The Guitar
Angelique lay in bed, covering her face with the duvet to block out the invasive, morning sunlight. Checking the clock she saw it was eight-thirty. In minutes, her best friend, Connie, would be calling with the familiar refrain, “Rise and shine, sleepy head. There’s no time like the present. You’re not getting any younger,” and any other inane, trite expression she could come up with. She had been calling between eight-thirty and nine every morning since the day Thomas had walked out, shattering Angie’s life into a million pieces. That was two weeks ago and the gray mist that had slowly gathered was still smothering her.
Angelique knew she should be grateful for Connie. If not for her friend, she probably wouldn’t have gotten out of bed for days, refused to eat and called Thomas’ cell twice as much as she actually had. As it was she’d lost ten pounds and successfully gotten Tom to change his number. The first few days, as she alternated between blubbering and raging, Connie had been there, holding her hand, listening to her rants, making her toast, and basically keeping her from jumping of the roof.
When Tom had first walked out, Angelique had called work and taken a much needed vacation. She had been in advertising since she’d graduated from college. Her hefty salary made it possible for Thomas to live his dream as an activist, protesting mostly the corporate world’s assault on Mother Earth. Made for a rather interesting twist. Since her sophomore year in college, Thomas had formed most of her opinions for her. She believed as he believed, did as he did, spouted his philosophies. Angelique didn’t mind, of course. In her eyes, Tom could do no wrong. His opinions were like gold, more valuable than anything she could express.
Connie, of course, knew better. She and Angelique had been friends since grade school. She knew her to be bright and funny, quick with a comeback, easy-going and hard-working.
They had drifted apart, somewhat, as Connie watched her friend lose herself in her lover. When Angie had called to tell her that Thomas had left, Connie said a little prayer of thanks that this beautiful, unique lady could finally be free of the Svengali who had taken over her life.
When the phone rang, Angie was tempted not to answer, but she knew Connie was on her way over, anyway, to help her go through her things. They had made a plan to rid Angie of anything that had belonged to Thomas. He had come by once, when she was out and taken most everything. The rummage sale at Connie’s church would be the recipient of the rest. On the third ring, Angie snatched the phone from its cradle and held it to her ear, “Yeah?” she croaked.
“Well, good morning, sunshine. You sound bright and chipper, this morning!” Connie’s tone was so cheery it set Angelique’s teeth on edge. “I’m in the driveway, come on down and start the coffee!”
The line went dead and Angie groaned. Since Connie had a key, she knew there was no use stalling. She sat up in bed, swinging her feet to the floor. Every movement she made seemed to sap her energy and she had to take a second to breath before stuffing her feet into her pink scuffs. A few minutes later she was trudging into the kitchen to find Connie, just opening a box of homemade danish from her favorite bakery. Angie’s stomach turned over. Normally, she would have given her left kidney for one of these decadent pastries, but her appetite failed her and she headed for the coffee pot.
After starting the coffee, Angie took a seat at the tiny table that was tucked into the corner breakfast nook. Connie set a lemon danish down in front of her friend, who curled her lip and groaned.
“C’mon, Angie. This is your favorite. Just take a bite, you’ll remember how good it is and finish it off. I promise.”
Angie looked at Connie with sorrowful eyes, feeling a tug of guilt. Connie was trying so hard. But she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but despair. Finally she picked up the pastry and took a bite. It really was delicious, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to eat more than a few bites.
“Good girl!” Connie cheered as she brought Angie a cup of coffee. “Now, you finish that up and go get dressed. I’ll get the boxes out of the car.”
When Connie was out of sight, Angelique took one more bite of danish then dumped the rest in the trash. Placing the plate in the sink, she headed upstairs to dress. She could already tell it was going to be a long day.
Angelique reappeared in the kitchen doorway wearing an old pair of gym shorts and a stained, gray sweatshirt. Her hair was pulled back in a disheveled pony tail. The expression on her face was one of pure distain.
“Okay, Miss America, why don’t we start in the garage?”
“Oh, Connie, do we really have to do this today?” Angelique heard her own whiny tone and cringed inwardly.
“You know as well as I do that the rummage sale is next Saturday and I have to have everything cleaned up and priced. Besides, you are going back to work tomorrow, remember. We won’t have another chance.” Connie’s voice was matter-of-fact, but Angelique knew her friend’s patience was running thin.
“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “Let’s go.”
In the garage, Connie dropped the boxes on the floor. Being the organizational queen, she had already marked them: two storage and four rummage.
“Let’s start with anything that belonged to him,” Connie refused to say Thomas’ name.
