The Golden Guitar
Back in the day of guitar riffs and drum solos there was man
who was the greatest rock star of any time. He wasn't just a great man on set,
he was also a great dad, and husband too. Tragically he died when a plane
crashed mysteriously into the Pacific Ocean. There were no survivors. The fans
played his trademark song, The Golden Guitar in the street. And his
family cried his name to the heavens. Or at least that's what my mom says. I honestly
can't remember him. I am Trip Blackwell the only heir to Ace Blackwell's
throne, and I have zero musical ability. That's right I can't even whistle or
snap my fingers. I know that I should be just as ashamed as my father's fans,
but I'm not. My abilities lie within my distinct admiration for poetry.
“What are you doing?” Zack Zaneth said. That's my best
friend. He claims that he can play the guitar, but I'm sure that he can only
play a few chords. It's not like I would tell him that. And even if he can only
play a few chords, he can still do more than me.
“I'm writing my autobiography it's kind of a bummer story
right now, but in a few seconds when that bell rings, I know that this summer I
will become a legend,” I said. The teacher turned around and looked at me and
Zack. She brought her finger to her lips and silently shushed us. I couldn't
believe it, I was about to be by default a senior. That would mean that I would
never have to see Mrs. Holloman again. She had been nagging at us to stop being
creative for two semesters. Now it was down to the last twenty seconds.
Everyone in the room started to count down as the time quickly ticked away. And
just twenty-eight seconds later me and Zack were out of the school and
discussing our summer plans.
“So, what are your plans for the next three months?” I asked.
Zane smile became a crescent moon. He pulled his bag off his back and he looked
around like he was super paranoid. He yanked a folded blue piece of paper from
his bag and handed it to me like it was the most top secret information he had
ever held. I unfolded it, and I was surprised to see that it was a lyrics page
of my dad's trademark song. “Why are you so paranoid? Everyone and there mother
has heard these words, and most of them have heard it personally.”
“Read it carefully and tell me that it doesn't sound
suspicious.” I looked at it, then back at Zack, he told me again to read it.
Even though it sounded like the beginnings of a blubbering mad man, I still
read it. Beyond the land of Notred'nal, in a place where pass the darkest
day. Here I have put my guitar to lay. You must seek the treasure. It will be
your pleasure. Find my golden guitar. I have lost it and you must find it. Or
it can become an artifact for another world. It's simple as one, two and three.
First, find the place with the man tree. Go down into the deepest pit to
another world. Second take a leap of faith and be tossed and whirled. Below
this pit you will find where my guitar stays. Third, it's as simple as taking
it from where it lays. Play one chord and cease being bored. Strum one note. If
you don't you can take a swim in my everlasting moat. Do not fret and do not
place one last bet. Each strum is worth one. Have a lot of fun. I. Have. Lost.
My. Guitar. But. It. Hasn't. Gone. Far. You must find it, because I have lost
it.
My stare was blank. I didn't see anything new. It was the
same old song as before. “What did you want me to see?” Zane held up one finger
to signify me to give him a second. We continued walking in silence, Until we
came to my house. “Well, I don't want to be rude, but did you have a point with
showing the lyrics to me.
“Yes, but you won't believe me. I think your father hid his
precious golden guitar before he died. I think it's a map.” I rolled my eyes
and sighed. He was off on another one of his rants about hidden messages and
treasure I headed towards my front door with every intention of playing video
games when I got inside, but Zack stopped me. “Notred'nal is our home towns
name backwards. The guitar hasn't gone far because it's under the street your
house is on. And the man tree is right there.” Zack pointed across the street
at the oak tree the shaded my front porch.
“I never wanted to saw this, but you're a psychopath. You
know that right? Do you remember when we pulled the tiles up at the library
after you saw Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade? Plus, that tree looks
nothing like a man.” Zack grabbed me by the arm and dragged me across the
street to the tree. He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and pushed me nose
first into the bark of the tree. There was a carving on the tree, but I
couldn't make it out given that I was going cross-eyed looking at it. “Okay let
me go!” I yelped. Zack let go and I pulled back. Somebody had carved a stick figure.
It was a male stick figure, or so I started to be believe.
“Lead the way. I will follow you until there is danger
involved then I will leave. That is the best friends code.” Zack opened up his
bag again and pulled a six inch crowbar from it. “What are you going to do with
that? Are you going to open a bottle of root beer with it?” Zack swung it and
it extended to three feet long. He strutted to the middle of the road and
looked down at the manhole covering. He place the crowbar into the side and pushed
down with all the force he had, yet manhole did not come open. I walked like a
sane man to his side and looked to it. Oddly enough it had my father's initials
and a series of notes written on it.
“Well, I'm ready to give up,” Zack said. He was keen on finding
the adventures and plotting them out, but he couldn't pull it off. Every time
he ran into a snag or a knot in his rope of plans, he gave up. He began to drag
himself away in shame. I walked onto the metal disc cover, and hummed the
notes. They were strangely familiar like notes that I had heard thousands of
times before. Could they be? I thought to myself. “I have lost it. You
must find...” I was hesitant to finish. I was tampering with musical mysteries
that hadn't been unveiled in almost sixteen years. “It.” The manhole cover
opened and I fell through.
