“No, let me show you….”
Dad’s wrinkled fingers flexed across the strings of my guitar.
“You stay in control, son…it doesn’t play you.”
A sequence of rich chords floated out into the sterile atmosphere.
I smiled; the old goat still had it. I’d never master his technique in a million years, and he’d never let me forget it.
Kevorkian’s assistant started the saline flow and left the room.
Dad stroked the strings for a few moments, then winked and pressed a button by his side.
Halfway through Dixie, his hand relaxed.
He was showing me how to stay in control…again.
Wednesday again! Friday Fictioneers are limbering up for the weekly workout under the expertly energetic leadership of Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. I was tempted to bring a note from my Mum this week as we’re busy preparing to take to the water again, but decided to grit my teeth and lumber through.
You may not ‘get’ this piece without looking up Thanatron.