learning curve

my fingers hurt as i type this. i have shared an afternoon with an old friend. i picked him up during my youth then forgot about him. he’s back in my life and his strings feel like magic in my clumsy hands.

i had stowed him away years ago, thinking i wouldn’t miss him. that rich gleam of his face, the curves of his silhouette and that guttural sound when my fingers plucked at him. my guitar had become part of me, as maybe most musicians would say. i don’t consider myself a musician because i never reached that kind of talent but i did make the connection. my hands had finally made sense of the anatomy of this instrument.

i’m not sure what happened first. my hand was bit by a dog. my left hand. this was years ago. i had used it… the pain associated with it… to put him down. this being that had been part of me, gone everywhere with me, i had to put him down. i don’t really know why now but i did.

this weekend, i was in the garage when my eye caught a glimpse of that dusty black case. i was scared at first. after all, i had banished him for almost six years. what if something had happened inside that dark place. what if i opened the case and found only warped wood. and then there was the guilt. i felt like i didn’t even deserve him anymore. after all, i had put him away and never gave him a second thought.

but i went in anyway and pulled him out. i brought him inside and laid him down on the floor in front of me. cross-legged, i began opening those brass latches, one by one and started to cough as the dust hit the air. he was there. just like i had left him.

i’ve been reacquainting myself with him, with those strings and that same guttural sound that echoes each time i strum out a wobbly chord. i’m instantly relaxed and feel better about myself.

unfortunately, i can’t say the same for my fingertips.