Andrew jiggled his foot for a few seconds before looking at the clock again. It was still four thirty. The boss shouldn't arrive for a good half hour to relieve him, so Andrew crossed to the window of the store and pulled the vintage 1975 Fender Strat off its display of glory. With accoutrements painted gold, it was priceless and if the boss knew that Andrew had taken it out of the window he would flip. He took it to his seat behind the counter. The feet of the hard plastic chair screeched against the linoleum like a horror movie scream, reverberating around the deserted music store.

 

As he strummed it lightly he felt his chest unknotting, his stomach relaxing. The little tune was small and didn't fill the room - it simply enveloped him in some sort of cloud, nonexistent to the eye but dark and thick to the ear. It was filling his mind with the low bass line that he plucked just before flicking his fingers over all the strings in a hum that lightened the cloud to a softer mist, which swirled around him gently....

 

The only other way he could unwind like this was with Daniel, his little three-year-old boy, Daniel. And he only got to see the kid twice a month, since the child's maternal grandmother, a lawyer, was a monster during the custody trial. The woman had tried to knock Andrew entirely out of his son's life, because, as she thought, a single man could not, and should not, be alone with a baby whether he was the father or not. But the judge had been kind and knew that Andrew wanted to be a part of Daniel's world. Altogether his relationship with Daniel's maternal family was unhealthy at best.

 

Andrew sighed and hummed a little tune he wrote, mimicking the melody his fingers manipulated out of the guitar. His voice was not nearly as sweet as the sound that streamed out of the guitar, but it added a rough edge to the cloud of music. Every summer cloud has a sandpaper lining...

 

Just as he felt like nothing in this moment could go wrong, the bell attached to the front door jingled and he leapt out of his seat as if administered to an electric shock. When he saw who had entered, he felt as though he actually had been put in the electric chair. Speak of the devil.

 

"Sandy," he moaned exasperatedly. "Why are you here?"

 

Sandy shrugged, moseying down the Rock genre aisle, poking the displays. He hated it when she didn't answer his questions, which was practically all of them. "What's up, Andrew?" She picked up a Kings of Leon CD, not meeting his piercing eye.

 

"Go away, Sandy. I thought I wasn't supposed to see Daniel until next weekend."

 

"You aren't." Andrew noticed that she did not go away, nor look him in the eye.

 

"Where is my son, Sandy?"

 

"Don't yell at me, Andrew. He's at day care. Don't act like he's been spirited away or anything." Sandy approached the counter, folded her arms, and leaned against it. Her shirt was low and the sight made Andrew feel a little sick. She finally met his gaze. As he looked at her, he noticed that she definitely wasn't the same girl she was in high school. Well, she didn't have the cheerleader's figure, though she looked pretty good for a mom. Her bleached blonde hair had been her signature back then, but it had grown out to a dull brown. And something Andrew noticed most of all, her green eyes had used to sparkle, and now, like an open, undrunk soda, they had gone flat. Not unhappy, but uncontent. Like she has what she needs but nothing that she wants.

 

Well, Andrew was a helpful person. "So what do you want?"

 

"You still play guitar? You know that's what made me like you so much in high school," Sandy said, winking.

 

"Yeah, I know," Like you hadn't told me that every day to distract the obvious fact that all you wanted was my body... "Is that all you wanted to tell me? Will you leave now?"

 

"Oh, play me something, Andrew? Pleeeease, just like you did back in high school!" Sandy pouted and bounced on her toes a little, as if that might get him to do what she wanted.

 

Andrew stared at her. Was this nostalgia? Did she just want to piss him off? But, despite how much he wanted her gone gone gone, he picked up the Strat and strummed a song he knew she'd remember. She hummed along with her eyes closed, smiling serenely. Andrew suddenly felt like something was very wrong, and nearly blew a string with his sudden halt. "Sandy, why did you come here?"

 

Her annoyed expression dominated her face, answering his question. "Chill out, Andrew. It's nothing big."

 

"I doubt it. You love to make a scene."

 

"A scene? No one is here," she giggled.

 

"Is that why you're stalling? Waiting for an audience?"

 

"Oh Andrew, why do you think so badly of me?"

 

Andrew felt his face harden. He didn't answer, and bit his lower lip to keep from bursting.

 

"Aww, are you still holding a grudge over this silly custody thing? Please, you get to see Danny every two weeks! That was a piece of mercy--"

 

"You get to see him every day, Sandy! Your mother was a monster in there, I deserve to be with my son!" Andrew slammed his fist on the counter. Sandy jumped back a little, her childlike eyes wide.

 

"You were seventeen! You can't raise a kid, Andrew--"

 

"That was three years ago! And besides, you were seventeen too! What makes you qualified? Your mom? The only thing that woman can raise is hell!"

 

The skin around Sandy's eyes tightened. She looked upset but her voice was harsh. "Ha! I'd like to see you tell her that to her face!"

 

"If we went back to court, I would!"

 

Sandy paused for a century or two. "Okay then."

 

Andrew raised his eyebrows. "What?"

 

"We're going back to court." Sandy's mouth was set in a tight line. She was dead serious.

 

"Just so you can see me insult your mother? Just to call my bluff?!"

 

"No, Andrew." Sandy rolled her eyes. "It's why I came in, Andrew. I'm moving to Phoenix, so I can go to college. And I'm going to take Daniel with me."

 

Andrew pulled the Strat off his shoulder and set it against the counter. Then he walked around and stood an inch away from Sandy. "No, you are not."

 

"I'm getting sole custody, Andrew. My mom has practically got this in the bag."

 

"I still get to testify. I won't let you take my son from me."

 

Sandy stood on her toes so that she was eye-to-eye with Andrew. "Maybe you can see him in the summer. Over a vacation. I can be nice, if you make it worth my while."

 

"Worth your while? Sandy, this is your kid you're talking about! You want him to grow up without a father?"

 

"I grew up without a father! Look how I turned out."

 

"Exhibit A."

 

"You asshole."

 

Andrew didn't answer--in fact he had to resist sticking his tongue out like a five-year-old.

 

Sandy laughed at his pinched expression, though there was no mirth in the sound. Then she backed away, and marched out the door with her nose in the air. Andrew was left standing there, steaming. He fumed as he replaced the Strat to its display in the window He was tempted to rip it off the display. He wanted to throw it with all his strength against the hundreds of concert posters that plastered the dark painted walls. He wanted to see the thousands of dollars smash into hundreds of useless little pieces. He was furious with Sandy--then he realized that she had taken the Kings of Leon CD with her.