Five Flavors of Dumb - Antony John [56]
“If I only had nine more years,” I said, “I’d make the most of every day. Every single one.”
Silence again. We kept looking at the house, like we were expecting something to happen—a miracle, perhaps. I thought about all those hours Jimi had spent playing air guitar on a broom. I tried to picture the moment in eighth grade when he received his first guitar, a banged-up instrument with only one string. I imagined him practicing inside those thin walls, in a space so small the only way to be alone, to lose yourself, was through music.
How did he keep playing when money got really tight, and there was no more food in the house? How did he play on when it became clear he was flunking out of school? Was music really enough when the whole world seemed to be collapsing around him? Or was it just the only thing left?
I felt Tash shudder against me, and I knew she was fighting back tears. I would have cried too, but then I pictured Jimi bringing his guitar to life, his whole body transported by the pure power of music. And he didn’t look sad or regretful—he brimmed with energy, savoring every stolen moment of untainted joy. Live in the moment, he seemed to be saying. And for once, I heard the words perfectly.
Live in the moment. I could do that.
We could all do that.
CHAPTER 34
Tash remained in her silent funk all the way home. Ed had tried to convince her it was a promising sign that fans had bothered to save the house at all, but for once he should have let it go. Tash was beyond seeing the silver lining, and I understood why.
I dropped Ed and Kallie off first. Tash said her mom wouldn’t be home until much later, so Finn suggested she head back with us. She even seemed relieved. I guess she didn’t want to be left alone with her thoughts.
The house was almost completely dark when we walked in, the only sign of life an overpowering odor of Chinese food. I switched on a light and lifted the lid on each carton, uncovering every variety of meat cooked in every conceivable way. Apart from fried rice (with pork, of course), there wasn’t a single grain or vegetable to be found. Dad clearly didn’t want the massacre of innocent vegetables on his conscience.
The Vaughan family—reintroducing scurvy, one child at a time!
We ate straight from the containers. After that, we went down to the basement, where Dad was watching the History Channel. The first thing I noticed was his clothes: T-shirt and jeans. True, he’d ironed a sharp crease down the front of the jeans, but it was progress.
He raised his eyebrows as I came into view, which made it difficult for him to express his shock when he caught sight of Tash.
“Dad, this is Tash,” I said.
Dad began to extend his hand, then thought better of it, either because he figured she wasn’t the hand-shaking type, or because he was afraid she’d rip it off his arm. In the end he settled for a curt nod that looked weirdly self-conscious.
“You’re later than I thought you’d be. Just as well your mom is out.”
“We wouldn’t have been late otherwise,” I said.
Dad chuckled, apparently impressed by our cunning. “Where have you been?”
“Jimi Hendrix’s house.”
That clearly got his attention. “The one in Renton?”
“Uh, yeah. . . . How do you know that?”
Dad waved off my question. “Hendrix was the greatest. The things he could do, the way he transformed rock guitar into something angry and poetic all at once . . . it was miraculous.”
I nodded, but I couldn’t help wondering if we were getting a glimpse of the real Ryan Vaughan at last. It was already the longest conversation we’d had in months.
Tash and Finn sidled up, and together we sat down on the sofa next to Dad’s armchair.
“Jimi played at Woodstock in the summer of 1969,” continued Dad. “It was a crazy thing—three days of music and drugs and rain. He played near the end, and most of the crowd had given up and gone home, but his