#skulpin

        The hallway they are in now is rapidly coming to an end. Gunter is panting heavily as he looks left to right at the end, then on a whim goes to the right. This leads them right onto the stage.

        Meena feels like she is inhaling and exhaling pure giggles as she continues jogging forward. Being an elephant and all, her large size is sometimes an issue, and makes her unwieldy. She never participated in sports in school because of this. And now, while running as fast as she can away from Johnny, she is reminded of why elephants do not typically go out for marathons. She loses her balance, veering out of the path Gunter has been carving for them through all the props currently sitting on stage. She lets out a cry, her elbow colliding with something hard as she falls down.

        “Ah, Meena! Are ya okay?” Johnny asks. His quarrel with her is quickly forgotten as he bends down to help her up. She barely has time to admire the bulge of muscle in his arms as he supports her back to her feet.

        “Y- yeah… I think I’m fine…” she answers, rubbing her head.

        Gunter is staring at something past her. “Ach, nein,” he mumbles softly.

        The two teens follow his gaze, and immediately both of their jaws sag open in dismay.

        The hard object Meena’s elbow had hit was an amplifier. The amp had fallen over, and when Johnny sat it upright again, underneath was Ash’s guitar. It must have been propped up next to the amp, but now it was a crushed mess on the floor. Guilt stabs at Meena’s heart like a thousand little pins.

        “Oh, no…” she whispers.

Ash hums a little melody to herself as she nudges open the front doors of the theater. A bag of sub sandwiches swings from her grasp, freshly prepared, toasted, and wrapped at the Sealway a few blocks over.

        As soon as she enters the auditorium from the lobby, however, her cheerful mood vanishes. She has to wade through waves of tension just to get to the stage. She sees Meena, Johnny, and Gunter surrounding something, and when they turn to see her, their devastated expressions only worsen.

        “Guys? What is it?” They do not answer her, so she climbs up onto the stage herself. She pushes Meena and Johnny aside and feasts her eyes on the most depressing and pathetic sight she has ever seen— this even beats the time she spotted her ex and his new girl singing a lame duet at the restaurant she and her ex could never get gigs at when they used to date…

        The sandwich bag drops from her shaking fingers, hitting the ground with a dull, resounding thud. She is quick to follow it. Ash feels her legs cave underneath her, and she crumples to the floor in a heap. Her eyes are swimming with tears as she crawls over to the mangled instrument that used to be her beloved guitar. In her mind, she sifts through all of the memories and special moments she had with this guitar: her first gig, when she wrote her own original song, and her first concert…

      She sniffles, wiping her nose and sitting back against an amp, cradling the ruined guitar in her lap. The others approach her, a chorus of “sorries” leaving their mouths in a never-ending torrent, but she does not hear them. She only focuses on the destroyed guitar, and all the bittersweet memories it has woven between broken strings and splintered wood.

Ash still remembers her eighteenth birthday a few years ago. The memory is as clear and distinct in her mind as a photograph in her hand.

        It was June, so the entirety of Los Angeles was trapped in a massive heat wave. As Ash strolled down the street, she felt like she was trying to wade her way through a solid wall of heat. The sun beat down on the hot streets, and hairless and fur-covered animals alike were all panting heavily as they walked. The air was filled with the unpleasant stench of hot tar from construction just a block over; that mixed with the smell of car exhaust made Ash’s trek through the heart of the city quite a miserable affair.

        The only thing empowering her and keeping the pep in her step was the knowledge that today, she was finally an adult in the eyes of the law. Although her parents lived halfway across the country in Iowa and she had not seen them in a few years, Ash felt freer than ever. Running away from home at fifteen was definitely the best choice she had ever made.

        Besides, if it were not for her escaping her dusty hometown three years ago, then she never would have met her current boyfriend of one year. Lance.

        If any stranger were to stop her on the street and ask her to tell them about Lance, Ash would have three words for them: “Strong. Rugged. Handsome.”

        Okay, so Ash had not been expecting to fall for someone like him. She had not pegged herself to go for the stereotypical “bad boy” kind of guy. But there was something about the other porcupine that drove her wild. Just laying her eyes on him made her heart rate pick up and her palms start to sweat. He was not always the most affectionate of guys, but then again Ash did not have much— or any— experience with guys. For being her first boyfriend, Lance was passing every test to their relationship with flying colors.

        After the long, grueling walk through the city, she was greatly relieved to arrive home. She climbed the stairs to her and Lance’s shared apartment, singing a quiet tune to herself. She honestly could not pinpoint the last time she had been so… carefree. And cheerful! It was a fantastic feeling.

        The high she was riding on did not come to an end once she opened the door to their place. She swung it shut behind her and dropped her key in the bowl in the foyer. She turned the corner into the living room, and then she froze into a statue.

        “Hey,” Lance rumbled. He wore a sly smirk on his face, and his bright green eyes were narrowed into equally mischievous slits. He was standing in the middle of the room and leaning against a very intriguing-looking object.

        “Babe… wh— what’s that?”

        “What? Oh, this?” Lance circled around the object, keeping one hand on top of it as he moved. “Nothin’.”

        She tilted her head playfully. “Lance.. !”

