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‘I’m baby Jane!’
My five-year old daughter looked at me defiantly. For some reason, she hated her name. I’d named her Jean…yes, I’d played around with the alphabets in my name but I liked it. She didn’t. Apparently some poor kid in the kindergarten class got whacked on the head for calling her Jean instead of baby Jane and that infuriated her.
I smirked. My daughter was a lot like me…she spoke what was on her mind and didn’t feel bad about letting people know when she was happy, sad or just plain angry.
Baby Jane idolised me. And as far as I was concerned…she was the only good thing in my life. Andy and I…we were still together, don’t get me wrong. To the world – we were the perfect couple. But he knew…like I did…that we weren’t.
The front doorbell rang.
Baby Jane ran across the room to open the door knob. It was Michael. My music teacher. Oh yes, I’d started taking lessons. Music…was the other thing that brought me joy. Maybe to my little girl as well as she used to sit on the couch and watch us practise with rapt attention.
‘Mrs A! How’s it goin’??’
Michael was a college school student and an expert at the guitar. He was also my neighbour’s son. One day I’d heard him play and I’d walked across to his house. I still remember his surprise.
‘You are good at playing the guitar’ I had announced this statement very loudly when he’d opened the door. Perhaps I’d scared the poor kid.
He was startled but recovered quickly, ‘Uh yes?’
‘Can you teach me?’ I bit my lip.
‘Uhhh…’ he looked a little lost. Bloody teenager.
‘Can you teach me how to play this….’ I fumbled around in my purse and took out my phone to play the melody that I’d been sent three years ago.
‘Wow.’ Michael stroked his goatee and grinned,’Sure Mrs. A…that is beautiful but it will take some time for..’
‘ You start at 4 PM tomorrow my house.’ I interrupted him and walked away. Hell, I liked to make an impression.
To be continued…..