Crossroads #3, Grace

She hated him.

Every furious stroke of her bass guitar was for him. She glared at him. Famous? The small hole in the wall they were playing at could barely afford to pay them, and pay attention? The customers’ focus was on the college football game on the big screen.

“Go! Go! Go!…..Yes!”

Grace could feel the blood in her head begin to pound. Famous, my ass, she thought. He couldn’t keep his you know what in his pants long enough or the cocaine out of his nose long enough to practice, much less write a half way decent original song.

And she had fallen for him. For his dimples, and his bedroom brown eyes. She had believed him enough to pack her things, leave her parent’s house (as if she’d needed much of a reason), and move in with him.

Now she was stuck. She couldn’t go back home, and no real desire to do so anyway. At least with him, she didn’t feel like the proverbial square peg trying to fit into a round hole. Her Catholic parents had never approved of her love of music. Rock music? Oh, the horrors! She was going to straight to hell. Don’t pass go, don’t collect $200.

“Why don’t you try the piano?” they asked, “The church is always in need of a good pianist.”

“Stupid ref! Can’t you see that’s a facemask?”

Grace shook her head. Yeah, right, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous right here. How about the Not So Rich and Famous? She blew her long black hair out of her face, and kept playing. She would finish the set, collect her $200, and she was done.

Where would she go?

Away from him, that was for damn sure.