WithoutSpeaking
Acrobat
- Joined
- Oct 18, 2009
- Messages
- 304
Title: Lost Highway
Authors: 1screamingangel & wo_speaking
Rating: R for lil' Chapter 4 memories and a big ol F word...
Disclaimer: Ain't my Irishmen! Ain't true at all! OK Edge, play the blues!
***************************
He wanted to spend as much time as he could with her before she left him for some other adventure and he had to go back to Ireland to begin another one of his. It was so lonely out here with no one to play to; he was a musician – a performer – and he was starting to feel stifled on a creative level after being isolated in the middle of nowhere for so long.
It was wondrous when they’d first arrived, a quiet retreat away from it all and quite inspiring when it came to writing, but that ended not too long ago and he needed to look elsewhere for inspiration. He may have just found his muse in Sam. When he returned from her room that first night with her, he’d written that guitar line which had been eluding him for so long, and although she didn’t know it, he debuted it for her last night. He wanted to play for her again, yet he didn’t want to drive her away – and certainly didn’t want to say too much. She seemed to appreciate it though, so he didn’t see the harm in asking.
“Would you mind terribly if I practice?” he asked as she sat on the couch finishing her coffee.
“Not at all. I love to hear you play,” she returned, smiling at him coyly over her mug.
He smiled back. He was quite sure she wasn’t just saying that, and it was refreshing.
“My father played, you know,” she told him as he fiddled with the settings on his amplifier, “he had an original Les Paul Goldtop.”
“Really,” Dave said, stopping what he was doing and turning to her, eyes bright. She’d found his passion; of that there was no doubt.
“Did you ever learn?” he asked her, standing and stepping toward her, his Fender slung over his shoulder. He lit up when he was holding a guitar – she loved to see him this way instead of the serious demeanor everyone was accustomed to seeing from him.
“No, I wish I had, but he died before I had a chance,” Sam revealed. It had always been one of her biggest regrets.
“I’m sorry, love,” Dave said as he dropped to his knees and put his arms around her, the guitar sandwiched between them humming in the amp.
Sam’s father had been in a band with someone for as long as she remembered. He always wanted to teach her to read music but she wasn’t interested. Why would she learn how to play when she could just listen to someone else do it, she used to tell him. She’d never taken the time to slow down and learn what he wanted to teach her, and now he was gone.
“Can you sing?” Sam asked, her arms still around him as he stroked her hair lightly.
“I can,” he whispered.
“Will you sing for me?”
“Sure, love, what would you like to hear?”
She was surprised that he was so willing to not only play for her but sing to her too.
“Something you wrote ...” she requested, hoping he would oblige.
He stood up and was still for a moment, looking up at the ceiling in thought. He took the Stratocaster off his shoulder and nodded to himself.
“I cannot play it on this, it won’t do,” he mumbled to himself as he set the guitar back in its stand, retreated to the bedroom and returned carrying the white Gretsch Falcon. He plugged it in and sat next to her closely on the couch, starting to strum out the song and adjust the tuning until it was precise. He was nothing if not a perfectionist – it had to sound just right or he wouldn’t play it.
He strummed some introductory chords and began to sing. His voice was soft and had a beautiful tone – she wasn’t surprised at it though since it matched his speaking voice, gentle and easy to listen to.
Hold me now, oh hold me now ...
Till this hour, has gone around ...
It was not a love song. Rather, it sounded like an Irish lament; a tale about Van Diemen’s Land. She’d learned about it in school, it was the original name for Tasmania and was an island off the coast of Australia where they sent prisoners back in the 1800s. It was a beautiful song; she again was saddened thinking that no one to speak of would ever hear it.
“That was beautiful,” she smiled, “you’re very talented. Have you ever thought about playing in public or recording?”
He looked down at his guitar before standing up quickly.
“Sam ... you really have no idea, do you ...”
She looked at him, puzzled.
“About what, Dave? Why all the secrets? I’m tired of all these fucking secrets!”
“Why do I need to tell you anything about me? Who are you? You’re just a girl who happened to be passing through and thought it would be fun to jump into bed with a man she thought she’d never see again?”
“How dare you say that to me! I was just flirting at the bar – and you were the one buying me drinks, and you were the one who ... you showed up in my room and ... you know damn well what you did ...”
“You’re none better – sneaking into my home and deciding to just have a look ‘round without my permission! And as for last night – I would have stopped if you’d only just asked ... but instead, you gave me what am I going to call out when you’re inside me?”
“Would you have stopped? I’ve been wondering about that ... I really have ...”
“Of course I would have done! Do you honestly think I ... you don’t know me at all, do you? It doesn’t matter who I am or what I’ve accomplished or whether I’m famous or not ... damn it – I don’t need to tell you anything, Sam!”
“Famous? Seriously? You’ll never play to anyone but these four walls! I’m sorry I expected you to open up and tell me something about yourself, Dave ... haven’t I shared enough with you?”
“No, Sam, you really haven’t. And I feel that I’ve shared far too much with you,” he snapped, stalking off to the bedroom with his guitar.
