Open Arms

Chapter Twenty Three

English rain flooded the streets as it washed all the snow away. It was turning out to be a dreary March. Windows were foggy with glossy bullets. Only one light was on in the whole building leaving the rest of the rooms to guess which was which. The light made a buzzing sound in the near empty space, the only sound accompanying it being the strings of a guitar.

He paused, picking his mug up from the table and drank, setting it back down as he cleared his throat. Shaking his hair from his eyes, he continued to play, tapping his foot.

The door behind him flew open, the rain pelting against the front steps, then silenced. A pair of muddy footsteps squelched into the main room and a jacket unzipped. "Hey, Angus! Come over here an' sit down, got somethin' for you to hear." The man took another drink from his mug, barely looking over his shoulder at his guest. "You bring it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Angus said holding up his soaked guitar case. He threw his jacket on the couch and walked over to take a seat next to Malcolm on a nearby chair. His hair dropped all over the floor and he shook it out, spraying Malcolm in the process.

"Oi, 'nough of that!"

"What'd you call me here for?" Angus asked setting the case next to him. Malcolm shrugged as he plucked.

"Eh, jus' figured we could get in some practice ," he said. "Maybe write a few things here an' there..." Angus watched him play, listening to the new progression he seemed to have up his sleeve. "What'd ya' think of this?" Angus sat up and folded his hands with his elbows resting on his knees, a light frown on his face. The chords were good, they blended in well and had a simple, yet complex rhythm. He could picture Bon listening to it and pulling out a little black book, flipping through the pages until he found the one. The one page of poetry he had written the week before that would fit quite nicely with the music.

Angus opened his eyes.

"Hmm?"

"I asked what you thought." Malcolm drank the rest of his tea and sniffed. "Do ya' think it's worth expandin' on, experimentin' with, or what? Come on, I want your input."

"For...for what, a song?"

"No, an advertisement jingle," Malcolm said. "What'd ya' think, we're not writin' blockbusters here, ya' know." Angus fiddled with his hands as he processed Malcolm's words.

"You...you want to keep up the band?"

"Well, I've been doin' some thinkin'," Malcolm said. "I don't want to sit at home, mopin' around in some sort of fuckin' depression, ya' know? I don't think any of us want that. So...why sit around an' get fat when we can keep goin'? You've still got some steam left," he said punching his brother on the shoulder with a smile. "An' I'm really not ready to quit. An' you heard what the Scotts told us, like, Bon wouldn't have been ready to quit."

"It'd be nice to have Bon's opinion itself," Angus sighed. "I know there will be some people who will give us shit if we start up again, sayin' we're replacin' him. Not respectin' him."

"Those buggers don't know Bon like we did, there'll always be those who try to be high an' mightier than everyone else sayin', 'well this is what we would have done', an' things like that." Malcolm rested his hand on the side of his guitar looking at his shoes. "An' then there are those who would be disappointed if we stopped playin' altogether, askin' why we couldn't have gotten anyone else. No disrespect to Bon, but they'd think there has to be someone out there who can sing rock an' roll." Thunder rolled overhead. "I think if we can get the boys back in here, if we can get George an' Harry's opinions, Mutt's ya' know, I think we can get somethin' rollin' by next month, along with a new frontman."