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“That’s Nate’s,” Joe told him. “He’s a talented little drummer.”“Another Cowsills?” he smirked.“Cowsills?” asked Essie.“Like the Partridge family, but real,” Joe explained, pulling out his bass.“You’re going to play, Uncle Joe?” she asked, excited.“I guess I am.”“Cool. But no, Uncle Eddie. Just Charlie and Nate have any talent. And Joe apparently.”“She doesn’t know?” asked Eddie, settling down in a chair and beginning to tune his twelve string.“I thought she did,” Joe said, plugging in and tuning.“Know what?” asked Essie, leaning against a wall, her arms folded below her cute breasts.“Joe and I started the Monsters,” Eddie said.“Wow. And I didn’t think Joe could be even cooler.”“Joe cool?” Eddie laughed.“Asshole,” Joe muttered.“Dickhead,” he returned.“You going to play?” Joe asked.“Give me a basic blues with a walking line.”These Boots Are Made for Walking.A B C A.He began strumming and picking.“More Rumble,” he said.Link Wray.They jammed for a bit. Eddie diddling around. Sounding. Earl. Mr. Earl was always nice to me. He was an older Caucasian man about fifty or so and he had brown hair with white and gray hairs that highlighted it. He wore a silver wedding band on his left hand and he always wore brown loafers. For forty-five minutes I had to endure teasing and random shit being thrown at me. But for the last few seconds of my ride, Mr. Earl would try to spark conversations and would even give me king-size candy bars or a variety of assorted snacks. But things changed when one day I was getting off of the bus and one of my candy bars dropped. I bent over to pick up the chocolate and I felt a big, strong hand rub across my ass. Not again! I threw down the candy and ran off the bus. I didn’t stop running until my front door was locked and my back was pressed against its hard frame. For the next few fall months, I walked a little over five miles to and from school. Rain or shine, I did not care, as long as I was nowhere near Mr. Earl. I could not be taken.
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