Lloyd and Walter

           Slumped in an easy chair on a veranda looking out over the Rockies, amidst the eclectic and extravagant excesses that had accumulated over his distinguished career, Lloyd dazedly awaited the expected ring at his doorbell whilst curiously peering into his glass at the dregs of 18 year Whiskey that had clung to the remaining clumps of ice.

           On the walls behind him were a range of random pieces of modern art; bought purely because Lloyd could do so, which were interspersed with photos of his past; glimpses captured at the flicker of an eye by an itchy trigger finger but which became more and more momentous with each passing glance Lloyd paid them. In the pictures he was a young, vibrant, passion-filled hero. He commanded his followers to feel and to think. He was Moses on the Mountain-top. A far cry from the face that looked upon them; aged and withered, the stresses of constant travel and excess told on the glazed and sunken eyes. 

           He could feel his own fragility without looking at his wrinkled and mildly arthritic hands. It wormed through his body, sapping at his soul and smothering the fire that had kept him alive and fighting for so long. He let out a heavy sigh and moved the glass over to the table by his side and closed his eyes, trying to forget the room of memories that lay behind him.

            Walter stepped out of his car onto the winding driveway that ran up to the house from the small pass off of the main mountain road. Looking up at the huge house that rested against the mountain, he considered the man inside and the time that had passed since that night when their world blew apart. He had been beside himself with anxiety throughout the flight and the drive into the mountains and, now, he was staring up at this potential nightmare.
            The phone call had come completely from out of the blue. He hadn't even thought about Lloyd for a few years, which he regretted, despite the manner of their parting. Nevertheless, it was still difficult to put that all aside and agree to this meeting. The bad blood still ran cold through their relationship, even if it had been slowed and weakened by old age. But fighting had taken its toll on both of them and robbed each of them of a close friend and vital muse. Neither had enjoyed the creative flair that had been so vibrant when they were making music together. The opportunity to make amends was too much to pass up simply because of spite.
             So here he was, climbing the steps of his old friends house, images flashing through his mind; some of a glorious past, others of the potentially disastrous near-future and; most prominently, one image of immense pain that had torn up the band and stained his life since. And now he was staring at the very door he had stormed out of twenty years earlier, hoping this time it might be less painful. He raised his finger to the door bell and waited, the fading chimes serving only to build his anxiety to an unbearable crescendo.

              Shuffling and stumbling, Lloyd got out of his chair and approached the door. He hadn't seen Walter in so long and feared the sight that might great him. His round face had always seemed smooth and clean; portraying an innocence that belied his status as a rock star. Would he open the door to find that that face hadn't changed? Would he stare into eyes still as clear and bright as they had been since they first met? Or worse, would he meet a face so ravaged by the stresses and troubles of the last twenty years that he would not recognise the man who been at his side for so long? Would he see a man broken because of what he had done? He paused at the door, staring at the picture that stood beside it. A picture of the both of them, on stage, where they had been happiest.
               He wrenched the door open and braced himself. Within the door frame stood Walter. That was all. No demon sent to torture him or angel spent to spurn him. Just Walter; slightly more wrinkled and tired, perhaps, but with the same smile and the same sharp eyes, even if they were behind a pair of spectacles. Walter's hand, looking perfectly usual despite the passing of time, extended outwards towards him and Walter spoke, in Walter's voice, just like always.
               "It's good to see you. It really is so bloody good to see you."
Lloyd was dumbstruck. It hadn't occurred to him that this would be easy, would be just like they'd always been. But it was, and it was hard to know how to take the relative ease of this situation. He figured he had best take the hand to start with and see how it went from there.

                Walter grasped the cautiously offered hand and shook it warmly. Seeing Lloyd's face so full of concern as well as age had dragged his mind from out of the past into the now, staring at his aged friend looking like he was about to die of embarrassment for having taken so long to try and fix things. After so many years feeling bitter about how the band had torn apart, it felt so good to just finally see a friend rather than a band member. He brought his other arm up to rest on Lloyd's shoulder and saw the man smile feebly as he too began to see the past fall away.
                "Likewise, mate. I's been way too long." Lloyd declared as he rested his free hand on Walter's shoulder and brought him inside. Walter gazed around at what had been a haven from the world when working on a record or when recovering from touring. The pictures on the walls made the room feel heavily nostalgic but it was nice to be back where the music had flowed so freely.

                As they entered the main room Walter's eyes were immediately drawn to the piano; still where it had been since they first started working here, but now covered with empty glasses and crumpled sheets of paper. Lloyd walked off to the kitchen to fetch drinks, leaving Walter staring at this piece of history that had seen the birth of so many songs. He felt himself move towards it, unconsciously sitting himself at the keys and warming up his hands. He had started to play by the time Lloyd had returned with two cups of tea and a pad of paper, placing them all on the lid of the piano and asking through a pencil clasped between his teeth, "Couldn't keep away from it, eh?"
                 "No, I never can," Walter mused, running up and down the scales on the keys. "Shall we get started then?"
                 "Let's do it."
                 A piano rang out around the Rocky Mountains. For the first time in twenty years, it seemed glad to do so.