Chapter 146: [3] Tuning the Guitar Player 3 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

[This chapter is from an alternate perspective than Goth Girl. It contains mild adult content and language. This is the thirteenth overall chapter.]

Tuning the Guitar Player

[3]

Parsley had some difficulty negotiating the dimensions of things in front of her. She stumbled when the curb dropped and I had to pull her away from a sign. Despite looking like a normal person, she clearly didn’t have any experience. This became especially clear when a boisterous group started laughing around the entrance to the mall and she whimpered and snuck behind me protectively. I wasn’t a very good shield, but I squeezed her hand gently and urged her onward.

Her initial efforts at walking were more reminiscent of a toddler’s unrefined stride, but she paid extra attention to me and copied what I did. Not that my awkward efforts at maneuvering these wide-ass boat hips were anything worthy of mimicry. But at least I hadn’t taken a tumble yet, and I managed to keep her on her feet too. We were sure an unusual pair, but I was grateful that no one who passed us by gave us undue attention.

I had at least a casual familiarity with this mall going back several decades. My aunt and uncle often vacationed in and eventually retired to the area. Now at school, I visited them on weekends. It was better than taking the long trip home. Their presence was part of the reason mom pressed me to attend Cressman University.

What the crap would I say to them or my parents when they called? Hey, fam! College changed me a little, I hope you don’t mind. I still didn’t know how long this was going to last. Although, I felt weird about the prospect of Parsley returning to what she was before. Big velveteen rabbit thoughts. I nearly went to “vibes” in my head, and I cursed my estrogen-addled brain.

But yeah, I remembered this place way back when they didn’t need parking structures and there used to be a Sears that already felt like it was abandoned even though it was still open. It was all indoors back then instead of this weird hybrid version with a fancy promenade and sheltered glass. That sounded kind of nice inside my head. Might make for an interesting lyric somewhere. Although who knew if I was going to be writing any songs for a while considering my guitar was in a non-musical state.

We walked through the front doors, and she acted like I’d just transported her into some magical realm. Her expansive eyes took in both levels. Even the pillow store impressed her

Neglecting her recent reserved hesitancy, she inquired with childlike enthusiasm and more volume than I would’ve preferred, “What is this place?” Some people looked over curiously, and I flinched. It took her a moment to recognize the sudden attention.

“Oh no. Was I too loud? I remember I was really loud when that serious man talked about me being in your bed.” The chat I got from a residence assistant once about my guitar volume.

I really would’ve preferred she’d said anything else while other people were paying attention. Fortunately, all that seemed to be too puzzling or simply funny to the nearby crowds as they passed us.

With a sigh, I answered, “You were a little loud. But that’s okay. Can you listen to my volume and have a similar sound as we talk to one another here?”

Parsley listened intently to my voice and, when she spoke again, said, “Yes. I think I can do that. How does this sound?” Her voice came out at a perfectly normal, conversational level. It also sounded very close to mine from the intonation. I assured her that she could speak with the voice she was comfortable with, just keep the volume like mine. With a second try, she sounded just about where I wanted her. My Parsley always had a good sound. This was the weirdest kind of tuning though.

Getting back to her initial question, I explained that this was a “mall”.

“What’s a mall?”

Oh no. During the holidays with extended family, I had way too much experience with the youngest family members asking questions that simply led to infinitely more questions. Typically, my response was to be a smartass in some small, forgivable way or turn the question back around on them until they got bored. I resisted that urge and fumbled around for the best answer that occurred to me.

“It’s a building with a lot of shops that sell things that people need.” She absorbed that reply and scrutinized everything around us before quietly repeating, “Building. Shops. Selling. Needed things. Okay. Why are we here? Do you need something?”

I was quite proud of her. She worked it out. I suspected she had a lot more questions, but I answered the ones that she asked, “We’re here because I wanted to go further than I could walk because the guy in black clothes and the guy with the…the other guy who changed scared me because I worried something like that might happen to me. And it did.”

She responded with visible surprise. “You’re scared, master? Oh no. I don’t want you to be scared. It hurts and feels very uncomfortable.”

My eyes flicked to the nearest groups of people. Fortunately, she was quieter than before, so I hoped the “master” part wasn’t easy to hear. But I needed to do something about her use of that word… Eventually. Although master was better to my ear than the technically-accurate ‘mistress’.

“I’m all right. What happened to me happened, as well as what happened to you. I don’t like this, but I have to deal with…my appearance now. I just came here in the hopes that I could relax and think more about music.”

Parsley quietly gasped as she repeated, “Music. The songs you want to make. Can we still make them together? I promise to be as helpful as I can.” She wavered on the verge of tears again. I brushed her head gently and she leaned into the touch like an eager, large cat. This probably looked really weird to everyone around, but fuck ‘em. I wanted to comfort Parsley. She looked so happy.

I assured her vehemently that we would still find a way to make beautiful music together, and she slowly relaxed. Uncertainty about what shops and selling meant popped up, even though it was clear she was trying to work out the gist on her own. Breaking it down into manageable pieces for her learning brain was easily the biggest challenge.

