Starting from Scratch

You let out another frustrated groan as your car jumps with a worrying crack into yet another pothole. You'd think after four years of driving down these dilapidated city roads you would've memorized all of them by now. The sun is washing the abandoned buildings and boarded up houses around you in a soft orange light as the day draws to a close. You can only take another deep breath and try to lose yourself in the generic rock pouring out of your radio. At least you had something exciting to look forward to when you got back.

The thoughts of that playful banter and those beautiful violet eyes put a smile on your face. The smile feels almost foreign after so many years, but you're too focused on talking to her again to think about it. Her words from last night resonated in your mind: "A friend" she said. A warm feeling rose up in your gut at the thought. It felt good to think about actually having one of those around again, and this one hasn't even tried to rob you yet. Waking up this morning to the sight of her haphazardly sprawled across your couch and snoring like a warthog widen that smile a little more. It was nice to wake up with someone in your apartment that wasn't trying to rob you for a change.

You turn the corner on the broken asphalt back to that hellhole you called home, careful to swerve around the large piles of broken glass. You do your best to look away from the obvious drug deal going down in the center, and as your eyes glance away you take in a strange sight: the snow cone stand across the street actually has the window open. You raise an eyebrow at the strange sight; that thing hasn't so much as moved in like three years. Getting talked to about "keeping quiet" by the local junkies that watch you pull into the parking lot wasn't exactly an appealing prospect, so you opt to just pull up to the snow cone stand instead and see what's going on.

Your twenty year old car's suspension groans as you pull up to a stop and see the familiar splash of electric blue hair bobbing around inside. You're honestly a little surprised she's the first one to raid the snow cone stand, though once you spot the silly hat on the top of her head it seems like something else is up. "Vinyl?" you ask as stand up out of your car.

"The one and only. What's up, dude?" she asks as she shoots you a couple of finger guns and a smirk. She's still in her black tank top from last night, but this time in a little red and white hat with a dancing snow cone man on it.

"Just got back from work. Got a new job, huh? How many times have you been mugged so far?"

She gives a light shrug. "Eh, only twice. They were both high as hell and didn't even notice when I just gave them a handful of leaves from the bushes over there instead. Want a snow cone? I'm practically a professional cone girl now. Been messing with this stuff and trying out flavors all day."

"Heh, why not? Can't imagine you've actually got much business otherwise," you say as you lean up against the counter.

"You're my first customer of the day, at least when I've actually bothered to be in here."

"Huh? Not working a full shift?"

Vinyl shrugs again and puts on a smug grin. "Well, I'm getting paid for a full shift, but my boss over there doesn't seem to be paying attention," she says, nodding her head across the street and at the front office of the old motel. Through the glass you spot your grossly overweight landlord, his feet up in his usual spot as he snores the day away. "When I get bored enough I head back into the apartment and set up some of my stuff. Hasn't seemed to notice yet."

"Wow. I honestly thought that guy was dead. How does he make enough money from this thing to keep it up?" you say as you look the guy over. You've heard whispers about the dozens of failing businesses building up under his belt like the fat built up from his latest pizza, but never actually experienced any of them yourself until now.

"Beats me. When I first walked in and asked for a room I had to land an ice cube down his shirt before he woke up. 'I could use a purdy gurl lahk you in the office', he said, before inviting me into the backroom to share a bag of skittles."

Your lips curl up and let out a quick chuckle at the spot-on impression. "Well, did you go?"

"Hell no. The bag wasn't even king size. If I was going to get groped by some old, fat dude I'm going to need at least a chicken sandwich, a Gatorade, and some king-sized candy before I go anywhere."

"Well, good to know what your ideal date is. Though I have to ask how greasy you want his hands and how much wheezing you'd like to happen in your ear."

"None, preferably," she says as she pours a large amount of neon blue liquid over the snow cone she just put together. "Here, this one's called Polar Punch. On the house."

"Not looking for big profits today, huh?"

"Hey, man, I get paid either way," she says as she leans forward onto the counter. You looked her over for a moment as you tried her concoction. The lack of sunken and tired eyes adorned with dark circles, a lively smile that hadn't been beaten down by the world yet, and a positive attitude for the future... it's definitely something to envy. Going to be even worse to see the world take all of it from her.

