Page 21 of Guitars and Cages

“You want some help?” The words were out of my mouth before I could even consider why I was making the offer.

“Love some, but isn’t your nephew asleep?”

“Yeah, but your apartment is right across the hall. I can leave my door open if you don’t mind leaving yours open; that way I can hear him if he gets up.”

“Sure, okay, I’d be grateful for the help. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Naw, wasn’t doin’ much of nothin’ ’cept sleepin’ anyway.”

“Oh. Hell, I’m sorry for waking you.”

“No, its fine. I don’t give a shit; we’ll all have plenty of time to sleep when we’re dead, right?”

He chuckled at that. If I wasn’t enjoying the conversation, and staring at him, I’d have started getting annoyed at the fact that he kept on laughing at me. I grabbed my toolbox and followed him across the hall to his apartment, stepping inside to see he hadn’t been kidding about everything being in pieces. Even the chairs needed the legs to be screwed back on. I got to work on them while he got back to work on what looked like it could either be a bookshelf or an entertainment center.

“So did you, like, major in photography or something?”

“Digital art, actually; my minor is photography.”

“Digital art?” I tried to make it sound like a question.

“Yeah, it’s when you use different software and digital devices as your medium, rather than traditional ink, pencil, paint, chalk, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.”

He chuckled.

“What?”

“You haven’t a clue, do you?”

“Not a single fuckin’ one.”

“When I get all this crap unpacked I’ll show you some pieces, and the computer I do most of my work on. My goal is to get my stuff into galleries one day. Until then I can fall back on the photography; it pays well enough, I guess. If it wasn’t for my student loans and all the damned interest, I’d have been able to afford a way better apartment.”

“Isn’t that all that really matters?” I said with a shrug.

“No. I’d rather do what I love than make a ton of cash doing something I feel nothing about, or worse, hate.”

“I guess I can see your point,” I conceded.

“So did you grow up around here?” he asked as he slotted pieces together and began screwing them in place.

“Naw, I was passing through and ended up staying. An old family friend has got a bar a couple blocks over. I bartend for him when he needs me to, otherwise I’d prolly have drifted back outta here a long time ago.”

“So where are you from?”

“Nebraska.”

“You’re shitting me. Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Why?”

“Well, hell. Guitars, fighting, tending bar… I guess I figured you for a city boy.”

“There are cities in Nebraska.”

“And I’m willing to bet you didn’t grow up in one.”