Dog Boy

26

My thumb slipped slightly as I strummed the strings of my guitar. It was difficult now, with the slightly padded fingertips. On one hand, the tougher pads made pressing down chords a lot easier. On the other hand, they didn't slide as well to new chords. Barre chords also had the extra padding of the fur on my index finger, but the fur would also brush up against the other strings, messing up the sound.

I thought about that a lot, as I picked what I knew of an old bluegrass tune. I couldn't even remember the name of it, but my teacher years ago had made me do it as an exercise.

I hummed along to the tune as I moved to the song's bridge. My fingers were different, but the song was still the same. It was still fun to play, rapidly picking at the notes. Playing was both easier and more difficult. It was a summation of what my life was now. I hit many notes wrong, but I kept playin' fast and it didn't last for long.

I needed to find out an excuse to bring out my guitar when Jackie was around. Yes, it was extremely cliche, but it was fun to play for people. Sadly there weren't many organic ways to bring out the guitar without coming across as being showy.

For the time being though, my spirits were a bit too faint to feel like playing for others. Picking up the guitar again had made me feel better, like it always did, but it was just another subtle reminder that things would be different from now on.

I finished the song, to my annoyance, catching my thumb-pad on one of the strings as I made my final strum. It muddied the last chord, and I felt the need to replay it to feel satisfied. I rested my guitar against the couch, and leaned back. I wondered if over time I might be able to wear down the edge of the pad so that it slipped easier down the strings. I wasn't quite sure how the pads worked.

I really needed to get around to studying some information online about living with canis - but that would inevitably ignite my morbid curiosity to see what people were saying about us. I had already read some of it before. I did not need to see it ever again.

A thumping came down the stairs. I locked my gaze with Ashley as she turned the corner. Her nose was darker, and starting to turn upward. Her ears had fully flopped down and were covered in fur. She had a sour look on her face.

"Are you going to play any more?" she asked.

"I don't know," I sat up, "Maybe if I feel like it."

"Well can you not? I'm trying to work on homework and all I can think of is that stupid earworm you've been playing since you learned to play guitar."

"Sorry," I said, in a very not sorry tone.

She glared at me. "I feel awfully certain that as soon as I leave the basement, I'm gonna hear you start pounding some rock song, screeching at high notes you just can't reach."

"At least I actually tried to learn music. You just gave up."

"And I'm sure mom and dad are very proud of your average level of skill at guitar. Maybe you can actually be successful with it by making a furry rock band. You could have really obnoxious barking sounds in the background."

"Go work on your homework Ashley."

"I will."

She stood there for a moment, staring at me, a ironclad scowl on her face.

"And Matt?"

"What?"

"Even with my deforming face, I'm not going to let anything in my life change. I'm going to take the hardest classes, and I'm going to be good enough at what I do, that whatever the heck I am doesn't matter to people anymore."