Shops were places that had things you wanted. But you couldn’t take them from the shop without giving the person with the shop something mutually agreed upon with value. I didn’t have enough time to give her the basic version of an economic system, I had trouble doing that throughout an entire recent class. There’s always something new that needs to be folded in as a qualification or additional explanation. Whatever kept her from making a big mistake that led to security and police attention, was my goal.

I pressed into her the absolute commandment that she wasn’t to take anything without giving this something of value or getting the okay from the shop person. Perhaps my best bet was to suggest that she had some variety of autism. Although, I wouldn’t be prepared for the inevitable follow-up questions.

One immense benefit to all these preoccupations with my guitar was that I had less brain space to freak the hell out about my jiggling boobs, underwear-free crotch, strikingly girlish voice, and a dozen other little terrors invading my perceptions. The worst, looming prospect was the realization that, inevitably, I would have to use the restroom. What about Parsley?

At least she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink yet. Did she need it? How did her digestion work? Was it normal? Did I have to feed her particular foods? She clearly hadn’t consumed human food before. Did she need to start with a liquid diet and work up? I supposed I could deal with it when it came up. Meanwhile, there was a really nice guitar shop towards the middle of the complex. It was either a great or horrible idea to take her to a place like that.

I could foresee her freaking out that her kind or being sold but maybe that was too much of my own human perspective. She could also see it as returning to her birthplace and checking in on her relatives. I’d have to play it by ear once we got over there, but I hoped for the best.

Not being enclosed by a variety of questionable folks who decided to take the bus made walking around less stressful. The curse, or whatever it was, hadn’t dressed either of us for subtlety. The faint reflections I got from well-polished storefronts made me think of a rocker chick and Parsley emphasized that as company. She held my hand firmly as I did the same.

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One annoyance I hadn’t noticed before, but which was swiftly getting to me was my hair. I had a lot of it before, and I had even more of it now. Mercifully, the mysterious, schlong stealing force hadn’t decided to burden me as much as Zack or even Taylor. It just made the whole mass fuller and rather like a toasty, fluffy helmet. With some feathering and maybe little dabs of color, it could be a decent look. At least as far as I could figure out with the ghostly reflections bouncing around the windows. And other things bouncing around as well.

I vacillated between being painfully knowledgeable of everything going on with this body and placing myself in a Zen state of unawareness while focusing on Parsley and her needs. No matter how much I told myself it, I couldn’t just neglect that much freaking cleavage as being like the side of my nose. It wasn’t as weighty as I was expecting, but there, both fortunately and unfortunately, was a bra.

The overall feeling was still like walking sex though. I had girlish legs and thighs that I had to large gate swing forward and back while maneuvering these hips. My ass felt way the hell out there. And I barely even wanted to think about the sparsely covered stretch between my legs. My pants were surely going to slide down into oblivion once they boa constrictored the life out of me. And the jiggle tit avalanche was coming as soon as those tiny straps gave up the ghost.

Even my arms felt roaringly sexy. Not that I was trying to expose sexiness with any part of it. It was just a consequence of the rod shrinking force packing my inherent sexuality into a body vividly aware of how foreign and hot this all was. I still had no idea how I was going to survive seeing myself naked.

Parsley gleefully marveled at every sparkling storefront and window display flashing past her gaze. She even asked me once if we “needed” a very pretty purse prominently displayed. The one I’d been saddled with seemed like plenty.

The guitar shop adorned a second-floor corner. Parsley retreated in uncertainty and concern about the escalator leading up, so we took the nearby elevator as an alternative. She swam and swooned with her arms stretching out tentatively, peering through the glass as we rose. I held her close, with the concern that she might stumble and hurt herself.

She did get a little woozy looking out across the railing. Quietly, she reflected, “Everything about people and what you make feels so big, so grand. I always felt so small. My little corner of quiet reflection waiting for when the reservoir of music within could speak. Now I feel so very big. But I can’t make music.”

That stung in a quiet place in my heart. So often and for so long I set Parsley aside because of something around my house or because of a new series online or something on YouTube to look at or going somewhere with friends. With how often I let her get dusty or sit and wait for me to have time for her, it was an astonishment that she didn’t feel betrayed or abandoned once she could speak her feelings. I took care of her, but I could’ve taken better care of her.

I wrapped all those sentiments up into a quick embrace that did its best to avoid smothering squishes. Parsley’s joy projected like the sun despite her dark tones. Like a puppy wagging its tail. Like a friendly smile spreading across my soul. It was almost enough to make me want to smile too.

Before entering the shop, I had to explicitly remind myself that the owner and the people who worked there were not going to recognize me like this. So, I couldn’t make the same assumptions as usual or act with any sense of familiarity.

Bill waved as soon as I walked in and called out, “Howdy, Celeste! We have a few new things in, but we’re still unpacking from the last shipment. Some nice, discounted songbooks in the back. Who’s your friend?”

