Guitar Hero

“Tim, you’re going to have to come out of your room at some point.”
“Honey, I think he’s anthrophobic.”
“No Jim, it’s not that he’s scared of people, I think he’s just depressed.”
Tim listened to his parents arguing about why he was so sullen and quiet. He knew his mom was right, but he didn’t want to face his parents. He hadn’t talked to anyone in over a month. He was afraid. Afraid he’d be tormented again. His entire school teased him, teased him for being himself, for not being small, skinny, weak, not “good enough”. He was treated like an alien. His mom opened the door a crack and peeked in.
“Tim… Honey? How are you doing?” Tim just sat there on his bed, his head down, silent. His mom came in and sat down next to him.
“I’m not going back mom. To school or the psychologist. I’m not talking to Dr. Bullzack again.”
“You have to. One way or the other. You can’t stay in your room your entire life.” Tears streaked down Tim’s face. There was no way he was ever going back.
Tim had been doing a lot of thinking lately. He was thinking if he should try going back to school. He had been getting his assignments mailed to him and was starting to fall behind. The only issue was that if he went back, he would most likely be tormented again, unless he found something he was good at.
That afternoon, he finally stepped out of his room. He walked down stairs and outside. The cool November air brushed against his face and flowed through his hair. He wanted to try sports. All the popular kids were great at sports. He opened his garage and grabbed his dad’s old baseball equipment, a glove, a ball, and a bat. He walked to the park across the street. No one was there because school wasn’t over for another two hours. He decided to start with hitting. He grabbed the bat and the ball. He threw the ball up and attempted to swing the bat. He spun around and landed on his rear. This was hard, he thought. He kept going through the same motion, trying to get better, but to no avail. Every time he landed on his rear, or the ball hit him on the head. He went home an hour later, discouraged.
The next day was Wednesday. Tim got up, showered, and got dressed.
  “Today is a new day. And today, I will try something new.” He said to himself. He thought about what he should work on today, and decided he would keep trying sports. But which one? Baseball hadn’t worked out for him, and football and hockey were a little too physical for his liking. Golf? No, golf was way too frustrating, according to his dad. How about basketball? He thought. He walked to the community basketball courts in the next town over, and grabbed a ball off of a bench. He walked around, trying to dribble it, but wasn’t too good. He kept hitting his foot, sending the ball rolling across the court. He gave up on dribbling, putting that off for later, and moved onto shooting. He had seen basketball games on television. His dad watched every Chicago basketball and football game, and there was Bulls and Bears merchandise everywhere in the basement of their small Wilmette house. After seeing a few Bears games, he thought that football was too rough. He used to watch a few Bulls games with his dad, and he saw how the players threw the ball. They started with two hands, then threw it with one hand, while jumping. At least that’s what he thought they did. He tried repeating what he remembered from the games, shooting the ball at the hoop over and over and over again. He didn’t get it anywhere near the hoop. Not even once. Again, he walked home, discouraged.
Thursday, he sat in his room, thinking of what to do next. Sports weren’t really working out for him. He was lacking motivation. He had never liked sports, and still wasn’t totally into them. Was it time to give up? He thought it was hopeless. But he couldn’t give up that easily. He needed to think. He needed to think long and hard. So he decided to go for a walk around town. m’s dad answered.
That night, at approximately nine thirty, he walked out into the pouring rain. His clothes were instantly soaked, his rain jacket provided no protection from the torrent of water coming down from the sky, but he kept on walking. He walked down his street and turned left, he then turned left again and walked into the ally of garages. He walked past a cat, digging through a trash can, and past a birds nest, with a family of robins huddled close together trying to keep warm and dry. He kept on walking until he heard a band playing. The garage door was closed, but the music still rang out into the night. He put his head to the wall, and then he heard it. The guitar, the one guitar, and at that moment, he knew he couldn’t give up. He heard one guitar. The noise just blew him away. He stayed for the rest of the song, listening to every note the guitar played. The noise was so satisfying to him. guitar played. His shoulders relaxed and he zoned out everything. Everything except the guitar. When the song was finally over, he stepped back from the garage, and ran home. He knew that that guitar was a one way ticket, there was only one thing to do.
