Flesh Guitar by Geoff Nicholson Page A

difference.’
    â€˜Dead right.’
    â€˜And I suppose there’s no point in asking you to think about Courtney and the kid.’
    â€˜They’ll live through this,’ Kurt snarls.
    â€˜Probably,’ Jenny agrees. ‘But you couldn’t exactly call it responsible parenting, could you now? It can’t be exactly what the therapist ordered.’
    Kurt turns back to the page, sorry to have wasted time talking. Jenny decides to be helpful. He stares at the paper till his eyes cross and go out of focus.
    â€˜When in doubt you could always use a quotation,’ Jenny offers.
    â€˜Maybe,’ says Kurt, ‘but I wouldn’t want to quote from some old fart.’
    â€˜It’s a strange thing about people who like popularmusic,’ Jenny says. ‘When they’re twenty-one they think the best music in the world is made by twenty-one-year olds. When they’re forty they think it’s made by forty-year olds – sometimes these are the same people they loved when they were twenty-one, but not always.
    â€˜Of course, for people who like classical music it’s different. They think the only good music is made by dead people.’
    Kurt looks at her with narcotic confusion in his eyes. This stuff is hard for him to follow.
    â€˜What I’m saying,’ Jenny simplifies, ‘is that this is what pop music is
for,
surely, to provide a series of shorthand expressions that convey and describe various generalized, uncomplicated feelings.’
    Kurt blinks at her in quiet surprise. Well yeah, what she says sounds true if a little fancy. Maybe she’s right. Maybe somebody’s already said all those things he wants to say.
    â€˜How about “It’s All Over Now Baby Blue”?’ he says hopefully.
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ Jenny replies. ‘Dylan’s too easy. And before you say it, “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” is too easy as well. How about, “Come On, Do The Jerk”?’
    â€˜No,’ Kurt says. ‘I was never much of a dancer.’
    â€˜Then how about “Waiting For The Man”? But no, I can see that wouldn’t work, the man’s already been and gone. How about “Boom Boom”?’
    â€˜Hey, are you taking me for a fool?’
    â€˜Not me, Kurt. Any thoughts on what you want to have done with your ashes?’
    â€˜Nah, I won’t be around to worry aboutit, will I?’
    â€˜So it would be all right for Buddhist students to turn some of them into figurines, and for Courtney to carry the rest of them around inside a teddy bear.’
    â€˜Oh sure, like that’s really going to happen,’ he says, and Jenny doesn’t disabuse him.
    Suddenly he shouts. ‘I know. I’ve got it. What I need is something from Neil Young. I mean, he’s the godfather of grunge, right?’
    â€˜I like it,’ Jenny agrees. ‘Go for it, Kurt. What’s it going to be?’
    Kurt picks up the guitar, strums a few easy, unamplified Neil Young chords, then says, ‘Yeah, I got it. I got it.’
    â€˜Great,’ Jenny says enthusiastically, and she watches as Kurt takes up the pen again and writes across the page those immortal words ‘I’ve been a miner for a heart of gold – and I’m gettin’ old,’ and signs it with a flourish.
    â€˜Oh come on, Kurt,’ Jenny says irritatedly. ‘I know your brains are scrambled but you can do better than that.’
    Kurt shivers. The room is suddenly cold and the desk looks as big as a pool table. He doesn’t think he can do better than that at all.
    She feels sorry for him, and takes his hand and guides it as it writes down a far better Neil Young line, the one about rust and fade. Kurt looks at the words on the page and feels pleased with himself. Jenny seems pleased with him too. She looks out of the window. She can see water, trees, hedges, a well-kept lawn. It’s OK here. A