THE GUY NEXT DOOR
“Never mind. ”
He turns sideways on the couch so he’s looking at me. His guitar is in his lap and he’s absently letting his fingers stroke the chords.
“You can tell me, you know?”
“It’s not mine to tell. ”
Steve nods as if he understands before he starts playing again. It’s a good twenty minutes before either of us speaks again.
“This probably isn’t the best time to ask you this,” he says, “but, hell, who knows. Maybe it is. I’m going to be gone most of Christmas break so I’m going to do this now. ”