Elara
A quiet, easy feeling settles between us. I slide the tray under his desk and pass him the guitar.
Anderson lets out a soft laugh. "You are really not going to let this go."
"I am not. I truly want to hear you play." His expression gentles. He presses his fingers into a chord, then stops. I try to stay quiet, but my thoughts often become words before I can stop them. "What is wrong? I liked how that sounded."
"Oh, please. I did not even play anything." I make a motion like I am zipping my lips shut and throwing away the key. "All right. I have not played since…"
His unfinished sentence makes me intensely curious. I forget all about my promise to be quiet. "Since when?"
"Since my band fell apart. So, do not expect a masterpiece." But when music is a part of you, it does not matter how long you have been away. You feel it the moment you come back. Anderson leans over, holding the guitar carefully as he gets ready to amaze me, I hope. "This song is not one I wrote."
