Читать книгу Hell Bent for Leather: Confessions of a Heavy Metal Addict - Seb Hunter - Страница 16

5 May 1985: my 14th birthday. Downstairs in the front room, my mother and sister groggily watched me open my presents. As usual, my father was still asleep upstairs, and as usual, he hadn’t got me a present himself. But suddenly I had an idea. I padded up the stairs to my parents’ room and knelt at my father’s bedside.

‘Wake up,’ I whispered. ‘Wake up.’ Nudging didn’t work either, so I had to roll him over on to his back. One eye reluctantly flickered open and he grunted and rolled back again.

‘You know it’s my birthday today?’ I whispered into his ear.

He grunted again.

‘Well, I’ve thought of something you could give me as a present.’

No grunt this time, he just pulled up the sheet.

‘Why don’t you give me your electric guitar? It won’t cost you anything and you don’t have to wrap it and it’s not going to leave the house, is it?’

There was a very long pause.

‘Well?’ I whispered, and held my breath.

‘Oh alright. Now, please, fuck off,’ he mumbled from under the sheet.

I ran downstairs, strapped it on and stood in front of the mirror and gazed at myself for a very long time. It was lighter than the bass, and much more complicated. But it was suddenly the sexiest fucking thing in the world and it was mine, which meant that I was sexy too. I had my photograph taken with it in the garden that afternoon.

It’s a fictional chord.