I wasn’t prepared for any of that. Celeste? Was all this also trying to stick me with the girliest name possible? The songbooks being discounted made me happy though. This place always had the best prices on those. As far as introducing Parsley, she jumped in and took care of that herself.

“Friend? I’m Parsley! And I remember you, Mister Nice Man With A Beard! You handled me very well! I felt very nice!”

I wanted to scream and die several times inside my head. Bill had done cleaning and care for Parsley more than once when she needed it. Fortunately, the way she phrased it allowed me some ambiguity to explain what she meant to say, in a normal human fashion. If necessary. Handled her…as a customer and, obviously, he forgot about her…even though Bill remembered everyone. Dear God, help me…

Bill took it all in stride. He appreciated her compliment even though it was clear he didn’t understand it. From there, Parsley dashed over to the wall of guitars and immediately smiled, waved, and introduced herself to each and every one of them hanging up. Bill gave me a look but still smiled.

It was a relief to feel something like normalcy around Bill. We talked to each other the same way as always. I lamented the loss of recent creatives in music, especially Burt Bacharach. Bill casually played recognizable snippets of his music while I actually found myself feeling a little blubbery. Fucking estrogen, hell of a drug.

I was able to plug it before any tears spilled out. Parsley, who was still introducing herself to every single last guitar on the wall, chimed in singing one of the songs. Her voice was angelically beautiful and traveled melodiously over to us despite the awkward acoustics of the store. Bill celebrated her singing and Parsley nervously dipped her head down and fussed with her hands as though she were looking for my hand to grip despite being on the other side of the room.

When my guitar was finally done greeting all the other guitars, Bill actually prodded her about whether she played. A tense look from me transmitted the vital impression to not go into her usual detail. Parsley simply responded, “Not at the moment.”

Bill wouldn’t leave it at that though. He put a guitar in her hands, and she showcased all of her color exploding in a bright blush. Guitar on guitar action, aww yeah. For a split second, terror crossed my brain wondering if whatever force humanized Parsley could be transmitted through her hands. Fortunately, I was spared that, as all that resulted was a few awkward plucks and some uncertain finger positioning from my girl. Her asking for permission to touch first mostly came across as quirky.

I did wind up getting some songbooks as they were absurdly cheap. Fussing with my altered bags, I not only found enough cash for my purchase but also some unwanted confirmations.

My student ID and driver's license both confirmed that Celeste was a diminutive of Celestina. Celestina Moretti instead of Anthony Moretti. A pretty little, mostly Italian princess. That almost hit me as hard as the one and only time I attempted Austrian spiced rum at Josh’s egging. I dimly suspected that my weakling phone might provide further clarification before it passed out, but I wasn’t ready to cross the social media Rubicon yet.

Parsley didn’t need to say goodbye to each individual guitar, but she did offer up a general wave to the group. She had much to say with youthful excitement and glee about the entire experience. In particular, she delighted in the fact that she was still able to make music with her mouth and that she might learn, borrowing the melodies of others, to make guitar music again. I still had to sway her away from “master“ talk.

She relayed to me that her mouth felt “weird”, which revealed that she actually required water the same as any other person. Because of what water could do to wood, she was cautious about getting too close to it. Uncomfortable coughing came first as she tried to suck it down and breathe at the same time. But I was able to coach her in the right direction. She even got playful with the squirting.

I knew, inevitably and inexorably, if she drank water then the next step was coming. We actually got some wandering in before I noticed she was behaving strangely. She squirmed and did an awkward two-step before letting me know, “I don’t feel good, master. What’s happening to me?”

Gently, I reassured her that everything was normal, it was just a human thing, and I would take her…oh. Ohhhh…We had to go to the ladies’ room.

Not a big deal, just the bathroom on the other side from the one I used my entire life...until now. It was fine. It was also damn busy with a line. Parsley’s signs of urgency encouraged some nice ladies at the front to let her go ahead. I jumped in and said I was her “helper”, so they let me go too.

The interior was like a machine of people moving and fluttering and doing and talking and washing and flushing. My head wanted to swing around and swoop back out the door. But I had to be here for Parsley. She looked over at me expectantly, as though I had some expert translation of what this all was that I just needed to tell her. Really though, all I could say was that I am a stranger here myself.

[This is one of three perspectives for Transform the Dorm. There is A Brand New Goth Girl following Beatrice, Shifting the Sci-fi Guy focusing on Zach and Connor, and Tuning the Guitar Player with Anthony. I hope to release at least one of each chapter a week with two having two and one with one. Beatrice will always have two. Each should stand alone but release order is always the best way to read. I have a question at the end of the chapter again to help with suggestions for where the story should go. I'm actually not that far ahead this time and I am wide open to all possibilities for this particular story. Feel free to add an idea which doesn't show up in the options. Also, if you see any random typos or uncapitalized starts of sentences, please pass them along. I have to cut down on my editing due to release speed and my programs don't seem to be catching lowercase sentences. Thank you for reading!]

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