2016 – Day 44

Start writing a story that...

Step 1: includes the words: bright  bagpipes  clandestine

Step 2: include this sentence: She was not a robot, like the others
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Peggy flew down the stairs as soon as her homework was done. Halfway through the front door, she shouted back over her shoulder.

"Homework's done. Going to take a walk!"

She didn't wait for a response, but charged into the bright light of the afternoon and set out for the Music Barn. The Music Barn was a small store in a strip mall three blocks from Peggy's house. Mr. Donaghy didn't so much run the store as appear there every afternoon so that bored teenagers and middle-aged men could wander through the sheet music, then stare at the guitars, and picture themselves on stage. Stairway to Heaven was his best-selling single.

In the back, local musicians rented space to practice or offer lessons to support their fledgling careers. Peggy had used her birthday money and pet sitting money to sign up for practice space to play her bagpipes, which Mr. Donaghy agreed to keep in his storage room. She loved the clandestine nature of her practices and made sure to use every second that the room was hers. She had no instructor, so she spent afternoons at home finding tutorials on the computer, then writing down what to practice during her time at the Music Barn.

Peggy kept her practices secret not because she thought her parents wouldn't allow it, but because they would worry about her. She had little in common with her classmates, and she sensed the disappointment bubbling under the surface of her mother's smile whenever she asked about Peggy's day at school. Seventh grade was proving to be a challenge. The endless list of activities in which she could participate—sports, band, newspaper, yearbook, and more—were dangled before her as experiences that would define her future. Was she an athlete? A math nerd? An artist? It was less about social cliques than about skills, and by not joining anything, the message that Peggy appeared to be sending was that she had no skills to share. The bagpipes didn't fit anyone's understanding of a useful activity, and that was part of what drew her to them. I am not a robot, like the others, she thought.

"Hey, Mr. Donaghy," she said after the doorbell jingle announced her entry into the store.

Mr. Donaghy looked up from his book and took out his earplugs. He nodded toward the back.

"You can have room 3," he said. "Buster's teaching in 1, and you'll want a room between you. Electric guitar."

"Not good?"

"Client insists he only wants to learn Pink Floyd and Guns 'n Roses."

"What lesson is he on?"

"His first."

Suddenly, a wailing noise emanated from the back rooms. It wasn't so much a melody as a flowing cacophony of indistinguishable notes.

"Next week is free if you can name the song," Mr. Donaghy said.

Peggy listened for anything recognizable. Spending time at the Music Barn meant she could sing along to any rock songs ranging from Chuck Berry to Muse, but there was nothing she could discern in the screeching coming from Room 1.

"Money?" she said.

"Sweet Child 'O Mine!" Mr. Donaghy said, laughing. "Better luck next time."

He reinserted his earplugs and she made her way toward the back. Once inside Room 3, Peggy took the bagpipes out of their case and ran her hand along the wooden drones and then the bag. She loved that it felt unlike any other instrument and that its rich harmonics sounded like nothing else. She raised the blowpipe to her lips and began to play.


[For anyone who hasn't checked the About page and is wondering about the prompts I use, these come from the Writing Challenge app (produced by Literautas.com).]