SPOT THE FAKE

Writing prompt from creative writing class - write about any two objects. One story fiction, the other real

GUITAR

         Looking down on me from its position of prominence in my family room is my 1973 Gibson “Les Paul” guitar. When I steal a moment away from my family, it’s usually to take down the glistening black instrument with its starkly white pick guard and clobber an old classic or two. My performance never lives up to the reputation of the instrument. If guitars could think, I’m sure mine would be wondering What is he doing to me?
         My uncle was the true musician in the family and he left his prized possession to me. He never accomplished much as a musician but at least managed to make a living at it during his “good” times. A stint with the house band at the Austin City Saloon made him a local legend. The legend, though, washed cars and pumped gas while he was not busy being a legend.

RATTLE

         Tucked safely away, inside a small box at the back of my desk drawer, I keep a rattle. When boredom leads me to clean out the drawer and rediscover the small box, I carefully remove the little noisemaker and give it a delicate shake to hear its familiar swish. This is no ordinary rattle, by the way, not the baby-blue hunk of plastic we all slobber on as children. My rattle is a shiny, reticulated warning beacon formerly found at the gentler end of a rattlesnake. I shake it too slowly to reproduce the terrifying buzz its original owner managed. Like rings on a tree, each of the dozen hollow, button-shaped elements attaches seamlessly to its neighbor, counting off the times the snake shed its skin. At the tip is the small button he had at birth that tapers to a devilish point.
         I keep this rattle to remind me of the wild and wooly childhood that my dad always managed to make more interesting than necessary. I don’t know what Dr. Spock would have said about educating your children with live rattlesnakes, but then I doubt my dad ever read much of Dr. Spock.