I found it stashed in some dark crevice in our closet next to equally forgotten hobbies that were once my latest obsession.(scrapbooking with paper really?) I drug it out and as I clicked the dusty, brown case open, I finally awoke it from its long hibernation. It was in a sad condition from years of neglect. The strings were worn down and the pitch was off. I couldn't believe this had happened. It used to be another appendage of myself that I would strap on as I stumbled through life.
It took me all morning, but I lovingly put on new shiny strings as the baby's fingers curiously banged, smudged, and plucked every part of this new toy. Finally with a lot of tightening and adjustments I got the sound just right and listened as the new strings vibrated wondering how I was ever satisfied with the awful sound of the old ones?
When it was finally nap time, I dug out my notebook full of songs I wrote in college. Some made me smile, others made me sad, and some were full of memories that I forgot were even there of falling in love, then back out, and in love again.
My soft fingertips burned as I pressed down on the strings. My hand ached as I contorted it into many uncomfortable positions and my head hurt as I tried to remember the different chord configurations that I use to know by heart, but even as I struggled through each song, I was so glad to have resurrected it from the dead. After all it was there for some of my most intimate moments of love, loss, and sadness and probably the best friend and therapist I ever had.
I took this guitar to college in hopes of learning to play and somehow in between classes and homework I found enough discipline to teach myself chords and basic music theory to write songs of my own.
This is when the therapy sessions began. It listened carefully without passing judgment and took notes on my uncomfortable situation called life with all its insecurities, heart break, and failed expectations. After we were through discussing everything, It wrote me out a script in a sweet melody and words that reassured me somehow everything would work itself out, but if it didn't at least I had a great song to share.
Somehow it crossed the line between therapist and friend with ease and it continued on many of my favorite college adventures. Together we stood in front of a row of judges and somehow found the courage to audition for the campus guitar concert. To my surprise we made it and with the rush of excitement played in front of hundreds on several occasions.
It also had impeccable "wing man" skills that helped me get the guys. While at parties it just sat in the corner waiting for me and when the moment was right I placed it on my lap, strummed its strings, and this is where the magic began because men couldn't resist a beautiful girl singing her heart out. Then my good friend waited on the side lines again while I pulled out my charm to secure a date for Saturday night.And all though I have changed my therapist who's notes sometimes leak onto my blog (oops) and I no longer need a "wing man" (thank goodness! I secured a hot Stanford man ) hopefully I will get my callous fingertips back by recording my memories with my new music software and pounding out songs like "Old McDonald's Farm" and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" Oh, old friend how I missed you.
