the echoes of the guitar (3)

This time, he found himself on a dirt road at sunset. His grandfather stood by a cherry-red pickup, a bouquet of wildflowers in hand, gazing at a woman with radiant auburn hair. It was Jake’s grandmother, decades younger, laughing as Henry twirled her around.

Each chord revealed another fragment of his grandfather’s life. There was joy, like when Henry played the guitar for his newborn daughter. But there was also sorrow—a dark alley, a crumpled note, and a man Jake didn’t recognize yelling at Henry before storming away.

The visions left Jake drained but intrigued. He played more, trying to piece together the man his grandfather had been.