"Well, it's definitely better than nothing. Should keep you out of drug dealing for a little longer."

Vinyl lets her head fall to the counter with a groan. "Ugh... I know you're joking but after all that last night about no one ever leaving you've got me kinda bummed out, dude."

You take another bight of the sugary, neon delight. "Sorry about that. Just hard to keep a positive attitude after being here so long, you know? You go through every day doing the same thing hoping to get somewhere, but you're only ever stuck in a loop."

"No way to live life if you ask me. A different party and a new experience every night, now that's the life."

You give her a weak smile. "Sure would be. That kind of living takes a lot of money I don't have though."

Vinyl grips the counter and rocks her entire body backwards with an annoyed groan. "God, you and me both." She slams back down onto her elbow, resting her chin in her hand as the look of boredom grows on her face. "Look, dude, if I have to spend another five minutes in this trailer I'm going to drown myself in the tiger blood syrup. How about you and me hit up the town and go do something?"

"Really? I mean, I don't really have the money to--"

Vinyl waves you off. "Nah, dude. You don't need money to have a good time. I promise, we'll have the time of your life for five dollars tops and I'll get you in bed by 9."

You shrug. Spending time with her sounded a lot better than sitting in front of the TV waiting for the yelling to stop so you could try to sleep. "Why not?"

Vinyl doesn't skip a beat as a bright smile comes over her face and she haphazardly tosses her hat into the bottles behind her. She shoves the window closed and bounces out the side door and towards your car. "Thank God. Now start her up and let's get rolling," she says with a little whip of her hand as she slides into the passenger seat.

You let out a light chuckle. She certainly has plenty of energy for five in the afternoon, and your tired feet and sagging eyelids didn't quite match it. "So, where to?" you ask as you sit back down and snap your seatbelt in with a click.

"Music store a few miles from here. Really want to bang on something."

"Wait, you're not buying a drum set, are you?" you ask, apprehensive of the rising noise levels below your apartment.

She lets out a quick chuckle as she puts her seatbelt on too. "Pfft? Seriously? Nah, that shit is way too expensive, dude. By this time a day the two guys that work there have blown through like 10 grams of weed so they don't give a shit about anything."

"I assume that's a lot," you ask as you pull out into the street.

"Not the stoner type, I take it?"

"What gave it away?"

"Turn right here and it'll just be like ten miles down this road," she says, with a lazy wave of her hand. "And the office clothes were a big part of it. Let me guess, sales associate?"

"I work at a call center, actually."

"Oooh, stock broker or something?"

You raise your eyebrow and look off the road and over to her. "If I was a stock broker I sure as hell wouldn't be living in that shithole."

Vinyl shifts around in her seat as you rumble around some of the rougher sides of the road. "Dang, and I was just thinking about getting into gold digging."

"Gonna have to keep looking. All I've got is tech support."

Vinyl raises an eyebrow. "I thought all that got outsourced to barely understandable indian dudes?"

You let out a sigh. "Yeah... any day now."

"Oh," Vinyl says, her expression suddenly turning somber. "Well, I'm sure you'll find something even better before too long. Stock broker is always on the table, if you're looking to be a sugar daddy for me."

"What, you couldn't manage to snag one by now?"

Her playful smile drops slightly. "I wish. People... people are kinda dicks."

"Sounds like there's a story behind that one."

Vinyl takes in a deep breath and looks down to the floorboards. "Yeah... lotta sleezy 'friends' and even more broken promises. Half the reason I'm here in the first place."

"You want to talk about what happened?" you ask, trying to give your best look of concern.

Vinyl rubs the back of her neck and looks out the car window. "I... hey, we're here!"

Vinyl throws her seatbelt off with newfound joy on her face. She barely even waits for you to stop as she opens the door and is already at the entrance to the music shop. You park your car at the quiet little strip mall. You instinctively glance around the parking lot for any potential dangers, but things get a little better on this side of town. The colorful sign above the shop says 'Melody Mania', and looks like a sign to a day care center. You follow Vinyl in to the wonderful world of music, watching as a giddy grin stretches across her face.

