Melissa's Sweet Music

Ray leaned further forward as he sensed me approaching the punchline of my story.

"I'd narrowed it down to either the Ferrari or the Fender Stratocaster."

He clapped the ends of his fingertips together in glee, "Please tell me you went for the wheels!"

"It was a tough decision," I strung it out a bit longer, "I mean, you only get one midlife crisis, right?"

"Right. And?"

"I went for the guitar."

"But darling," Ray said looking dejected, "you should have gone for the car; at least you'd get some use out of it. You're not at all musical. I know you want to reclaim your youth, sweetie, but you will never be Melissa Etheridge."

I laughed at his pout and waved the flyer under his nose, "I can become musical. I've signed up for guitar lessons with Melissa. Obviously not the Melissa. This one is a twenty-something hippie who works in the music store, but she is cute."

"Well, I will be first in line when you play the Hollywood Bowl," Ray said magnanimously. He picked up his car keys from the café tabletop and jangled them in front of me. "Then you can buy me the Ferrari."

I turned over Melissa's flyer and read out the address she'd written on the back for me. I'd best make a move; I didn't want to be late for my first lesson.

Melissa's home smelled like a tropical house in the botanical gardens. I picked out the scent of damp earth...