at the stench of the store. "How much for the flute and case?"

The clerk, with fear in his eyes gulped as sweat dripped down his face. "Lemme check man"

He walked over to the window and brought it over, he looked at the tag, put the flute inside the case and closed it. "T-t-ten bucks, dude"

Well what do you know, I had the cash for that, imagine if this idiot would have answered me sooner. This whole transaction would have gone painlessly. Finn hummed and nodded his headphones

"Would you look at that, dear." he said to Saoirse "Looks like we didn't have to hit the ATM after all. Got worried over nothing."

Saoirse chuckled at that, I reached into my jacket pocket for my wallet. The-Thing-Behind-The-Counter went rigid with fear as I pulled out the old leather thing. I opened it up and gave the greasy thing its gold. It went to ring up the purchase, its hands quaking with fear, he even double bagged it. I thanked the creature for the purchase and made for the door, Finn and Saoirse followed me out. The thing spoke out with a tense "Thank you" as we left. With any luck, I'd never have to see its ugly face ever again.

For the first time since I arrived, I welcomed the coastal air as we exited the seedy pawnshop, my grandparents were equally as glad to smell something far less unpleasant. I thought about the flute, I obviously couldn't give this to Taylor in this state. Didn't Finn mention something about the late Mrs. Hebert getting the case's embroidery done at "The Shop"?

"Grandpa Finn?"

"Yes, Walt?"

"You mentioned Grandma Saoirse did the embroidery of the name at 'The Shop', what did you mean by that?"

Finn gave me a chuckle and nodded his head to his wife "I suppose with all the excitement we neglected to mention what we do for a living eh, Saoirse?"

She spoke up "Your grandpa and I run a music shop, dear. 'McCullough's Music & Instrument Repair Shoppe' our pride and joy second only to your mother, god rest her soul."

Hmm, first time she's mentioned mother. I suppose I should ask what she was like eventually. Getting back on the subject at hand I continued my line of questioning.

"Instrument repair? Do you do flutes?" I asked in earnest

Finn replied "We can fix damn near any musical instrument, kiddo. We're the best in town!"

Perfect. "Could you teach me how to restore the flute and case?"

Finn and Saoirse share The Look. Saoirse gives me a hug as we cross the street "We should be done in time for Christmas."

Perfect.

Taylor

December 23rd 2010, 8:52 PM

Good god what is wrong with me…

I don't even know what I'm doing. I am stressing over how I acted with someone who is completely outside the hell that is high school over the suspicion that he was sent by The Bitches Three to make me miserable even at home. Hell I'd apologize to him if he was home!

I was hoping I'd catch him before he left his house today, first day of winter break, but he must have left with his grandparents before I got up in the morning.

Dad's at some Christmas party for the DWA and here I am alone at home. No decorations, just like last year. Christmas was one of Mom's things.

Guess I could stare at the ceiling some more. Contemplate the sudden drop in Emma, Sophia, and Madison's "pranks". Wonder when the other shoe will drop. A knock at the door brings me out of my staring, wonder who that could be at this hour?

Walking down the stairs wondering what sudden and horrifying thing will happen once I open that door. Just for the sake of it being over and done with quickly, I open the door.

Much to my surprise, its the boy who has been on my mind for the past week. Dressed in a wool lined denim jacket, boot cut jeans, work books, and an actual cowboy hat, carrying a box wrapped with festive gift wrap. His eyes hesitated to meet mine, he seemed nervous.

"Evening, Miss Hebert." he said. I interrupted him before he could continued

"Taylor's fine."

"Right, Taylor, sorry." He seemed even worse at talking then that first night. "I tried the doorbell, didn't make any noise so I knocked."

He struggled with that one. Wonder why?

He took a deep breath before continuing. "It was rude of me to stare at your house. I came here with a peace offering, took a week to finish it. I'd have preferred to just give it to you as soon as it was done, but Grandma Saoirse said with it being so close to Christmas that I may as well wrap it up and do it proper. So here."

He handed me the box, I took it slowly. It was lighter than its size would make it. As soon as it was in my hands he continued

"You don't have to wait till Christmas to open it if you don't want to." He said sheepishly. There was an awkward silence that hung between us, he seemed to be waiting on me.

"Thank you." I said "I should apologize for snapping at you the other night."

He shook his head and held up his hands "Mea culpa"

He looked down to his boots and then back up to me, looking me in the eyes. His eyes were pretty intense but not so much I'd look away. He tipped his hat to me

"Good night, Taylor"

"Good night, Walt."

With that, he quickly walked back home. I closed the door as to not let what little warmth in the house has out.

I took the gift back up to my room. Dad wouldn't be home till late and I doubt he'd really appreciate a boy, a boy he doesn't know no less, giving me gift. I sat down, the wrapped box in front of me. Debating whether or not I should open it, my instincts telling me to just throw it away and never think about this again. A small treacherous voice said to take a leap of faith and just open it. The small voice was far more convincing than my instincts.

"This is stupid." I muttered to nobody and set about tearing apart the wrapping, then opening up the blank cardboard box. The tape job had a convenient roll up to lift up the tape without having to tear into the cardboard.

I couldn't believe my eyes when I lifted the contents of the box out; a familiar black case. A flute case.

There was no way in hell that he would know about this, there was no way in hell that this was what I thought it was. There was only one way to know for sure. I unlatched the case, and slowly opened it. My breath got caught in my throat, I had to fight back tears when I saw it.

Mom's flute, fully restored, looking even better then I remembered. No trace of the filth and scum that Emma and them destroyed it with. The case was cleaned, and there was embroidered filigree around the borders. Under Mom's embroidered name was mine, in the same color thread. On the left of our names was an embroidered rose, on the right a barn owl. Tucked under the flute was a handwritten note, in neat calligraphy; "Always keep her close to your heart"

I let the tears shed.