I Just Wanted to be Edgy Too

Chapter Ninety-Eight

Ellie

Bondy shoveled fries into his mouth as if he hadn't eaten in days, only pausing to take a swig of beer every few minutes. We were sandwiched into a corner booth a few blocks from the record store. So far, no one had noticed him, but Van always said the states were different for them and the likelihood of us being seen were slim. It didn't stop me from stealing glances at everyone who walked through the door.

We'd spent the afternoon wordlessly flipping though crates of vintage vinyl at a record store called Jack's. Bondy shook hands with the middle aged guy behind the counter and they greeted each other like old friends before he introduced him to me. Sid, as Bondy referred to him, led us through a a doorway to a back room that had its entrance blocked with a red curtain and a makeshift sign reading employees only. We ducked through it like we'd done it a million times before and stepped into a small back room with no windows. There were a few tables set up with albums stacked and scattered all over them. "The good stuff" as Sid put it. We sifted through the stacks of blues and jazz albums and smiled when we stumbled upon a rare find of a Jimi Hendrix bootleg or an early Dylan '45. I snagged up a copy of Lynyrd Skynyrd's Second Helping and noticed Bondy's smirk.

"What?"

"That's what you're going after?" He asked while shaking his head.

I flipped the album over in my hands and looked up at him nervously. "Absolutely. You wouldn't?"

"Absolutely not. I don't need a radio band from the 70's to get me going. I'm better than that, we all are."

I shook my head. "See, that's where you're wrong, Bond. They were so much more than Sweet Home Alabama, and Freebird." I walked over to the turntable and popped open the cover, carefully removing the album from its flimsy, thin paper insert and setting it down gently on side two. The needle pricked and popped as it danced through years of wear and static before the opening lines of The Ballad of Curtis Lowe began to echo against the edges of the back room. I smiled as I walked back to the table to continue flipping through more albums, humming along with the song and mumbling the words to myself. Bondy glanced at me every few seconds and sized me up as I lost myself in the song more and more, I pretended not to notice the pique in his interest. The song ended and I sighed.

"Ronnie died too young. He had a lot of music left in him, but what a highly underrated lyrical genius." I shook my head as I spoke, mainly speaking to myself more than anything.

"Guess I've never really given them much of a chance to be honest." He frowned before putting his attention back on the albums in front of him, but by the time side two had nearly ended, he was tapping his foot habitually to the beat of each song, and I could tell by the whimsical look on his face, he was dissecting the rifts and bridges in his mind, and paying close attention to the tempo and the rhythm of the heavy guitar sounds that outlined the songs.

We'd scored a decent haul from Jack's and ended up spending more time than we planned there, talking music with Sid and bartering on album costs. We were later than we wanted to be for lunch, but content nonetheless, both of us settling into a silent agreement upon how our afternoon was turning out. By the time our food arrived to us, we ate quickly, pausing only to take a breath or two between bites or in Bondy's case, for a drink.

Bondy finished his beer and slid his glass across the tabletop slowly after our plates had been cleared from in front of us. "I didn't know you loved music the way you did."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What do you mean?"

Bondy adjusted his signature hat until it was covering only the top of his ears. "I mean, I knew you loved music but until I saw you at the record store today, I didn't realize it guided you like religion."