Angelique surveyed her surroundings. Most of the contents of the room belonged to Tom. “But, Connie, he might want some of this, we can’t get rid of everything.”
“We’ve gone over this. If he’d wanted it he would have taken it with him. Besides, he trampled your heart and possession is nine tenths of the law.”
Connie had told her when Thomas first left: you have to get angry! That’s the best way to get over this. But Angie couldn’t seem to muster any anger. Only sadness and despair. And of course, loneliness. The thick, black, icy cloud of loneliness was always with her. She glanced at Connie who was already rummaging through a box of old college text books. Angie decided then and there to take a deep breath and plunge right in. If not for herself, than for her friend who had done so much for her.
Angelique and Connie worked silently for nearly two hours, transferring everything Tom had ever touched from boxes and crates and bags to the boxes designated for the sale. If they came across something that belonged to Angelique it went in the storage boxes. When they were finished, the garage looked significantly cleaner and more organized. Connie stood and placed her hands on her hips, obviously proud of a job well done.
Suddenly, something hidden in the corner caught Angie’s attention. She ventured over and, shoving an old bookcase against the wall, she reached down and pulled up an old guitar case. It was covered with bumper stickers from some of Thomas’ causes in college. A gasp escaped Angie’s lips.
“What is it?” Connie asked, peering in her direction. “Oh, your guitar. I thought you got rid of that because he didn’t want you playing anymore.” She didn’t even attempt to cover the disgust in her voice.
“No, I was going to, but I guess I just stuck it out here and forgot about it,” Angelique spoke as if in a daze. She crouched down, laying the case delicately on the garage floor. Slowly, carefully she flipped open the latches, gently lifting the lid. Her eyes grew wide as she ran her fingers reverently over the wood and strings. Old memories and melodies flooded her mind.
The guitar had been a present from her parents on her twelfth birthday. She had begged and begged for it, and they had finally given in, assuming that her enthusiasm would wane, eventually. But she learned to play it, practicing every day throughout junior high and high school. She actually began writing songs of her own in college. She had only drifted away from it once her career took off. Thomas showed only scorn for her playing, calling it amateurish, claiming it distracted from her job and his activism.
Connie came and stood next to her friend. She knew better than anyone how much Angie’s music meant to her. She laid her hand lightly on Angie’s shoulder, “Why don’t you sit down and try it. I’ll bet it’ll all come back, like riding a bike.”
Angelique took a seat in a folding chair, gingerly pulling the guitar into her lap. She strummed it lovingly, plucking each string in turn, tuning it by ear. Connie worked quietly in the back ground as Angie began to pick out familiar tunes. Songs she had played a hundred times came tumbling back, tripping lightly from her fingertips. Connie glanced up from her work and spied the look of bliss on her best friend’s face. This was the best thing that could have happened. All signs of the spirit of Thomas had flown and in its place was a new love, or to be more accurate, the return of an old one. Connie slipped out with her boxes somewhere around the third song, but Angie wouldn’t notice for a long time.
Six a.m. came too soon, especially since Angelique had stayed up until nearly one, reminiscing with her old friend. She was excited to get back to work, though, to see her colleagues and jump back into the action. The dark clouds that had enveloped her were gone. She opened her blinds and welcomed the coming of the morning sun.
As soon as work was done, Angie rushed home as quickly as was safely possible and headed for the guitar. The night before she had looked through some of the original compositions she had ventured in college. Some of them were sickeningly, sappy love songs, but some of them were actually quite good. She really wanted to get to work, see if she could make something of them.
Friday afternoon Angie met Connie for lunch. It was one of their traditions she had missed during her dark days.
“How is the music coming,” Connie wanted to know.
The glow that surrounded her good friend told all, but she knew Angie wanted to talk about it. And talk she did, non-stop for five minutes, until she realized she was monopolizing the conversation.
“I’m sorry. I’m going on and on, probably boring you to death.”
“Oh, I’m not bored. I love seeing you this way. I just wish you hadn’t hidden yourself for so long behind — him.” Connie hoped she had not brought up the one thing that would break this spell.
“Don’t worry, Connie. I am so over him. Finding the guitar made me realize just how lost I was. I can’t believe I wasted so much time following him like some deranged puppy. But, not going to focus on the past. Everything from now on is all about the present and the future. And all positive.”
“Speaking of the future, how would you like to go with me to the rummage sale tomorrow?”
“Sure, that sounds fun. Unless you’re thinking about putting me to work.”
“Actually, I thought I would. How would you like to bring your guitar and play some tunes for us?” Connie saw the look of terror in Angie’s eyes.
