Lost And Found, chapter 2
(*Author's Note: I'm kind of dumb when it comes to generations and math, apparently... Maria's great-great grandfather is actually just a great-grandfather. Sorry about that.)
Uncle Joey shook his head and walked towards the house. I walked silently behind him, trying to not let the memories flood back. It would be easier to not remember the memories once this place is gone.
"I told all the personnel today," Joey said quietly as he pushed open the large front door.
"Oh."
"They were all upset, but they understand that nothing could be done."
I looked around the house. Everything was too different. It was like the past never happened. The furniture was gone. I smiled slightly as I saw stains on the carpet where, for years, furniture had covered it up. Grandma always wanted a clean, stain-free, house.
Uncle Joey must have noticed my staring at the stains, "You remember Mike?"
I nodded. I didn't know him very well. I had only met him a few times, but he seemed like an interesting person. He was a lot like my Grandpa in a way. It always amazed me how long they were friends. From pre-teen years all the way to the nursing home. A lifetime. I couldn't even remember my childhood friend's name.
"That was when Mike had come over drunk and fell off the couch. He busted his lip on the coffee table, and just passed out."
I laughed. Sometimes, when I watch the old footage, I wish I was alive during that era. Even if I was not the granddaughter, I would have been just as happy being a fan.
Uncle Joey looked at the living room. I could tell he was having a flashback of his childhood. He did that a lot ever since Grandma and Grandpa died. He looked back over at me.
"Where do you want to start?"
"How about the studio? That seems to be where some of the more important things to Grandpa were."
Uncle Joey bobbed his head as we both starting walking up the stairs to the studio. The studio was always my favorite place as a little girl. I remember sitting in there with Grandpa, and he would pick up his light blue guitar and sing an impromptu song about his "sweet little girl with the brown little curl." Not one of his best rhymes, but it always made me giggle.
The first thing I went to was the guitar. I always felt connected to it. It was sitting in the corner, a blue smile in a black-painted room. I walked over and ran my finger over the pick guard, feeling the bumps from the overlapping stickers.
"You want it?" Uncle Joey asked quietly.
"What? I thought you were going to donate it to the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame museum... "
"Ciara," he started quietly, "You love that guitar. Everyone knows that, and frankly, I think my dad would have wanted you to have it. You know how your cousins are... They don't really care. They feel that if they have anything to do with my dad, they'll lose their own identity. I want you to have it. If there's one thing that should be kept in the family, it should be that guitar."
"Thank you," I whispered; my smile as bright as the old blue guitar in the black room.
Uncle Joey shook his head and walked towards the house. I walked silently behind him, trying to not let the memories flood back. It would be easier to not remember the memories once this place is gone.
"I told all the personnel today," Joey said quietly as he pushed open the large front door.
"Oh."
"They were all upset, but they understand that nothing could be done."
I looked around the house. Everything was too different. It was like the past never happened. The furniture was gone. I smiled slightly as I saw stains on the carpet where, for years, furniture had covered it up. Grandma always wanted a clean, stain-free, house.
Uncle Joey must have noticed my staring at the stains, "You remember Mike?"
I nodded. I didn't know him very well. I had only met him a few times, but he seemed like an interesting person. He was a lot like my Grandpa in a way. It always amazed me how long they were friends. From pre-teen years all the way to the nursing home. A lifetime. I couldn't even remember my childhood friend's name.
"That was when Mike had come over drunk and fell off the couch. He busted his lip on the coffee table, and just passed out."
I laughed. Sometimes, when I watch the old footage, I wish I was alive during that era. Even if I was not the granddaughter, I would have been just as happy being a fan.
Uncle Joey looked at the living room. I could tell he was having a flashback of his childhood. He did that a lot ever since Grandma and Grandpa died. He looked back over at me.
"Where do you want to start?"
"How about the studio? That seems to be where some of the more important things to Grandpa were."
Uncle Joey bobbed his head as we both starting walking up the stairs to the studio. The studio was always my favorite place as a little girl. I remember sitting in there with Grandpa, and he would pick up his light blue guitar and sing an impromptu song about his "sweet little girl with the brown little curl." Not one of his best rhymes, but it always made me giggle.
The first thing I went to was the guitar. I always felt connected to it. It was sitting in the corner, a blue smile in a black-painted room. I walked over and ran my finger over the pick guard, feeling the bumps from the overlapping stickers.
"You want it?" Uncle Joey asked quietly.
"What? I thought you were going to donate it to the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame museum... "
"Ciara," he started quietly, "You love that guitar. Everyone knows that, and frankly, I think my dad would have wanted you to have it. You know how your cousins are... They don't really care. They feel that if they have anything to do with my dad, they'll lose their own identity. I want you to have it. If there's one thing that should be kept in the family, it should be that guitar."
"Thank you," I whispered; my smile as bright as the old blue guitar in the black room.
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