When Tim awoke the next day, he jumped out of bed and opened the attic. He slowly lowered the ladder down. He climbed up it slowly, making sure he didn’t fall over. When he reached the top, he searched for a light switch, feeling his way around in the dark. Finally he found one. He flicked the lights on and the attic lit up. There were huge piles of old sports gear, pictures, toys, and electronics. He searched around for a guitar, digging through the piles, and boxes, he looked until he had searched the entire attic. There was no guitar up there. He didn’t expect one to be there though. He climbed down from the attic and closed the door. If I can’t find a guitar, then I’m gonna have to buy one. He thought. He went downstairs ran out the door. He walked down into town, across the train tracks, and another mile or so to a Guitar Center. He walked in and was greeted by a tall bulky man with long, brown hair and a fedora.
“How can I help you?” The man asked.
“Um… I just need a guitar.” Tim replied.
“Ok then. Follow me.” They walked down aisles lined with amps, tuners, cases, and other accessories. They walked to the back of the store, to the guitar wall. The whole wall was covered in guitars, and on the wall was a giant picture of Carlos Santana, one of the greatest guitarists of all time.
“Ok, pick one.” The man said. Tim walked up to the wall and stared at the guitars. He noticed a black guitar with a cool red eagle on it, and falcons diving down the neck.
“That one.” Tim said, pointing to the guitar. The man reached up and took the guitar down from the wall, and handed it to Tim. Time grasped the neck. He ran his hand up and down the neck of the guitar, feeling its smoothness. He plucked a few of the strings, and the noise rang out into the air.
“I’ll take it.” Tim said.
“Alright, that’ll be $375.” The man replied
“Come again?”
“$375.” Tim handed the guitar to the man, and slowly walked out of the store. He was once again, discouraged.
“How am I ever going to get that kind of money?” Tim asked himself. There was no way his parents were willing to buy something that expensive, and his relatives most likely couldn’t afford it, so what was he going to do?
That  evening, Tim looked through the “Help Wanted” section of the newspaper. There weren’t many available jobs. There were jobs at fast food restaurants, small businesses, a caddying job at the local country club, and a job bagging groceries at Jewel Osco. It was a pretty easy choice for him. The next day, his dad drove him down to the grocery store to apply for a job. They walked in to the store and asked around for the manager, one of the cashiers pointed him out to Tim and his father. They slowly approached him, and he turned around.
“How may I help you?” The manager asked.
“I’m here with my son to apply for a job.” Tim’s dad answered.
“How old are you young man?” The manager asked Tim.
“Fourteen.”
“Well, then. Follow me.” Said the manager, while turning and walking away. Tim and his father followed the manager through the isles of meat and produce to a room that was clearly the manager’s office. The manager walked over to a drawer and pulled out a black apron with the Jewel Osco logo on it.
“Here you are.” He said, handing the apron to Tim. “You start now.”
The manager walked Tim to the front of the store and brought him into checkout aisle five. Jack here will teach you how to go about bagging groceries.
“Hey.” Jack said, holding out his hand. “I’m Jack.”
“Tim.” Tim replied, shaking Jack’s hand.  As the manager walked away, Jack said,
“There isn’t really anything to teach. You just put things into bags and make sure that they’re not too heavy.”
“Ok.” Tim said. “That sounds easy enough.” The rest of Tim’s day was spent putting food in bags. It wasn’t the most exciting job on the planet, but if it was going to earn him money towards a guitar, then it was more than worth it.
Tim worked ten hours a day, earning seven dollars an hour. This quickly earned him enough money for the guitar. It only took a little less than two months for Tim to earn the money for the guitar, and he was more than happy to quit his job. Bagging groceries was the number one most boring job in the world. After he added up all his paychecks and realized that he had enough money for the guitar, he had his dad drive him to the bank to exchange the checks for cash. He walked in and handed the checks to the teller.
“I’d like to exchange these for cash.” Tim said.
“How would you like it?” The teller asked.
“Three hundred seventy five ones.” Tim replies. The teller disappeared into the back where the safes were and reappeared moments later with a large stack of money in her hand. She handed him the bills, and Tim ran out of the store, past his dad’s car, and kept on going all the way to the Guitar Center. He slammed through the doors, and ran to the giant wall of electric guitars. The same man who had helped him before walked up and took the guitar down from the wall.