"Oh, man, they left the expensive stuff out," she says as she makes a b-line for a massive, flashy set of jet-black drums near the back. Sure enough, the two guys at the counter look like puffy-eyed zombies. One of them was completely passed out in a chair further down the counter and you'd be forgiven for thinking he was dead if you didn't see his chest lightly rising and falling. The other guy is slumped over the glass counter, his eyes closed and his mouth open, drooling all over the cash register in front of him. Vinyl sits down at the set and whacks the crash symbol as hard as her skinny arms can manage. You almost leap backwards out of the store at the bang, but the two guys at the counter don't even flinch.

A clunky but surprisingly stable beat pours out of the drums as Vinyl gets started. She sounds like she's definitely done this before, but cares more about the satisfying boom of hitting the drums instead of actually playing something recognizable. You do your best to avoid any hearing damage and look around the long displays of instruments and accessories. For being this close to the bad side of town, they certainly had a lot of expensive looking equipment--the iron bars bolted across all the windows usually help with that though.

The shiny, polished wood of the guitars were clean enough you could see your face in them as you walked by. The store was filled with all kinds of pedals, strings, straps, and electronics, half of which you can't even begin to guess what they're used for. A quick look back at Vinyl revealed a girl having the best time of her life as she cracked her drumsticks so hard against the expensive-looking drums you're sure they might just break. A wide smile was glued to her face and her eyes were closed as she continually rocked her electric blue hair back and forth to the beat. A tinge of regret nipped at your heart. Even if you didn't end up making it anywhere, really committing to an instrument and joining a band was a thrill that might make life just a little more bearable. You let out a forlorn sigh. Too little too late on that one. Not like you'd have the time anyway. The drive one your friend's face told you she might still have a chance though.

You strolled across the dirty carpet further into the store. Instruments slowly changed from the usual guitars and basses to pianos and eventually a more orchestral selection. The glimmering brass brought back a few fond memories of high school orchestra, actually feeling like you were a piece of something that actually mattered. An idea perked up in your head. Maybe they actually had one.

You leave the bombastic brass instruments behind and look through their selection of stringed instruments. The carefully polished wood and curved necks looked almost out of place in a store like this as an assortment of different sizes of them sprawled out in front of you on their stands. You drag your fingers across a few of them to let their sounds resonate around you. The deep grumble of the double bass, the low hum of the cello, the high-pitched ring of the violin, and...

You nod, a little impressed that they actually had one. A viola. Little more beat up and worse for wear than some of the other instruments, and it was the only one they even had, but it was here nonetheless. You pick up the familiar set of strings and a nearby bow to feel the weight of it in your hand. A violin bow rested in your other hand; not ideal but not like you had much of a choice.

You put your old orchestra friend up to your cheek and draw the bow across the strings. You can't help but cringe at the disgusting, flat notes that come out of it. This thing hasn't had its strings changed or been tuned in quite a while. Determined to experience a few moments of nostalgia, you methodically pluck at the strings and twist the tuning pegs until it sounds mostly right.

Another attempt with the instrument up to your check finally allows those signature somber notes to flow out of your hands. The little twinge of vibrato and a bit of speed across the neck tell you that you didn't forget all that much since high school. You go through a few old songs that still stuck around your memories, trying not to stop entirely once you run into the occasional clumsy mistake your rusty hands were bound to make. After a few minutes, a smile comes over your face as the old music at the right tempo finally comes together. It always sounded somewhat awkward without the usual accompanying orchestra, and the violins seemed to always get the flashier roles, but it managed to bring a smile to your face after all these years anyway.

You let off a chuckle as you try to remember some of the more popular songs you learned outside of school. None of them sounded all that good at the tips of your rusty fingers, but all you really needed was practice.

"Woah, dude. Is that Star Wars?" Vinyl asks, giving you another jump and a harsh whine as you slip the bow off. You'd gotten so into it you didn't even notice the banging stop from the other side of the store.

"Yeah, actually."

"Didn't know you played violin. That sounded awesome, man!" She says, giving you playful punch in the arm.

"It's a viola, actually. Little bit bigger, lower pitch, doesn't get nearly as much acclaim."

Vinyl nods her head. "Ah, right. Probably should've known that. Why didn't I see one at your apartment? Sounds like you've been practicing."

You set the viola back down on its stand with a warm fondness. "I actually haven't played one since high school. Guess I wasn't that rusty."

"You go to high school here in Canterlot?"

"Yeah, actually. CHS. Graduated about eight years ago now I think."

