The Guitar Man

 

I remember the first time I saw you. You and your family lived across the street.
You were so young back then, running all over the place with your black hair still wet and resting upon your cheek; delicate as the morning dew God carefully placed on flowers.
Your father was watering the roses that grew on your front yard with a hose that he also used to splash you whenever you asked him to.
You had the most beautiful green eyes and freckled face.
You laughed and went on running around that you did not notice me looking at you with a smile on my face.

“Diana!”
“Yes, daddy?”
“Go inside and change your clothes. Your mother will just get mad at me again.”
”Okay daddy.”

I watched you go; you were seven years old at the time.
I was thirty-eight.

-

Honestly, I have never felt this way before towards another person.
I had countless lovers and never married. I just didn't see myself committing myself to any of my past loves.
With you though, I felt a connection, you made me feel like I was part of the world again.

You were God-given.

-

"Guitar man!"
I watched you from my porch, running towards me. I did not know what to do.
Two years have passed since the first day I saw you. I was only observing; loving in secret.
"Guitar man!" you repeated, with less energy now. You ran from your house to mine, still sweating, you held my hand.
"I asked my daddy if you can teach me guitar. I want to play one."
I was bewildered that you would ask me but seeing it as a chance to be with you even as a friend or a mentor, I agreed.
"Okay. I can teach you. Should I come over to your house?"
"No. My mom hates you."
I laughed, "Why would she hate me?"
"I dunno, I'll ask her." You started to run off but I gripped your arm before you had the chance to go.
"No, don't. I'll teach you."

-

Our guitar lessons took place on my porch until your father asked me to teach you in the safety of your own home using his terms.
I agreed, "I meant no harm to your daughter", I told him.
I could see the fear in his eyes. He thought I was a predator.
Fathers are always afraid for their little girls, which is understandable.

-

Six months passed by.
Your mother felt fine about our guitar lessons and even cooked meals for us.
I felt appreciated and even loved, living alone in a big house takes a toll on a person.
I noticed that she looked exactly like you except for the wrinkles by her eyes, signifying the happy youth she once had.

-

Your mother went grocery-shopping as she usually does every Friday. Your father was watering the roses again, it was his only hobby.
"It keeps me calm and sane", he once told me during one of the meals we had together in the dining area.

We were just finishing up with the guitar lessons when I said, "I want to show you something."
A smile crept upon your lips, your eyes curious and filled with wonder.
"What is it?", you ask. I told you to keep quiet since I put the surprise on top of the bed in your room.
We went to your room and I locked the door.
"Where is it?"

I grabbed hold of you and pinned you to the bed, your screams became muffled whispers as I kissed you.
I was much stronger than you. You were struggling with all the strength you had.
I was turned on even more.

I fumbled with my belt, then my zipper and quickly removed my pants, then my boxers.
Oh, such a sweet sight! A beautiful child, struggling, your bright green eyes shone with fear.
I removed your white dress, a color as pure as your soul.
I made love with you, you were so tight. I felt my soul intertwine with yours and I didn't want to let go.

I wanted the moment to stay forever, but you bit my hand and screamed for all the damned people to hear.
I slapped your face. "Shut up, you fucking cunt!"
"DADDY! DADDY! DADDY! DADDY!-" I slapped you again, I thrust myself further into you.
I looked down and saw blood on my penis, once it felt as if I tore you apart.
You never stopped screaming, you screamed and screamed. I heard a loud thud outside, then the sound of heavy footsteps running.
I climaxed as I realized I was about to get caught. You never stopped screaming you bitch. I took the pillow and slammed it onto your face, your screams fading into the background, then a permanent silence as you breathed your last.
Someone was pounding at the door, shouting. "What have you done, you bastard!? What have you done?!" Still naked from the bottom down, I wiped the sweat off my face.
I took the little butterfly knife I always kept in a hidden pocket I made on the inside of my belt and said, "Oh, just your daughter."

I smiled as I reached to open the door.