She thought that maybe they should leave tonight after all.
Authors: 1screamingangel & wo_speaking
Rating: R for lil' Chapter 4 memories and a big ol F word...
Disclaimer: Ain't my Irishmen! Ain't true at all! OK Edge, play the blues!
***************************
He wanted to spend as much time as he could with her before she left him for some other adventure and he had to go back to Ireland to begin another one of his. It was so lonely out here with no one to play to; he was a musician – a performer – and he was starting to feel stifled on a creative level after being isolated in the middle of nowhere for so long.
It was wondrous when they’d first arrived, a quiet retreat away from it all and quite inspiring when it came to writing, but that ended not too long ago and he needed to look elsewhere for inspiration. He may have just found his muse in Sam. When he returned from her room that first night with her, he’d written that guitar line which had been eluding him for so long, and although she didn’t know it, he debuted it for her last night. He wanted to play for her again, yet he didn’t want to drive her away – and certainly didn’t want to say too much. She seemed to appreciate it though, so he didn’t see the harm in asking.
“Would you mind terribly if I practice?” he asked as she sat on the couch finishing her coffee.
“Not at all. I love to hear you play,” she returned, smiling at him coyly over her mug.
He smiled back. He was quite sure she wasn’t just saying that, and it was refreshing.
“My father played, you know,” she told him as he fiddled with the settings on his amplifier, “he had an original Les Paul Goldtop.”
“Really,” Dave said, stopping what he was doing and turning to her, eyes bright. She’d found his passion; of that there was no doubt.
“Did you ever learn?” he asked her, standing and stepping toward her, his Fender slung over his shoulder. He lit up when he was holding a guitar – she loved to see him this way instead of the serious demeanor everyone was accustomed to seeing from him.
“No, I wish I had, but he died before I had a chance,” Sam revealed. It had always been one of her biggest regrets.
“I’m sorry, love,” Dave said as he dropped to his knees and put his arms around her, the guitar sandwiched between them humming in the amp.
Sam’s father had been in a band with someone for as long as she remembered. He always wanted to teach her to read music but she wasn’t interested. Why would she learn how to play when she could just listen to someone else do it, she used to tell him. She’d never taken the time to slow down and learn what he wanted to teach her, and now he was gone.
“Can you sing?” Sam asked, her arms still around him as he stroked her hair lightly.
“I can,” he whispered.
“Will you sing for me?”
“Sure, love, what would you like to hear?”
She was surprised that he was so willing to not only play for her but sing to her too.
“Something you wrote ...” she requested, hoping he would oblige.
He stood up and was still for a moment, looking up at the ceiling in thought. He took the Stratocaster off his shoulder and nodded to himself.
“I cannot play it on this, it won’t do,” he mumbled to himself as he set the guitar back in its stand, retreated to the bedroom and returned carrying the white Gretsch Falcon. He plugged it in and sat next to her closely on the couch, starting to strum out the song and adjust the tuning until it was precise. He was nothing if not a perfectionist – it had to sound just right or he wouldn’t play it.
He strummed some introductory chords and began to sing. His voice was soft and had a beautiful tone – she wasn’t surprised at it though since it matched his speaking voice, gentle and easy to listen to.
Hold me now, oh hold me now ...
Till this hour, has gone around ...
It was not a love song. Rather, it sounded like an Irish lament; a tale about Van Diemen’s Land. She’d learned about it in school, it was the original name for Tasmania and was an island off the coast of Australia where they sent prisoners back in the 1800s. It was a beautiful song; she again was saddened thinking that no one to speak of would ever hear it.
“That was beautiful,” she smiled, “you’re very talented. Have you ever thought about playing in public or recording?”
He looked down at his guitar before standing up quickly.
“Sam ... you really have no idea, do you ...”
She looked at him, puzzled.
“About what, Dave? Why all the secrets? I’m tired of all these fucking secrets!”
“Why do I need to tell you anything about me? Who are you? You’re just a girl who happened to be passing through and thought it would be fun to jump into bed with a man she thought she’d never see again?”
“How dare you say that to me! I was just flirting at the bar – and you were the one buying me drinks, and you were the one who ... you showed up in my room and ... you know damn well what you did ...”
“You’re none better – sneaking into my home and deciding to just have a look ‘round without my permission! And as for last night – I would have stopped if you’d only just asked ... but instead, you gave me what am I going to call out when you’re inside me?”
“Would you have stopped? I’ve been wondering about that ... I really have ...”
“Of course I would have done! Do you honestly think I ... you don’t know me at all, do you? It doesn’t matter who I am or what I’ve accomplished or whether I’m famous or not ... damn it – I don’t need to tell you anything, Sam!”
“Famous? Seriously? You’ll never play to anyone but these four walls! I’m sorry I expected you to open up and tell me something about yourself, Dave ... haven’t I shared enough with you?”
“No, Sam, you really haven’t. And I feel that I’ve shared far too much with you,” he snapped, stalking off to the bedroom with his guitar.
She thought that maybe they should leave tonight after all.
Ohhhhh, burn. He almost let it slip out...let something slip out...
