Member-only story
Having Your Dreams Come True at the Wrong Time
The guitar felt heavier than he remembered it. The strap made his shoulder ache. The couple of times a year Tim would pick it up and strum a couple of chords, he would only ever sit with it in his lab. Standing with it made him feel even older.
He never got very good at it. Not really. He didn't have to.
He was 36. He hadn't seen the other guys in years. They were meeting up to plan the tour.
“All goes to show it’s never too late to make it”, Tim told himself.
He began strumming one of the old songs. Like riding a bicycle. Simple to the point of naive, childish. He was much to old for it. Just a four chord progression in simple major and minor chords. The lyrics, almost two decades old now, felt more like singing children’s songs than the Fantasy.
He had never put The Fantasy into words. Not at the time, still not quite. He had never put the fear that prevented him from doing so into words either. The Fantasy was being so good at playing Rock Music concerts that women would let him fuck them, and that he could have as much drugs, money and adoration as he needed, however much that turned out to be. The Fear was that the fantasy was childish. But he didn't dare think of that, and he hadn't had occasion to for many years. Even back then, he had settled into thinking that the Fear was something as simple as fear that he was…
