Out of Tune

Chapter Seven

Music is my religion -Jimi Hendrix

The sound of a phone ringing cut through Lennon's dream, catapulting her into the real world.  Half asleep, she fumbled for her cell phone, charging on the nightstand.  The time on the clock read nine-forty-two.  Normally on a Sunday morning, she slept much later.

            "Hello?" Lennon asked, her voice thick and groggy.

            "Lennon?"

            "Who is this?"

            "It's Spencer."

            "Oh.  Hey."  She'd forgotten that she'd given him her number a week earlier during biology class.  They'd exchanged contact information so that Lennon could ask him for help on an assignment.

            "I woke you up didn't I?"

            Lennon rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up in her bed.  "Yes, but it's no problem.  What's up?"

            Spencer paused for a half-second.  "Were you serious the other day about being willing to help us out?"

            "Yeah."

            "Are you busy this afternoon?"

            Lennon tried to remember if she had any homework to do.  "No.  I'm free."

            "In that case, we're having a rehearsal and I would really appreciate it if you would come."

            "Where are you rehearsing?  The school?"

            "No, at my house."

            "Text me the time and address and I'll be there."

            She could practically hear Spencer's grin through the phone.  "You're the best, Lennon."

            "I know."

            Lennon ended the call with a click and then, groaning, rolled out of bed. Spencer texted her the address, which was a twenty-minute walk from where she lived, and the time, 12:30.  She took her time getting ready, showering and changing into a black skirt and a band t-shirt featuring a group called Epoch.

            When she did venture downstairs, after nearly an hour of lying on her bed and scrolling through her phone aimlessly, it was with her father's guitar in tow.  It was tucked safely into its case and though the handle was wearing a bit, it was a familiar kind of worn.  Her fingers knew where to brush to feel where the leather was peeling.  She found herself running the pad of her thumb over it.

            Lennon hadn't played the guitar in over a month.  It had been just about six weeks since her father had passed.  The last time she'd touched a guitar was the night before he'd died.  Lennon hadn't been able to convince herself to play it since then but...Something had changed just slightly when she'd heard Spencer and his friends playing Emmeline.  Like that dark void inside of her, the gaping wound left in her heart, her soul, that had been created with her father's death was no longer shrouded in shadows.  There was a hint of light seeping through.

            It was enough to make her bring the guitar with her to Spencer's house.  She didn't know if she'd play it but...

            Lennon wanted the option to decide later.

            Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through something on her work laptop and nursing a cup of coffee, as Lennon entered.  She glanced up, a polite smile on her face.  "Hey, sweetie."