***
“This is my prized possession,” Evan said, pulling the guitar out of its case.
It was the first week of December—a Wednesday afternoon—and Clara was in Evan’s basement sitting with him on the couch. Beatrice had gone home with Angela to work on a science project and told Clara not to pick her up until eight. She had been invited to stay for dinner, and Clara was happy she didn’t have to cook. She never cooked when Beatrice was away. It wasn’t important to feed herself.
“It’s really pretty,” Clara replied. She didn’t really know what to say since she knew nothing about guitars. Evan laughed.
“Yeah, it is pretty,” he agreed. He looked at her, then set the guitar down. “I won’t even have to explain in words,” he said as he got up and walked over to the other side of the room. He picked up another guitar off of its stand and went back to her. He settled himself on the couch and placed the instrument on his lap.
“Just listen,” he said, and strummed a G chord. The guitar sounded the chord, light and almost uncertain. Hollow, Clara thought.
Evan placed the guitar on the floor and then picked up the other—his “prized possession.”
“Now listen,” he said and strummed the same G chord. This time the sound resonated in the room—rich, dark and deep—and Clara thought the guitar must have been fashioned in the oakiness of a wine cellar amidst racks and racks of aged reds.
“It’s gorgeous,” she said. She wanted to reach out and touch the shiny wood, so smooth and slippery.
“It’s a Martin D-35,” Evan explained. “Hands down the best guitar ever made, period.”
“I won’t dispute that since I don’t know a thing about guitars,” Clara replied. “It looks expensive.”
“It is,” Evan said. “And no, my dad did not pay for it. You know how many hours of giving misguided book advice to people it took for me to get this thing? I’ve been saving up forever.”
He started strumming then picking—warming up his fingers, Clara thought.
“I’ve been practicing a song for you,” Evan said as he played some scales. “I know that’s super cheesy, but if you want, I’ll play for you.”
“Please,” Clara said blushing. She settled back on the couch and closed her eyes. She wanted to be transported and hoped Evan was skilled enough to do it.
He began, the opening sounding like a Spanish tune. He worked his fingers over the strings so fast that Clara couldn’t help but sit up and gawk. How could he make his fingers move so quickly, so assuredly over the strings? So crisp and concise. He didn’t falter, never strummed a muddied chord, never picked a wrong note. It was more than skill. It was a gift.
When he finished, she sat there silently.
“Did you like it?” Evan asked. There was a note of uncertainty in his voice.
“It was beautiful,” Clara replied dazed. “So beautiful.”
Evan breathed a sigh of relief. “I wish I could say I wrote it. I didn’t, but I have written a couple of songs. They blow compared to the one I just played.”
“What did you just play for me?”
“It’s called Mood for a Day,” Evan said. “By this band called Yes.”
“Never heard of them,” Clara replied.
“You wouldn’t. They’re an old progressive rock band. My grandfather introduced them to my dad who introduced them to me. Kind of a family thing. I grew up listening to that stuff. You know, bands like Pink Floyd and Genesis?”
Clara blinked.
“Maybe not,” Evan said, and chuckled.
“I like it—Mood for a Day,” Clara said. “I like that song.”
“And what mood did it put you in?” Evan asked teasingly.
“A pensive one.”
“Oh. Hmm, I was hoping for something else.”
Clara giggled.
“Look, I can’t think of anything except kissing you,” Evan admitted. “I played that song hoping it would make you want to kiss me.”
Clara looked at Evan and grinned. “I’ll kiss you.”
“Oh thank you, thank you,” he gushed, and placed his guitar on the floor.
“Don’t you want to put that back in its case?” she asked.
“Oh Clara,” Evan said. “Haven’t you ever heard the song Silver Rainbow?”
She shook her head as he gathered her up in his arms and kissed her softly, familiarizing himself again with her full lips. He nibbled on them gently feeling her body respond to him, and when he teased open her mouth with his tongue, she moaned into his—a moan he remembered from the first time they kissed. He sucked gently on her lips stirring the same desire she had before, and reveled in the feel of her response. She kissed him back hungrily, unable to be shy about it. She wanted him to do things to her, and she asked him by plunging her tongue in his mouth.
He drew back from her, breathing heavily.
“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to,” he said huskily.
She answered him by lifting her shirt up and over her head. She placed it on the floor next to his guitar.
His eyes fastened on her bra. It was the same one as before with the pink ribbons. And the front clasp. Clara’s hands went to the clasp.
“No,” Evan said. “I want to.”
He leaned over and kissed her again, pushing her gently onto her back. She felt his leg in between hers, the familiar desire stirring in her lower abdomen. His lips trailed kisses down her neck to her collarbone and then finally came to a rest in between her breasts. She felt the snap of her bra and closed her eyes as the fabric pulled away from her body. Her heart thumped wildly as she lay there exposed knowing he was staring at her, wondering what he was thinking.