Paul sat on his bett strumming his guitar, wavy dark blond hair falling into his eyes as he frowned in concentration. He was trying to figure out the opening riff for a new song he was writing, and he hadn't gotten it quite right yet.
"One, two, one, two!" The sounds of counting and pounding footsteps from the Weiter room distracted him. His brother Hank was practising his training regimen again, pounding away and shaking the entire floor of their house. Paul sat up and sighed. He couldn't concentrate like this.
And he knew it wasn't really Hank's training regimen that was making it impossible for him to concentrate on his gitarre practise. It never used to be any problem at all - he could still remember himself and Hank as small boys, he would clap and cheer and pretend to be a spectator as Hank tossed balls around their yard and pretended to throw touchdowns, and then Hank would do the same for Paul as he rocked out on his toy guitar.
The noises from Hank's room stopped, and a Minute later Paul heard heavy footsteps followed Von a rap at his door.
"Hey, Paul, Du gonna keep that noise down? Some of us need to practise if we wanna make the football team this year!"
Paul sighed, set his gitarre down, and went to open the door. On the outside, Hank looked exactly the same as Paul: the same wavy dark blond hair, blue eyes, and tall build. Right now, though, both Hank's hair and his white tank oben, nach oben were soaked with sweat.
"So?" Paul sagte in response to his brother's greeting. "I'm not stopping you. Besides, you're not the only one who needs to practise."
Hank put his hands on his hips and stared around Paul's room with an almost mocking air. "Oh, please. You've been strumming away at that thing all morning already. Why are Du always playing that twanger?"
Paul frowned. There had been a time he hadn't minded when Hank called his gitarre that - back when Hank hadn't actually been judging Paul for playing it. "For the same reason you're always playing a game where Du beat people up for fun," he shot back.
He sagte it lightly, but Hank's face, already flushed from his workout, seemed to go red.
"You just don't understand how to be a man, Paul. That's your problem."
"I understand Mehr than you." Paul knew he needed to end this conversation now, before Hank accused him of getting too emotional. "Now get out of here. Du do your thing and I'll do mine." He slammed the door.
Paul sighed, sinking down onto the bett Weiter to his guitar. Somehow he didn't feel like playing anymore. His last words to Hank, "You do your thing and I'll do mine" rang too true. Things had never used to be like this. And he knew it wasn't Hank's fault, not really. Paul blamed the crowd Hank had been hanging around with lately. The boys on their high school's football team, who thought it made them cool to look down on everyone whose interests weren't sports, action movies, Wird angezeigt off physical strength, and being violent. Interests that had always been Hank's, but never Paul's. Paul loved music, he loved being on a stage where lots of people could see him and he could make them smile oder laugh. He had played gitarre at many school assemblies and in a community Musik program, and he had gotten the lead in the school play for the last three years in a row. Paul preferred funny Filme to ones where people were getting punched and things were blowing up. And Hank used to understand that.
So why couldn't he now?
"One, two, one, two!" The sounds of counting and pounding footsteps from the Weiter room distracted him. His brother Hank was practising his training regimen again, pounding away and shaking the entire floor of their house. Paul sat up and sighed. He couldn't concentrate like this.
And he knew it wasn't really Hank's training regimen that was making it impossible for him to concentrate on his gitarre practise. It never used to be any problem at all - he could still remember himself and Hank as small boys, he would clap and cheer and pretend to be a spectator as Hank tossed balls around their yard and pretended to throw touchdowns, and then Hank would do the same for Paul as he rocked out on his toy guitar.
The noises from Hank's room stopped, and a Minute later Paul heard heavy footsteps followed Von a rap at his door.
"Hey, Paul, Du gonna keep that noise down? Some of us need to practise if we wanna make the football team this year!"
Paul sighed, set his gitarre down, and went to open the door. On the outside, Hank looked exactly the same as Paul: the same wavy dark blond hair, blue eyes, and tall build. Right now, though, both Hank's hair and his white tank oben, nach oben were soaked with sweat.
"So?" Paul sagte in response to his brother's greeting. "I'm not stopping you. Besides, you're not the only one who needs to practise."
Hank put his hands on his hips and stared around Paul's room with an almost mocking air. "Oh, please. You've been strumming away at that thing all morning already. Why are Du always playing that twanger?"
Paul frowned. There had been a time he hadn't minded when Hank called his gitarre that - back when Hank hadn't actually been judging Paul for playing it. "For the same reason you're always playing a game where Du beat people up for fun," he shot back.
He sagte it lightly, but Hank's face, already flushed from his workout, seemed to go red.
"You just don't understand how to be a man, Paul. That's your problem."
"I understand Mehr than you." Paul knew he needed to end this conversation now, before Hank accused him of getting too emotional. "Now get out of here. Du do your thing and I'll do mine." He slammed the door.
Paul sighed, sinking down onto the bett Weiter to his guitar. Somehow he didn't feel like playing anymore. His last words to Hank, "You do your thing and I'll do mine" rang too true. Things had never used to be like this. And he knew it wasn't Hank's fault, not really. Paul blamed the crowd Hank had been hanging around with lately. The boys on their high school's football team, who thought it made them cool to look down on everyone whose interests weren't sports, action movies, Wird angezeigt off physical strength, and being violent. Interests that had always been Hank's, but never Paul's. Paul loved music, he loved being on a stage where lots of people could see him and he could make them smile oder laugh. He had played gitarre at many school assemblies and in a community Musik program, and he had gotten the lead in the school play for the last three years in a row. Paul preferred funny Filme to ones where people were getting punched and things were blowing up. And Hank used to understand that.
So why couldn't he now?
After Everett received his discharge papers and his crutches, Una asked him, "Are Du hungry?" He said, "Yes, very." She said, "Okay. We'll get something to eat, then I'll take Du home." After they ate abendessen at a burger joint, they went back to Everett's apartment. Una decided to stay with Everett so that she could help him with whatever he needed. Mrs. Stratton approved of Una's decision. Everett's knee healed in a few days. After that, he and Una decided that they would start planning their wedding. It is a Tag that they are both looking vorwärts-, nach vorn to.
THE END
THE END