“Seriously? Play in front of people? I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
“It’s a church rummage sale, Angie, not a night at the Fillmore, for heaven’s sake. C’mon, it could be fun. And it’ll get you used to playing for an audience again. You use to do it all the time in college.”
“That was a long time ago and I’d been practicing constantly. I haven’t played for years.”
“Now, I know you’ve been playing all week, and you could play whatever you’re comfortable with. Think about it and I’ll pick you up at nine. If you don’t want to do it, just tell me then and that will be the end of it.”
Angie did think about it, and what she thought was that it would be great. When Connie picked her up, she had her guitar in hand, ready to play.
The rummage sale turned out to be a lot of fun. Angie even played some original songs. Toward the end of the day, a man who had been browsing the sale approached her.
“Hi. I really like your music. You were doing some original stuff, am I right?”
“Yes,” Angelique replied, a bit shyly. “Just a few songs I’ve been working on.”
“Well, it was good. And you have a lovely voice.” He held out a business card for her to take. “I own this place. We have open mike night every Thursday. You should come down and play some of your stuff.”
She looked at the card. It read: The Green Lantern.
“No superhero stuff, just my name. I’m Trey Green. Hope to see you there.” With that, he turned and walked away.
“Thanks,” Angie continued to stare at the card.
“What was that?” asked Connie, who had witnessed the interaction. “You got a date?”
“No,” Angie answered, still in a daze. “He owns a bar, wants me to come for open mike night.”
“Wow, cool! Now aren’t you glad you came today.” Connie said with a satisfied smile.
The next Thursday couldn’t come quickly enough on one hand, and way to quickly on the other. Angie alternated between bouts of joy and feelings of pure dread. She practiced whenever she could, even bringing her guitar to work so she could practice on her lunch break. She had worked on some of her old originals and developed a new one that she wanted to try out at the bar. Connie promised to come and to bring her husband, Nate. They would be her own personal fan club, not that she needed it, Connie kept reminding her. The audience was going to love her.
When the night finally came, Angie didn’t know if she could actually do it. But, when they said her name, she had no choice and took her seat on the stool that occupied the stage. She closed her eyes and dove in. She had no idea what people were thinking during the song, but as soon as the last note died down, the crowd burst into applause. Angie was so moved, she didn’t know if she could continue. But she also knew she had to. During her second song, a sort of slow ballad, she saw that people were dabbing their eyes. A few tears glistened in her own as she finished. The third and last attempt was much more upbeat and many of the patrons were clapping along. One couple actually got up and began to dance.
Her turn was over too quickly. Trey came to the mike and thanked her, saying he knew who the new regular would be on Thursday nights from now on. The crowd cheered once more as she descended the stage steps to join Connie and Nate. Angie was absolutely giddy. She hadn’t felt this kind of natural high in a long time.
Connie and Nate praised her performance. Many of the customers approached her with congratulations and offers of free drinks.
Trey’s prediction turned out to be accurate. Angie continued to participate in open mike night week after week. Trey told her he wished he could pay her. It seemed that his Thursday nights were getting busier, due in large part, he believed to her. She thanked him but said she was happy to do it for free. This guitar with his help, had turned her life around.
About a month after she started playing at The Green Lantern, she spotted someone heading toward her as she stepped off stage. As he got closer she realized that it was Thomas. Her stomach flipped and she stopped dead in her tracks.
“Hi, Angie. How are you?” Thomas leaned forward as if to hug her and she took a step back, holding her guitar in front of her like a shield.
“I’m great, Thomas.” She didn’t bother asking after his well-being.
“I heard you’d been playing here and I had to come see. You sounded great up there. I’d forgotten that you use to play”
“You mean before you told me how I was no good and I should quit and give you all my attention?” She turned, then and headed for her table, with Thomas in hot pursuit.
“I don’t think I was ever that harsh, was I?”
“That’s how I remember it.”
Tom grabbed her arm forcing her to face him. “I’ve been thinking about you, lately. Do you ever think of me?”
“I can honestly tell you, Thomas, I never think of you, anymore.”
Just then Trey approached the couple, sensing the tension immediately. “Everything okay, here?” he asked, eyeing the grip this man had on his friend.
Angie wrenched her arm from Tom’s grasp and smiled. “Everything’s fine, Trey. This is Thomas, he was just leaving.”
Thomas backed away, “Okay, fine. I’ll go, but you can call me anytime, I know you’ll want to, eventually.”
Angie couldn’t help but blurt out, “Ha!” as he exited the bar.
She and Trey took a seat at her usual table. “Are you sure you’re alright?” His voice was kind, Angie couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m alright,” she answered. And for the first time in a long time, she knew she was.
Recent Comments