“Here you go.” He said to Tim, handing him the guitar. Tim hurried up to the register and handed the cashier the three hundred seventy five one dollar bills. The cashier raised her eyebrow and gave Tim a strange look, but then turned back to the register. She printed the receipt, and handed to him.
“Good luck.” She said, winking at him. As Tim walked away, he wondered why the cashier had looked at him like that. She looked about his age, but girls had never liked him. They had all just ignored him. Especially pretty ones like her. Tim ran home as fast as his scrawny little legs could go. He burst through his front door and didn’t even say hi to either of his parents as he sprinted by them.
When he got to his room, he shut the door and locked it. He brought the guitar over to his bed and sat down. The held the guitar loosely, closely examining it. The neck felt cold, and smooth, and Tim ran his hand up and down it, feeling every detail of the wood. He slowly picked each of the strings. Each sound was just as beautiful as the one before it. He took out his phone, and looked up some lessons. As he played along with the person giving the lesson, Tim he realized that he had finally found something that he truly enjoyed. Something that actually made him happy. There was no way that he was ever going to stop playing guitar. He wasn’t ever going to stop.
Months went by, and Tim worked non-stop on guitar. He barely stopped to eat or rest. By the next year, he had mastered countless songs, such as Chicken Fried, Back in Black, Thunderstruck, Beverly Hills, Come out and Play, Smooth, Into the Night, Juke Box Hero, Hot Blooded, and many more. If someone gave him a sheet of music to a song, he could master in one to two days easily. He was a guitar master. He had accomplished what he wanted. But there was still something missing. He puzzled over this thought for quite a while, and after some serious thinking, he knew what he had to do. He went to his computer and printed out a bunch of signs for a concert. He would play for people. He needed to do something with his new found talent, instead of just sitting alone and playing guitar by himself. He had bought an effect pedal, a talk box, a mic, and a mic stand. The poster read: Come see the guitar master. Friday night, November 7 at the park on Central Street.
On Friday night, Tim set up stage at the park on Central. He had to borrow a portable generator from his neighbors so he could plug in his equipment, and they even offered to be his band. People started rolling in around eight o’clock. By nine, the park was packed with people from all over town. Stage fright suddenly overcame Tim. He started shaking violently, and mucus filled his mouth. He swallowed hard and picked up the mic.
“Hello everyone.” Tim said. “My name is Tim, Tim Johnson. And I’m here to play some songs for you.” He wanted to start off strong, but simple. “Our first song will be you’re gonna go far kid by the Offspring. He took a deep breath and counted to three. He hit an A power chord twice, moved up to an F, and played that twice. When time came for the solo, he braced himself, closed his eyes and played it perfectly, and completely with his eyes closed. When the song was over the crowd cheered. It was the loudest thing he had ever heard. This gave him a feeling he had never had before. His heart started beating out of his chest, and wanted to laugh as hard as he could. He felt amazing. He played on and on completely zoning out everything else. The crowd, his surroundings, all his stress and worries were completely forgotten for that night.
As he walked home, he saw a sign on a telephone pole. It said… “Classic Rock Revival Band, guitarist needed… auditions this Sunday, noon at the high school. This is the perfect opportunity! He thought. He spent all Saturday practicing, only stopping once to do his school assignments.
Sunday came, and Tim just couldn’t wait or the auditions. He left at eleven thirty to bike to the library. When he got there, he realized that he was the only one. The band was just sitting in the music room, waiting for someone to show up. As Tim stepped into the room with his guitar strapped to his back, the band looked up at him and said in sad voices,
“Looks like you get the part kid. No one really appreciates classic rock anymore. Its all computer generated these days. Nothing good. It’s not real music.” Tim didn’t reply, and there was a moment of awkward silence that hung in the air like a ghost.
“Well, let’s see what you got.” Tim pulled out his guitar and played Back in Black for them. He then went on to play Sweet Child o’ mine, Welcome to the Jungle, and Smooth. When he was done, the members of the band were amazed.
“Gee kid, you got some real talent. You’re in!” Tim was a happy as ever! He couldn’t believe it! He was actually in a band! A real band! He couldn’t wait to tell his parents they would be so proud. He got on his bike and raced home. But right as he was about to turn onto his street a car turned around the corner and slammed into Tim’s bike. He flew off his bike, hitting the back of his neck hard against the curb. But he didn’t feel the pain for long. After a split second, the world went black.