Spice Islands (First Romance Smackdown - LGBT)

Speeding Demons (Part 3)

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because I woke up the next morning, to find sun light streaming in my window.

My normal reaction would have been to pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep, but the thought of Darrell popped into my mind. Instantly I was wide awake. In seconds I was pulling the sheet down from the mirror, not bothered that I was only wearing my favourite ratty teeshirt and threadbare pyjama shorts. What? They're comfy. I'm no fashion princess, at least in bed. During the day, I like skinny jeans and crop tops.

At first all I could see was myself, curly black hair cut short, brown eyes set wide in a face that others called 'pixie', a body I thought a bit on the scrawny side, nothing special. Then, without any warning, Darrell appeared, right in front of me, still holding his guitar. He was looking right at me, as if he could see me just as clearly as I could see him.

He picked up his guitar and strummed a few chords. Then he stared at me. His mouth moved as if he was speaking but I couldn't hear anything. Rather impatiently, he shook his guitar and gestured with his right hand. Uncertainly, I picked up my own guitar and was rewarded with a quick smile of approval. When I looked in the mirror, it was as if we were side by side, me a mirror image of myself, he standing next to my reflection, holding the guitar like a normal right handed person. Being a lefty myself, it now looked as if we were holding our guitars in exactly the same position.

He started to play, and without thinking, I began to copy his actions, watching both of us in the mirror.

"Sam! Turn it down!"

I heard Mum yelling from the kitchen and quickly grabbed the headphones and switched my guitar over to the appropriate setting.

Oh my god, now I could hear him.

I took off the earphones.

Nothing.

Put them back on and I could hear music.

It sounded magical. I could tell that the sound was coming directly from his fingers, I could see what he was doing to form the chords. He slid effortlessly into a complex shred. Maybe it was magic, maybe I was hallucinating but at that moment I couldn't have cared less. I put aside all rational thought to worry about later and followed his actions, I learnt more in that hour of playing than in my last ten lessons put together.

Guitars were my passion. Ever since I could remember. From the minute I unwrapped my first one, a red plastic toy with nylon strings, I was fascinated. I must have been about three at the time. I remember tearing off red and white Santa Claus covered paper so it must have been Christmas, the best thing I ever found under the tree.

From then on it was one guitar after another, folk, classical, rock, I experimented with all of them. I loved each of them in their own way but when I turned sixteen I had to make a choice. Mum had promised me the best guitar she could afford for my birthday, but I had to decide which type I wanted, I had to choose one style, it was time to specialise. In the end, I decided on rock. Not that I wanted to be a star or anything but I loved the thrill of being in the band, writing our own songs, making music together.

Mum gave me the money and I bought a left handed Gibson Les Paul. Sweet.

Over the next week, Darrell would appear for about an hour or two each day when I was in my room. Well, he might have been there when I wasn't but I couldn't tell. Apart from that first time, I never saw him again in the Cosmos.

My brain grappled uneasily with the fact that I kept seeing him, when no one else could. Was it a sign of imminent schizophrenia, or was he a ghost, somehow wandering in limbo because he had been murdered? Or, my personal favourite, was he an angel or more likely a demon, come to lead me into temptation? Didn't they call rock the 'devil's music'? I still had no real idea as to how this was happening, but I guessed that our mutual love for guitar had something to do with it. Although why an American guitarist and a dead one at that, had come to show a little Aussie girl how to play guitar was a complete mystery to me.

I spent a bit of time reading up on the supernatural, especially those aspects relating to mirrors, but I didn't get any answers, only more questions. I even watched a bit of the movie 'Mirrors' but it didn't help, aside from giving me nightmares, it was about people who saw evil versions of themselves. There was nothing about dead guitar players.

Ghost, demon or alternate reality, out of thousands of budding guitarists around the world, why he had come to teach me?

Maybe it was simply luck. Maybe I had just been at the right end of the vortex at the right time!