january yorgos . d10 cb . fin

January Yorgos

"Definitely, Auntie. It's really been such a great year for-"

"Janny, why don't you play us a song? You know, on your guitar?"

He fell back into his seat and rubbed his eyes. Family gatherings always seemed to be the bane of his sanity. What with Momma's attempts to parade him around like blue ribbon cattle and all. To her, he was better off occupied doing something else, anything other than speaking. January let out a groan of misery, rose up from the steps, and spoke to her.

"It's not a gui-" he fumbled with his words as Momma nodded him away with a countenance infused with scorn. Skipping every other step as he stomped down the porch, he made his way to the shed. As soon as he got far enough away to avoid getting a smack across the back of the head, he mumbled the rest of his comment, "It's a ukulele, not a fucking guitar. How many times…"

January dragged open the shed doors and stepped inside. Daylight provided little help in his search, but it didn't take him long before his hands fell upon the body of his prized possession. He first got the ukulele as a gift from his Pops when he was little. Too little to hold a full-sized guitar, let alone play one. But the instrument was too beautiful to let go of, even as he grew older and bigger (6'4", to be exact.) Red as a freshly picked cherry at the bottom of the body, it gradually faded lighter and lighter. Halfway through, near the neck, the color began to change into a lightly frosted blue, cold as ice. He never dared to ask where Pops got him from, let alone how much it cost.

"Great, sweetie! Can you play that one song? You know, that one you like so much?"

Descriptive request, as always. January held the ukulele as delicately as he would a newborn and played. Momma listened for about three seconds (he counted) before turning back to Auntie to gossip about the neighbors. He fiddled with the fret-board of the ukulele, playing with ten years worth of style and technique. The music reached its peak, January played it louder for her to hear, maybe even just to impress her for one moment.

"Did ya like it?"

"Sure, Jan. Now-"

But all he was to her was background noise.