Shorts: A Collection of Short Fiction

Bonnie

The old woman showed up to the church two hours early with a Fender Stratocaster slung over her shoulder. The young drummer smirked. "Check out Granny Clampett with the 'Strat," he whispered to the lead vocalist, who snorted out a laugh.

She approached slow but confident and hobbled up the steps to the stage. "Mind if I join you?" She situated herself in a stool and strapped on the guitar. She tuned up and prepared to play.

"I'm Bonnie", she offered to the group, "What are we playing?"

Copies of the chord sheets were handed to the newcomer. No one knew what to say, or how to react. Usually, a new member needed to be approved by the pastor. However, they couldn't tell this enthusiastic old lady no, could they?

The music began. A nice, upbeat rendition of "I'll Fly Away" rocked through the building. Bonnie's arthritic fingers knew the fretboard well, the screaming notes from an impromptu solo shocked the younger kids into near silence.

When the last notes faded, the kids rushed to Bonnie's side. The questions flooded in, everyone needed to know how she learned to play.

Bonnie smiled, and regaled the group with tales of her younger days of working with famous rock stars, and rattled off an impressive list of prestigious venues where she had played.

They begged her to stay. The service would start soon, and she was more than welcome to stick around.

Bonnie smiled and unplugged her guitar from the amp. "No, thanks. I just needed...this." She hobbled out the door and disappeared down the street.

The little band would never forget Bonnie. Anytime the wail of electric guitar screamed from the oldies station, they would listen closely...and wonder.