"Dang... just missed you. I just got out four years go. Anyway, you ever thought about doing something with it? Might be more exciting than sitting around helping old ladies find internet explorer."

You let out a quick laugh and run your hand across the neck of the viola. "Couldn't afford it. Even if I could it'd probably get stolen within a week. I'm sure my old orchestra teacher would be happy, but probably for the best to just leave it."

Vinyl crosses her arms over her chest. "Sometimes you gotta take risks to get into a better place in life, you know?"

You let out a somber sigh. It sounded good. Becoming a professional viola player. Your grandma would definitely be proud along with the old orchestra teacher back in high school. "No doubt. I just can't afford it now. Don't have the time either."

Vinyl raises an eyebrow and gives you a look for a moment. "Well we're gonna have to do something about this downer attitude. I'll talk you into it eventually. How about a CD for the road instead?"

"Oh, my car actually only has a tape deck."

Vinyl shakes her head in bewilderment for a moment. "What? Did I get transported to 1978 suddenly or something?"

"Hey, the guy at the dealership knocked off 50 bucks," you say, putting your hands up.

Vinyl shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Absolutely unacceptable. Fine, let's just get you a tape, dude," she says as she waves you over to the counter. Despite the commotion, the two disheveled stoners behind the counter haven't so much as moved an inch since the two of you walked in.

"You weren't lying about these guys. They actually gonna be able to sell us anything?"

Vinyl laughs and grabs a handful of guitar picks out of a nearby jar. "Maybe. Let's see... fifteen feet," she says as she lines herself up next to a rack of guitars a ways from the counter. "Twenty three shots," she says, poking through the picks in her hand. "Come on, Marky, keep that pie-hole open for me." Vinyl takes a pick out of her hand and cocks her arm by her side. She whips her hand around like she's throwing a Frisbee and pelts the poor cashier right in the cheek. He twitches, but doesn't even bother opening his eyes, if he even could.

"Dang." She throws a few more, hitting him at various points around his open mouth, even landing a few in his long, unkempt, greasy hair, until finally she lands the money shot. A guitar pick lands with an audible, wet pat on the man's tongue, and Vinyl shoots her hands up into the air and spins around. "Woo! Only eleven, that's a new record!"

You stare in amazement as the pick slowly slides off the unconscious guy's tongue. "I feel like something about this is illegal."

Vinyl puts the rest of her picks back in the jar and goes up to the counter. "Eh, only if you get caught. These guys are cool, anyway. At least when they're actually awake. After 3 P.M. this place is basically a free-for-all. Good thing for them nobody ever actually comes in here."

"Yeah... I'm surprised they haven't been robbed blind yet," you say as you walk up beside her.

"Oh, they have been once or twice. Most of the crooks around here only want money though and can't do much to flip a guitar or keyboard, and the cops usually find out pretty quick when they see a guy walking down the road randomly carrying a guitar."

Vinyl takes a quick peek at the line of cassette tapes in a bin under the glass until she perks up at a specific one. She nonchalantly vaults over the counter and slides the panel back to grab it. "Bonnie Tyler, Secret Dreams and Forbidden Fire. 1986. Seems appropriate for your dumb tape deck."

"Hey, I'll have you know that I learned like twenty words of Spanish from a tape I found under the seat."

Vinyl pops open the register and slides in three dollars from her pocket before printing herself out a receipt. "Well, now you can experience the magic of Bonnie Tyler and pretend like it actually is 1986," she says as she vaults back over the counter.

You smile and roll your eyes as you follow her out of the store. "You're a wild one, you know that?"

She playfully nudges you again as the the front door dings and lets you through. "I told you we wouldn't go over five bucks, didn't I? Also, seems like you could use a little wild in your life. Wouldn't want you to turn into a mindless wage slave or something."

"Or worse," you say as you slide the key into your car door. Kind of already there on the whole wage slave thing, you think as you unlock the other door from the inside.

"Yeah, could always get bored enough to get addicted to meth. That usually doesn't end well."

The two of you settle into your car, the last bits of sunlight slipping over the skyscrapers to your left. The absence of the warmth on your cheek caused a sudden cascade of thoughts to flow through your mind. Your smile slipped off your face as you traced through your potential future, and the future of the girl sitting next to you. Your hand froze in front of the the ignition and you let out a long, sad sigh.