I landed on a grate in the sewer. It smelled rank like dirty
socks, underwear, armpit, and spoiled eggs mixed in a dumpster with a few dead
ca..., well you get the point. “Hey
Zack!” I screamed at the manhole, yet even through my best shouting efforts I
couldn't get him. I even sang the tune, but it looked to be a one hit wonder,
which wasn't much like my father. Suddenly somebody tapped me on the shoulder
from behind. I turned to see a man with a long beard, sunglasses, and musical
notes tattooed on his eyelids. He didn't look eager to open his eyes either.
“I am Slick Rick. I am the drummer of the fabled band that
Ace Blackwell was in. To pass me you must play a drum solo. Or you can stay
here forever! The choice is yours.” Slick reached into his jacket and pulled
out two golden drumsticks, then he stepped aside to reveal an old set of drums.
I was frozen with shock. Not only was the song actually a map. It also didn't
speak of any challenge. “What are you waiting for mortal?”
I began to sweat and hyperventilate. Slick took a step back
and sighed. “You must play! Nobody has been down here in years. At least try.
What would your parents say if they saw you quit?” I walked over to the drum
set, sat in the chair, and I drummed my heart out. I stood up sweat glistening
off my brow and I laughed. “That was pretty good for someone who was holding
the sticks upside down. Though the point of this test was not to prove that you
could play the drums. It was to prove that you had the courage to try. May the
beat be with you.” Slick stepped aside once more. As I passes he opened his
eyes to see me. “And don't be discouraged my son.” It sounded heartfelt, but I
wrote it off as a Star Wars thing.
I walked to the end of the grate. Though it ended at a sort
of sewage waterfall, then as the water went down it swirled around like the
water in an unplugged bathtub drain. “Second take a leap of faith and be tossed
and whirled,” I whispered. Was I going crazy? I made a quick double take over
my shoulder and saw that Slick and the drums were no more. Was I sleeping in my
bed? It was a really realistic dream then. I could smell Slick's nasty breath
or perhaps that was sewer. Either way, I was standing at the only known way
out. The question was; if I would risk drowning for a legend. Did I even have a
friend named Zack? I slapped myself. “I am trip. So, I can't be blatantly
ironic and think that I am tripping.”
There was only one thing to do. I jumped into the swirling vortex.
For a few minuted I panicked as I swirled around, but nothing compared to going
under. I couldn't catch my breath. Then I hit a gate, I rolled across the gate,
and I was in another pipe. Only this one didn't have sewage flowing through it.
Another man helped me up. This man looked like a hippie, he had a tie-dyed
shirt, and he had dreadlocks. And not that it mattered, but he smelled like
toast.
“Man, you totally pulled a James, uh, uh, Ja, Jesse.” Again I
had a confused look on my face like I had seen a unicorn. He smiled and patted
me on the back. I followed him without question for a few seconds until I saw a
wireless keyboard strapped to his back. He turned back and laughed. “Wait, I
think I might have jumbled up my pronouns, I might have meant to say James
Bond. And I think I'm actually James Uh Uh Jajesse.” He inhaled deeply and it
was like a light bulb came on above his head. “I think that might be a hippie
name. Oh yeah and I was suppose to say something when I saw you.
I think it might have been like this. Play a little ditty on
this keyboard thingy.” He pulled a keyboard from his back and handed it to me.
I held it with one hand and with the other I played a re-imagined Jaws theme
that could probably have been called Gums. “That was like a total mind blower.
The golden guitar is up those stairs.” Again when I was a few dozen feet away,
James mumbled something. “I love you, man.”
I walked up the stairs. I was in denial when I saw that there
were raging rapids between me and the golden guitar. I was standing on one side
and twenty feet away through twelve feet of water, there stood the guitar. It
was leaning in a taunting manner, and shinning like an unreachable star. “You
have to swim to the top, just like Ace climbed to the top.” A man said from the
distant shadow beside me. “Who are you?” I asked. “I am the triangle player
from Ace's band. My name is Trey Anagle. Like I was saying you must swim to the
top.” My reaction was almost robotic. I jumped and I swam with all my might,
but I was barely holding my own. I made it just close enough to pluck one
string, then I was yanked below the unforgiving sea of sewage.
Trey jumped in after me and pulled me to cement land. I was
slowly leaving consciousness. Trey blinked and I saw that he had notes tattooed
on his eyelids. He smelled like toast too. “Trip, don't you recall I didn't
have a triangle player, keyboard player, or drummer in my band. It wouldn't
matter to me whether you could write poetry, sing, or anything else. I just
want you to believe in yourself. Be the best Blackwell you can be. I love you.
I know this may be strange, but through the power of my golden guitar I was
able to come back and say these things to you. Good luck trip.” My dad began to
walk away and before he was gone. I opened my eyes again and say that I was in
a hospital bed, he came back. “By the way. I named you Trip because of the
irony that I knew you would never trip up. Bye.” He kissed me on the cheek and
dissipated into a cloud of notes.
His image was replace by Zack's. Dude, they found you
floating in a pond. You're lucky you survived.” He leaned in close. “Did you
find the guitar?” I smiled big. “You could say that.
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