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Apr. 25th, 2014 02:16 pmShe can't afford it.
The money in her account is nice, but Beth knows she needs it for food and rent and to buy a whole new wardrobe, since the only clothes that came with her had reeked of sweat and dirt and all sorts of zombie guts. She's gone out a few times, tentatively explored the area around her new apartment building, bought a fresh pair of jeans, some shirts, new underthings that aren't so old and stained they look grey instead of white, and a nice soft sweater she's wrapped up in now as she stands in front of the music store and stares inside.
She can't afford it, but does she ever want it anyway. It's the nicest guitar she's ever seen up close, a Gibson with a beautiful finish, shining in the soft light of the display case and she wants it so bad she can feel an itch in her fingers. She used to play her dad's old guitar out on the porch, she remembers strumming chords, singing songs she'd heard growing up or making up ones of her own. She hasn't touched a guitar since her mother died and it reminds her of a time when things used to be safe.
Daryl's warned her against getting too settled, but she kinda can't help it. She's sleeping in a real bed for the first time in a long time, a bed in a room that's all hers. Already she's spent some time online, looking for a GED program, for a part time job that might hire a girl with no real experience and no references. And now she wants this guitar.
"Hey," she says, turning to look at someone nearby. He seems to be looking at the guitars on display, too, so she hopes she's not bothering him. "D'you know if there's any pawn shops or anything around here? Someplace where I might find a guitar I can actually afford without havin' to go hungry for six months?"
It's a joke, but she thinks maybe it's a dumb one to make, especially when she knows she's still too thin, all bones and sharp angles from trying to live on peanut butter and canned peas.
The money in her account is nice, but Beth knows she needs it for food and rent and to buy a whole new wardrobe, since the only clothes that came with her had reeked of sweat and dirt and all sorts of zombie guts. She's gone out a few times, tentatively explored the area around her new apartment building, bought a fresh pair of jeans, some shirts, new underthings that aren't so old and stained they look grey instead of white, and a nice soft sweater she's wrapped up in now as she stands in front of the music store and stares inside.
She can't afford it, but does she ever want it anyway. It's the nicest guitar she's ever seen up close, a Gibson with a beautiful finish, shining in the soft light of the display case and she wants it so bad she can feel an itch in her fingers. She used to play her dad's old guitar out on the porch, she remembers strumming chords, singing songs she'd heard growing up or making up ones of her own. She hasn't touched a guitar since her mother died and it reminds her of a time when things used to be safe.
Daryl's warned her against getting too settled, but she kinda can't help it. She's sleeping in a real bed for the first time in a long time, a bed in a room that's all hers. Already she's spent some time online, looking for a GED program, for a part time job that might hire a girl with no real experience and no references. And now she wants this guitar.
"Hey," she says, turning to look at someone nearby. He seems to be looking at the guitars on display, too, so she hopes she's not bothering him. "D'you know if there's any pawn shops or anything around here? Someplace where I might find a guitar I can actually afford without havin' to go hungry for six months?"
It's a joke, but she thinks maybe it's a dumb one to make, especially when she knows she's still too thin, all bones and sharp angles from trying to live on peanut butter and canned peas.
