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In the summers between grades in high school, I started teaching some of my fellow classmates how to play for a small fee, giving me some money for little luxuries all teenagers want on occasion.
There hadn't seemed to be any kind of future in it, though, so I set my mind to more practical things after graduation.
It was funny how life worked, I guess. My old high school pocket money job ended up being a saving grace for me when I needed it most. Each new town I landed up in, I printed up posters, and found messages on my voicemail within a few days. I charged more than I had as a kid, knowing my worth more now than I did then. It wasn't enough in every town. Which was why I put up other posters as well. Dog walker. Pet sitter. House cleaner. Errand runner. People paid you to do everything for them nowadays. Which wasn't great for their pocketbooks, I was sure, but it was good for mine.
If you were willing to really work, it was possible to make enough money to take care of all your bills without having to work a nine-to-five somewhere.
I had nothing against nine-to-fives. Sometimes I longed for the stability of them. But they weren't an option for me. Not anymore. So I made do. I even liked it a lot of the time. I loved animals. I didn't mind cleaning. It didn't bother me to deal with the crowds at the grocery store. And there was nothing like watching the pride in someone's eyes when they were finally able to play a song straight through without any mistakes.
Hopefully, I got to stay in Navesink Bank for a while. Get some steady jobs, get a good cushion for my eventual fall. Six months would be really nice. Maybe a pipe dream, but one I was going to let myself hold on to. Maybe if I believed in the possibility enough, I could bring it into reality through sheer determination.
On that thought, I put the guitar back down, getting up, making myself a wholly unspectacular dinner of rice and beans with a little shake of hot sauce, settling down to eat in the silence of my new apartment since I couldn't afford luxuries like TV. I usually always had my trusty old iPod Classic with me to listen to music - which I preferred over TV most of the time anyway - but in my haste to leave the last apartment, I had somehow managed to leave that behind. The loss of that was actually more painful than the loss of that town, that little bit of stability. I was getting used to moving around. I had even gotten accustomed to realizing I left little things behind. But not my iPod. Loaded down with thousands and thousands of songs. And, well, irreplaceable since they didn't even make that model anymore.
With a sigh, I ate my dinner, promising myself that one day, someday, when all of this moving around was over with, I would get myself a record machine and a truly impressive collection of vinyl - both old and new.
The possibility of that was enough to keep my spirits up the rest of that night.
As it would turn out, I wouldn't need silly little positive thoughts to keep my mood up for much longer.
Because there was Cam.THREECamden"Are we boring you?" West's voice broke through, making my gaze snap up a little guiltily, realizing I had been staring at my phone, waiting.
For her to text.
Before I had left for our usual church meeting which mostly just consisted of a few drinks, scheduling of guard duties, and talks about what drops were upcoming, I had followed the impulse to scribble my number on the whiteboard.
It wasn't like me to invite people into my life, to give them more access to me.
Why did I do it with her, when she hadn't even prompted it? I had no idea.
All I knew was, I had gotten used to the past few weeks of whiteboard conversations. Sometimes it was only simple greetings.
I would come home from the clubhouse to her curly, feminine script there.Goodnight, Cam.And she would wake up to my blocky, unimpressive handwriting.Good morning, Annie.Somewhere along the line, I found myself bringing her back a donut in a bag from She's Bean Around, despite it being out of my way to come back to the apartment before going over to the clubhouse to hand out the donuts as per usual.
Not exactly uncharacteristic. I had once driven Astrid across two states to get Philly cheesesteaks because she refused to eat them anywhere else but Philly and she had a craving. To an extent, I had gotten accustomed to going out of my way for the women in my life.
That said, she wasn't a woman in my life.
