17 Things I Found In Your Bedroom

Chapter 6 Part 1

May 16th 2015

Hey, Claire.

I never did have a proper job. I could've got one pretty easily, but busking is so much better. Just the guitar and me, with passing people and the occasional old man with a cane who stops to watch. Berty, his name is.

With mum forever in bed, my father gone and Grandma resting in the nearby cemetery, I didn't have a lot of time to busk. I know you thought it was because my Grandma died and mum needed me. It was. I had to look after her. You were always coming over with lasagne and curries made by your own mum to help us. It did mean we ate, but I couldn't let you make all our meals. Dad never did like charity.

I had no money, and I needed to make a lot more. Mum wasn't working, and dad wasn't there. I decided I would just work more and come back to check on mum every few hours or so. I was busking from seven in the morning to catch the early rising dog walkers to ten at night to catch the half-drunk men from the pub next to Tia's. It meant I missed a lot of school, and, again, you thought it was only because of my Grandma passing.

I remember. It was the cause of one of our many arguments this year. He missed a lot of school that term, and most of his exams. I obviously showed concern, since his grades were dropping like grenades, but he brushed it off, saying something about how he would be just fine. When we did occasionally meet up at the Bench that term, he was so tired. I blamed the loss of his Grandma, and comforted him like he would if someone I loved died. Now he's gone, and I should've paid more attention. Maybe he would still be alive...

The idea washes guilt over my face like a tsunami.

It worked for a while, working an extra five hours compared to what I used to. But I had no social time at all, and I was tired constantly, bearing in mind I had to cook for mum when I got back to stop her from starving herself, do laundry so she could wear clean clothes and go grocery shopping at some point.

Berty. I mentioned him in the second line of this entry. Ha, you thought he was just an old man wanting to enjoy the music.

Well, so did I.

He would pay me every day, so I didn't really pay much attention to him. It was mid-February, about three weeks after Gran died. The guy came up to me when I was packing up so I could run home and get mum breakfast.

"Ace Coals." The man stated, rather than asked. It wasn't a surprise to me that he knew my name. I always used to introduce myself before I started playing.

"Yes?" I replied, smiling. He looked harmless in his green tweed jacket and cap. He wasn't.

"Your guitar playing, it's brilliant." He started. I smiled in appreciation. "But... it's been lacking a little this last few weeks, don't you think?" he wheezed a little each time he spoke. I frowned, not really knowing what to say.

"I'm sorry, Sir. I've been a little caught up in life." I apologised. I didn't know why I was apologising- he didn't know my back story. He didn't really have the right to criticise me like that. He stared at me for a good minute, before sticking out his wrinkly hand.

"I'm Berty." I shook his hand and continued packing away my stuff. I really needed to check on mum. I saw him step a little closer in my peripheral vision. "I have something that could help you with your... problem." I know it seems rude, but I scoffed at him. I always admired the older generation, but if he was going to insult me, I wasn't just going to let him walk all over me.