An Excerpt from My Shadow
New novel coming late 2006

     So, on September the 28th, as she turned the corner onto the state capitol lawn, Jan noticed in the distance that someone had invaded her space – had taken her location; someone had taken her bench. Damn, she thought; she came to this site almost every Saturday for the past two years. It overlooked the Kanawha, and she enjoyed watching the stern-wheel river boats pushing coal barges down-river heading toward the Ohio River and beyond, perhaps even to the Mississippi. She occasionally even fantasized about running away from home to work on one of those boats; she fantasized about running away from home often.

     It was her bench.

     As Jan rabbetted closer with her long quick athletic strides, it became apparent that the offending person was indeed that girl with the cheap guitar. She was young, maybe around Jan’s age, perhaps fifteen. She was very thin, with more ribs to show than breast; her lips had a certain bluish tint – not healthy-looking at all. They had the same chestnut brown-colored hair, although the thin girl’s was much longer than Jan’s. And she might have looked familiar, possibly from school. Sings well, but why does she have to take my spot? Jan thought. Too bad she can’t play that guitar!

     “Well, I didn’t see a sign saying this bench belonged to someone!” the girl said defensively, as if she read Jan’s mind.

          “It’s okay, I’ll go somewhere else,” Jan sighed in resignation. Pretty girl, despite the thinness, and that mole or whatever it was on the side of her face. “And by the way, you’re playing that tune wrong.” Her last statement was intentionally given as retribution.

      “There’s room for the both of us to sit here,” the girl said innocently in return.

     Jan ignored her. She turned away and soon located an alternate place to write, but it was over were the boys threw their Frisbees and footballs – a distraction. It was hot on this late September day, but the huge Magnolia trees shaded the lawn of the capitol building. Even though the breeze coming down the river valley felt invigorating, she would not be able to concentrate. She could always find another place to write for the day, she thought, but the bench under that certain tree had always been her favorite.

     She listened as that girl pounded out what was supposed to have been Dylan’s ‘Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right’ on that guitar. She shook her head in frustration and tried to block-out the cheap, out-of-tune, excuse for an instrument. Jan recognized that, the girl’s lack of guitar playing notwithstanding, she could sing.

     So, Jan thought about giving up for the day. The dialogue for her novel was not working out as planned. Wrong bench, probably. She closed her eyes, and listened to the boys playing and to that distant guitar droning on. She had to restrain herself from catching that Frisbee and throwing it into the river, then going over and showing miss-pretty-girl how to play poor Bob Dylan’s song, which was being butchered. Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right was one of her personal favorites, and she could both fingerpick and flatpick it. The girl was not using E minor; she played a C chord instead and it just wasn’t right.

     Jan had played guitar since she was ten, about five years now. Her uncle, a once-professional bluegrass performer, had left to her his valuable acoustic guitar and an old mandolin; it had been stated in his will. As a result of earlier tutelage from her uncle, she could play both quite well. Jan did not think of herself as a serious musician, even though her step-father insisted she take those piano lessons; she was only serious about her writing. And when not dreaming up fiction or writing furiously in her notebook, she would play her guitar or mandolin quietly in the privacy of her bedroom, or occasionally for neighbor Ann; in fact, Ann was the only person who had heard her sing.

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