THE GUITAR

THE GUITAR


It was just a home-made musical instrument and he had sold many more just like it. It was a hobby that he had learned and when he discovered that they could bring in a dollar, he was proud.

This particular Saturday, a friend and neighbor was bringing in a brother and sister to look at his guitars, the few he had left to sell. The man was from Nova Scotia and his sister was too but residing down South in the North Georgia area.

They couldn't believe the fine quality and workmanship of his home-made guitars. The brother strummed one or two and remarked of the great, true sound and vibration. He obviously could play!

They bragged on the styling, the wood, the grain, the look! They each bought one and left very happy with the price. The brother returned to Canada with his and the sister took guitar lessons. When her fingertips bled, she gave up. She'd stick to song writing!

On her next trip to Nova Scotia, she took her guitar home with her. Her brother loved his and asked to have his friend see hers. He did and ended up buying it. (Her brother has passed away now but his beloved guitar is still in his home with his harmonica.)

She, the sister, now lives very near her old guitar as it's owner still has it. She wonders if he strums it these days and does he still love it? Did he ever name it? Does he have different guitar straps for it? Is it in tune? Is it inside a guitar case?Does it have any broken strings? Does it have it's own sweet, special melody? Does he ever pick it up in the middle of the night or when he's home alone and lonely or sad or sick.

She compares their lives to her old guitar that she never kept. Fingers bleed; our (heart) strings sometimes break; often, we are out of tune with our loved ones or the rest of the world. We name our children, our pets, our homes but seldom name our musical instruments. At times, we cannot hear the melody but then it returns, just like the seasons. We often keep ourselves inside a case instead of joining the rest of the world.

She misses hearing her brother playing his guitar. And she wishes she had ignored her bleeding and sore fingertips. But she is secretly very happy that her guitar and its owner are still together; that they both are close-by her home on the Island.

She knows that they are all in tune with God and the Universe. She has named the guitar "Dr. Pepper" after the friend & neighbor who introduced them all to the guitar maker. After all, without him, that guitar might still be on a shelf in a small, sleepy southern town.....instead of with an amazing guitar picking-friend of her late brother's.