"Vinyl... we're not going anywhere," you say, your eyes drawn to the window and the disappearing sunlight behind the city.

"Huh? Something wrong with the car? Didn't even try the ignition yet."

You shake your head. "No, I mean, you're not going to get anywhere with me. Living here. Don't get me wrong, you've been the closest thing to a friend I've had in years and I really enjoy spending time with you... but..."

Vinyl lets out a little chuckle. "What, you're breaking up with me already? You haven't even asked me out."

You lean back in your seat and let your hand drop. Looking over to her playful expression didn't make any of this easier. "No, not like that. Look, I've been here for four years. All that stuff about taking risks and following passions... it died in that stack of bills on my coffee table. All I have is a job that's about to be obsolete and a grimy apartment surrounded by junkies and criminals. I'm one bad day from ending up like the rest of them and you... you don't deserve to end up like that. Getting comfortable being around here, around me is just going to make things worse."

Vinyl offers you a reassuring smile. "Come on, dude. Give yourself a little credit. You've been there that long and you're still trying. I know you've got more in you than just tech support. No need to go complete downer yet, you know? You've still got places to go besides that dumb apartment."

You shake your head again and look away from her. "I wish it was that simple. Once you end up at that complex, you never leave... no one ever does. One bad thing after another keeps you there... stolen tires, robbed apartment, muggings, assaults, drugs... half the time I think it'd be better just to be homeless and freeze to death when the winter rolls around." You turn to look back at her, a stern expression on your face. "Look, you've got to have somewhere else to go. Stay with some friends, your parents, the women's shelter, that van, anything. You're a beautiful, talented girl and you can still get out. Don't let me or anyone keep you there, please."

Vinyl awkwardly looks down and rubs her neck again. "Jeez, Shakespeare; That was quite the monologue. Also, the 'talented' bit will mean more when you actually listen to my stuff, you know."

You don't answer. The silence becomes palpable after a few long seconds between the two of you. You desperately wish she'd just take your advice and disappear. The nagging feeling at the pit of your stomach that she's going to end up just as bad as everyone else there won't go away, and you can't bear the mental image of this awesome girl turning into another forgettable junkie. You open your mouth to try to urge her again, but she starts first.

"Look, man. I really... I really just don't have anywhere else to go. My old friends screwed me out of a ton of my equipment and my first real gig for 500 bucks and a couple beer tickets, so I'm we're not on speaking terms. I never knew my dad and my mom was a crack addict that cared more about her next hit than feeding me, so no parents to rely on. I'm on my own out here, and I just..." she lets out a sigh of her own and looks back towards the music store. "I just need... I just need a friend, you know? Someone who gives a shit about my existence and actually has my back. I know we've only known each other for a day, but you actually went out of your way to help me move and then you saved me from the nightmare of having to sleep on that disgusting mattress. Nobody has stuck their neck out for me like that in years, man. It means something to me that you'd do that, and even if I could go somewhere, seems like you might just need someone looking out for you too, huh?"

You give her a little nod. "That's an understatement... but still, Vinyl. You don't need to go down with me just because I helped you move. Just please, think about it, alright?"

"Sure, and you should really think about not being such a downer all the time. You're pretty cool, for a working stiff anyway," she says, nudging your arm again. "Now come on, I saw Lethal Weapon was coming on tonight on the channel guide and I want to down some popcorn and beer with my cop drama."

"Yeah, that sounds nice right about now." You put the key in the ignition and start up the car.

Vinyl leans back into her seat and snaps her seatbelt in. "We can worry about your cursed apartment built on an Indian burial ground or whatever and our impending heroin addictions later. For now, let's just watch Mel Gibson fight crime and complain about the lack of butter on your cheap popcorn, deal?"

A smile manages to creep its way back onto your face. "Deal, but I do have some extra butter we can melt onto it," you fire back.

As you pull out back onto the road, you roll your old car out of the way of a pothole, and the ride seems just a little bit smoother now. Despite the mountain of problems still weighing you down, a glimmer of hope dances to life like a candle in the dark. Vinyl's relentless optimism pierces your dense exoskeleton of gloom for just a moment as you silently wonder: every comeback story has to start somewhere, right?