Kevin picked up the phone and called Walter the minute he read his ad in the Classifieds section of the local newspaper.
Quiet, non-smoking widower seeks tenant for second bedroom of fourth floor walkup on tree-lined block. No central air, but bedrooms have window A/C units. Keep to yourself and we won’t have any problems. $800/month.
Despite the air conditioning situation and the offer’s mildly standoffish tone, the affordable rent and amazing location seemed perfect for the aspiring young musician.
The two met at Walter’s front door the very next day.
The old man stood perfectly straight and pressed his shoulders back sharply as if standing at attention before going into battle. He glared down at his potential housemate with a wrinkled brow that appeared to be permanently plastered on his face from years of scowling.
“Kevin?” He grunted and stuck out a huge hand. “Walter.”
The greeting was accompanied by a piercing stare and a conspicuous visual survey of the items that his new roommate had brought along. “What the hell do you plan on doing with that?” the old man asked gruffly as he pointed to the acoustic guitar case in front of him.
“I’m a musician, sir.” Kevin answered respectfully. “I’ll be playing around town.”
“Not in here, you wont.” Walter protested. “This is my home, not a damned concert hall. I don’t want that thing played in here.” He moved within inches of the young man’s face and grimaced. “Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes sir.” Kevin replied fearfully.
“Good. Now, come on in.”
He followed the old man passed the spotless living room’s seventies-era recliner and sofa, over to the narrow hallway where a tiny bathroom divided two small bedrooms.
“Yours is here and mine is over there,” Walter said as he pointed at the door across from where the two men stood. “Stay out of my room, no showers after eleven, and keep the noise to a minimum. Here is your key.” The old man grabbed Kevin’s hand and firmly placed the cold metal into his palm. “Do you think you can handle that?
“Yes sir. No problem.” The young man replied with a smile.
Walter looked at his new boarder suspiciously and grunted. “I certainly hope so.”
After a few weeks, Kevin adjusted to life in the city and managed to get some gigs nearby. He went to his temping job in the daytime and played open mics at night. The shows kept him out late, but he had become quite good at stealthily entering and exiting the apartment without waking Walter.
As time moved on, the old man seemed to become mildly interested in his roommate’s musical endeavors. He would ask things in passing like, “what exactly do you play?” or “do people actually come watch you?” Kevin invited him to a set and even offered to play him a song one day before work, but Walter refused. He said he wasn’t that interested, but was glad that his tenant had something to keep him occupied. Aside from the occasional morning chitchat, the two rarely crossed paths.
On one particularly hot afternoon, Kevin got off work a few hours early and headed home. Despite the midday hour of his arrival, he quietly slid his key into the lock and slowly opened the door. There, on the couch, in nothing but his underwear and playing a perfect rendition of, “Stairway to Heaven,” on Kevin’s guitar, sat Walter.
Time stood still as the two stared at each other awkwardly. A light breeze from the open windows provided the only movement in the apartment for a short eternity.
“Hey,” Kevin managed to say softly as he stared at the ground. “That sounded really good.”
“Thanks.” Walter exhaled, his eyes glued to the instrument’s frets. “I guess I have some explaining to do, huh?” Despite the embarrassment he surely felt, Walter proudly stood straight up, placed the guitar against the wall and marched into his room.
When he returned, the old man sat on the sofa in freshly pressed khaki pants and a navy blue cardigan. He placed his hands on his lap and told Kevin to have a seat.
“Okay, son. Let me tell you a story.”
His face began to soften.
“I played guitar for about twenty years. Truth be told, it’s what I did for a living.” Walter’s eyes twinkled as a smile slowly raised the wrinkled corners of his mouth. “I was in different bands that toured the country and one of them even opened for Zeppelin once.”
Kevin couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“I met my wife at that very show.” The old man sighed and rested his hands on his chest near his heart. “She was so beautiful. I met her outside that venue and I just knew she was the one.”
The perpetual scowl that his tenant had come to know so well was almost completely gone.
“I invited her to join me on the road and, to my surprise, she accepted. Now, that doesn’t mean that she was some groupie slut, you understand?” Walter’s face tightened again briefly, but relaxed when the young man nodded in agreement.
“We were so in love,” he continued. “I was already beginning to feel old and burnt out before we met, but she reignited my passion for music. The lights and the large crowds all seemed to disappear around her as I played on stage. She was the only audience I needed.”
He quietly chuckled to himself and continued to reminisce. “She made me play for her all the time. I’d serenade her here in the living room, out in the park, over the phone…” His smile gently faded and his eyes began to water. “In her hospital room those final months… You know, no matter how bad she got, she still smiled every time I picked the damned thing up.” The old man closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“I’m really sorry, Walter.” Kevin said sympathetically.
Walter nodded and exhaled. “After she was gone, I just couldn’t play anymore. It felt like a forced, joyless effort. It… hurt too much.”
He paused for a moment, cleared his throat, and then met Kevin’s eyes with his own. “I apologize for using your guitar without asking, but it had been so long and I just wanted to see what would happen.”
“No, no, no,” the astonished young musician protested, “anytime you want to play, please feel free. You’re amazing!” He picked up the instrument and placed it back in the old man’s lap. “Maybe you and I could even jam sometime.”
Walter leaned back on the sofa and began playing a beautiful melody – her favorite song. For the first time in a long time, feelings of comfort and solace replaced heartbreak and loss as his fingers glided delicately along the fret board. Each note gracefully danced around the tiny apartment and floated out the open windows. The old man smiled and returned his attention to his new audience.
“You want to jam with me?” he asked as he continued to play.
Kevin grinned and nodded enthusiastically.
“Do you think you can handle that?”
