"I'm sorry," I said.
"Me, too." He paused and looked at me as if he were first realizing I was there in his room with him. "You're lucky your only brother is so much younger than you. You won't have to go through stupid stuff like this. You'll be out of the house by then. Me. I'm trapped. I'd leave tomorrow. if I could, and I won't hesitate the moment I can." he vowed.
"Wouldn't your mother be upset?" I asked.
"She'd just pretend I was in school or something. I told you. My mother would do anything to avoid crying or being sad. People don't mind lying to themselves if it will make their lives easier."
He gazed down at the broken guitar.
"But isn't that what you would be doing by running away?" I asked.
He looked up so quickly, I thought he was going to be any at me, but instead, he smiled.
"Now you sound like a psychologist's daughter. How come you can be like that with other people but not yourself?"
"Why do you say I'm not?'
"Because you fume and pout and rage just like the rest of us. At least, that's what you were doing in the cafeteria when I spoke to you."
I laughed and nodded, "You're right," I said "But remember what Miss Foggleman always tells us in music appreciation class: Do as I teach, not as I do."
As far as I'm concerned, that's the oath of a hypocrite," he replied.
He threw the pieces of his guitar into a corner roughly, kicking the splinters into a small pile.
"What are you going to do about this?" I asked.
"Strangle her with one of the guitar strings."
"No. seriously?"
He shrugged and sat on his bed, "I've got some money saved." he said after a moment "I had my eye on a JB Player that's in the window of this pawn shop. You know anything about guitars?"
"No."
"This one is mint with the exception of a small surface crack at the heel of the neck. It has a flame photo top, a maple neck, rosewood fingerboard in a cherry finish. It's in the window for three hundred. I was planning on buying it anyway. I'm using money I've earned as a part time waiter. I'm supposed to be saving for college, but I'd rather have the guitar. College can come later, if at all." he said. 'You don't have to go to college to do what I want to do."
"What's that?"
"Write and perform my own songs."
"My mother says a good liberal education gives you the background to do most anything. You have to draw on something when you create."
"I draw on real life," he said with a fierce look of pride in his eyes. "My stuff rings with truth. It's all out there on the street." he said, gesturing at his window. "It's authentic. That's what I was trying to tell you before. You've just got to be willing to listen, to not be so uppity and snobby that you miss it."
"I'm not snobby. My half brothers have cornered the market on all that as far as my family goes." I said.
He nodded, "No, you're not or you wouldn't have met me for a hamburger and you certainly wouldn't be here in this house with me. Can you imagine Stacy Kreskin or Natalie Alexander coming to my house? Well?" he demanded when I hesitated.
"No," I admitted.
"So why did you come?" he followed with a little more aggression than I anticipated. "It wasn't just to see how the other side lives, was it?"
I stared back at him, shooting my own fiery darts at him.
"I came because you invited me. Heyden Reynolds. and I don't consider myself the other side. If anyone is taking sides here, it's you!"
He stared a little longer and then he laughed. 'That's good," he said. "You do that real well."