        He chuckled, and dropped the uncharacteristic act. He reached for a zipper running down the length of the item and pulled it down slowly. With every millimeter more the zipper descended, Ash’s eyes grew another size larger until her brows were practically reaching her quills. Eventually the zipper stopped and the black cover gave way, revealing a new electric guitar coated in shiny red paint.

        Ash stumbled forward, reaching out one hand as if the guitar was something far away and unreachable. “Oh my god… are you… is this— is this for real?”

        “Yup,” he said. “Got it for cheap at Mel’s on 48th Street. Do you… do you like it?”

        “Like it? I love it!” She flung herself forward, enveloping him in a robust hug. “Thank you so, so, so much.” Then she leaned back, hesitated a moment, and then decided to just go for it. She pulled him into a long kiss, smiling all the while. When they finally separated, she mulled over the words brewing in her mind and in her heart.

        She squeezed his hands, looked deep into his gorgeous green gaze, and murmured, “I love you.”

        If a roller coaster represented their romance, then that day was most certainly the high point, at the very top of the tracks before the big drop.

        That was the last time he ever got her a decent gift. And it was the last time she ever said those three words.

        Should she not have been expecting for him to say it back? They had been together for one year. One whole year filled with memories, laughs, kisses, and the boom of music in their hearts and souls. She hated those corny thoughts swarming her head— not just because of their utter cheesiness so uncharacteristic for her, but also because of their now apparently false existence. Because he did not say “I love you back.” The three words that left his mouth were

        “Oh…

                “Yeah…

                        “Cool.”

        She felt so loved.

        And yet, it was easy enough for her to move past that embarrassing let down. There was her new guitar, which sat patiently waiting on its stand in the living room. So that night, she settled on the floor next to it, the tips of her quills pricking the couch as she leaned back against it. She took the guitar into her arms, and it slipped perfectly into her hands and lap like it was made to be played by her. She took out a brand new guitar pick and began strumming the strings gently, babying the instrument as she broke it in. Once she had gotten through a few memorized tunes, she decided to plug it into an amp on the lowest volume— just for the sake of their neighbors downstairs, because it was not as if her ears would have minded the loud noise. She then took her pick to the strings once again, and the music that flowed out was indescribably beautiful.

        The music covered up that “Oh… yeah… cool” in response to the three most important words ever. “Oh… yeah… cool” was just a mumble in her head, and the music was screaming right over it, steamrolling over those three pathetic words. His three pathetic words, and her three pathetic words. It was perfect.

        The guitar made her feel more than great. It was a beyond surreal feeling every time she picked it up and plugged it in. Suddenly, landing gigs became easier too. Just a brief sample of the fresh songs pouring out of that guitar and they were hired. Ash worried about Lance showing some jealousy, but he continued slamming on his not-quite-as-new guitar just the same as before.

        And still, even when things fell apart between the two of them, she was okay. As their too young two-year-old relationship began to crumble all around her, she turned to her guitar and started to play. And when she felt really awful, she started to sing.

        The singing was born out of an urge to rebel. There had always been rebellious blood in her veins, ever since she ditched her boring parents and dull hometown— and maybe even before then.

        But when she and Lance began to fight frequently, she fed her rebellious side with hearty portions. Yelling just a bit louder when backup singing for him was only the appetizer. She kept serving more and more courses, leaning into the microphone and swiping at the strings until her arm was a blur and her muscles were shrieking from the exertion.

        Eventually, Lance learned to pronounce the elusive word “love.” The only problem was that the way he pronounced it was in the form of a casual, flippant “Love ya, babe.” It was the same three words she had said months earlier, only somewhat rearranged and skewed. But she accepted it all the same.

        And on their off days, she continued to sing louder. She wanted to be noticed. And the day she pushed him out of the way on that stage… well, that was only the beginning.

Back in the present, Ash runs her furry hands over the ruined strings of her guitar. To think of all the times she practiced and played and toiled for hours over this thing, all the callouses that formed on her fingers combined with the familiar ache in her teeth from holding a guitar pick in her mouth while scribbling down music notes or lyrics.

        For the first time since she sat down with it, she glances up. Meena, Johnny, and Gunter are still standing there looking so, so guilty. Now Ash can’t tell if the stab in her heart is from the pain of losing her guitar, or from seeing their forlorn faces.

        “We are so sorry, Ash,” Johnny mumbles.

        “We can all pitch in to help buy you a new one,” Meena adds.

        “Or for zee repairs,” Gunter says.

        Ash shakes her head. “It’s okay, guys. It… was getting old, anyway.” She forces a smile to stretch her lips open, despite being more inclined to frown at the moment. “I- I had a lot of memories with it, but hey, at least now I can buy that new one I’ve been eyeballing at the store.” She examines the newly-made chips in the black paint job, revealing the bits of the old red underneath and bits of her past self, the girl who was in love with the careless boy.

        “I’ll survive,” she says. And she knows she is right.

        The next day, she, Meena, and Johnny walk to the music store a few blocks downtown. She finds a shiny, brand new guitar there with stiff strings that have yet to be played. She takes out her trusty old pick, gives the instrument a few strums, and then nods affirmatively.