I think I nearly made a fifteen year old cry…
When my apartment flooded over the holidays, one of my
first panic attacks when I got home was from wondering whether the acoustic
guitar my grandfather got me the last Christmas he was alive had been damaged
by the water. Suzette, as I call my
precious Alvarez, was safe but during the cleanup, I remanded her to the care
of the aforementioned teenager from my church who is just as much in love with
music and guitars as I am (electric, acoustic, and even a ukulele for good
measure). For weeks, I concerned myself
with other things and as life began to return to normal, something was
missing. Yet for reasons I can’t put a
finger on, I put off going to get the guitar, convinced things weren’t settled
enough to bring her home yet.
Then, I ran into Cody as I was preparing the
snack for the middle school youth group, and his face just fell flat when he
saw me. He knew that moment what I
wanted, even before I said, “Hey, you have someone of mine.” He smiled weakly and admitted he didn’t want
to give her back. He’d given her new
strings, because the old ones had seemed a bit corroded from the moisture, and
in getting my chunk of cherry wood tuned, he’d fallen in love with her. She sounded different from his other
instruments, more mellow and shy, and in playing through a few gentle tunes,
he’d become obsessed.
I can’t blame the guy.
When my grandfather died and my father took me to Goose Acres Folk Music
Centre in Cleveland, it took me hours to find the right guitar, and Father
Goose (Pete, the owner and chief proprietor) had tweaked the fret boards to
make it more comfortable to play and given me special strings which would take
the acidic pH of my fingers. I got a
tuner. I got a capo, and a comfortable
strap so she could go with me… and a case, etc.
The list goes on and on. I played
her in my guitar class, outdoors by the Rocky River, in my room, and through
all good and bad times since then. I
played through my pregnancy and beyond, as my daughter had become mesmerized
with the sound while still in the womb.
When my now ex-husband finally moved out, I took her out of the safety
of storage and played until my fingers were near bleeding, letting the music
heal me. As I looked into the sad eyes
of my young friend, I thought about a recent loss I knew his family had
suffered and knew exactly why he didn’t want to end this babysitting he’d been
doing.
“By Sunday?” I asked, giving him a few more days to say
goodbye.
“No problem. I’m…
really going to have to look into getting an Alvarez.” But the phrase rang hollow. Suzette was infused with the love and tears
she’d seen, and she had no equal. And
Goose Acres, even if it hadn’t shut down years ago, would’ve been too far away
for him to travel. “I’ll miss her.” His younger brother gave him a longsuffering
look as he grabbed the bowl of popcorn and headed back to the youth room, but
this wasn’t the only instrument in the O’Brien household who’d been given a
name. I only smiled, knowing that I’d
have to let him visit me soon. As a wise
man once told me, you don’t choose who sweeps you off your feet. You only choose how long to hold out before
you smile, take her in your arms and sing her a love song.
If you’re really lucky, she sings along in lilting
harmony with you, and you are never the same again.
No comments:
Post a Comment