Free I Am (Not) the Walrus by Ed Briant Page B

could feel the sound in my mouth. It made me swallow. Before I could play another note, a series of footsteps hammered up the little staircase. A face appeared in the doorway before the notes even stopped ringing off the walls. The older gent from downstairs.
    â€œStop,” he pleaded, with his palms out. “Stop!”
    I froze with my hands hovering just above the strings. Was it dangerous? Was it toxic? Would my hair fall out now that I’d touched it?
    The gent crossed the room in about three steps. He slid the guitar off my lap. I was as rigid as a shop dummy.
    â€œIt is a 1962 Fender Precision bass,” gasped the gent as he placed it back on the wall, hooking its little loop of guitar string over the hook.
    â€œBut it’s only ninety-nine pounds,” I said. “I could
buy it.”
    â€œNine thousand,” muttered the gent, “nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds. I’m selling it for a collector friend of mine. It’s not just the most valuable instrument you have ever touched.” He prodded himself in the chest with his thumb. “It’s the most valuable instrument I have ever touched.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said.
    â€œIt’s okay,” said the gent. He reached past me, unhooked another p-bass from the wall, and handed it to me.
    He said, “Give it a whirl.”
    This time I folded my fingers around the neck and body as if it was a priceless vase. As if the slightest knock would shatter it. Then I sat down on the stool with it.
    The gent shuffled around behind me, plugged one end of a lead into an amp, then plugged the other end into the bass.
    I played a quick blues line. I felt I was supposed to comment so I said, “Sounds nice.”
    He gave me a not-quite-a-grin, and said, “Put it through its paces.” Then he turned his back on me and clumped back downstairs.
    Once he was gone I relaxed and began playing a bass line I’d heard on the radio a couple of days earlier. I ran through it a couple of times. I was just about to start a third verse when a voice next to me made me jump.
    â€œBrilliant,” said the voice. “That’s ‘Nowhere Man,’ right?”
    I was so shocked that I almost dropped the guitar. The owner of the voice was a kid from school. I’d seen him a few times, but I didn’t know him. “Yup. ‘Nowhere Man,’” I said. “You have a good ear.”
    â€œThanks,” he said. “My dad played my first Beatles record when I was a baby,” he said, “and I haven’t stopped listening to them since.” He reached his hand over to me. “I’m Zack, by the way. If you don’t mind me asking, are you in a band?”
    I twisted around in my seat so I could reach over the bass and shake his hand. “Not at the moment,” I said.
    He sat down on top of the amp. “I’ve been trying to put together a band for a while,” he said. “And I want to play mostly Beatles stuff.”
    â€œGood idea,” I said. “The songs are great. Everybody likes them.”
    He spread his hands. “I don’t have a bass player yet. I mean, would you be interested?”
    To be honest, my first thought was to say no, but then I thought back about what Katrina said about me not having any friends. I think I just wanted to prove her wrong. I nodded. “We could give it a go.”
    â€œI think it’s going to be amazing.” Zack sprung up, and selected a telecaster from the wall. “This is what I have,” he said, then pointed at the p-bass on my knees. “You have your own axe, right?”
    I was going to say yeah, sure, but Katrina came back to me again, with all that stuff about me being devious, so I said, “I have my brother’s p-bass. He’s in the Navy so he doesn’t use it.”
    â€œDo you think he’s going to want it back?” said Zack.
    â€œIt’s not so much that,” I