The Guitarist

Beautiful hands you have, I said to her.

Why, thank you, she said. I get them from my mother. My mother has very beautiful hands.

I reached over and took her hand in mine. I turned the hand over and looked at her palm. There were calluses on her fingers. You must be a musician? I asked her.

She nodded. A guitarist.

What kind of guitar do you play? I asked, interested.

Classical, she said, then added, John Williams style.

I would like to hear you play sometime. I really wanted to hear her play. It wasn’t just a pick-up line.

I could play now.

Please.

She got up and walked over to her guitar case. It lay against the wall. She opened the case and she brought out a beautiful guitar. She came back over and sat down beside me. The guitar on her lap showed that it had been played a great deal. This was someone who took her craft serious. I liked that. She twisted the tuning keys just a little and said, Let’s see. Then she played. She played beautifully.

At the end of her piece, I asked, Is that Vivaldi? I was trying to show that I knew at least a little about music.

Bach. I’ve been working on some of his violin pieces. Arrange them for guitar.

What do you love about Bach? I asked. I liked Bach. I just didn’t like the organ pieces. I don’t like organ. Except when it is played as support. Like some of the rock and roll bands of the sixties.

Oh, he’s so complex. There isn’t anything he can’t do.

I find Bach and Vivaldi and the other Baroque composers made music that was so peaceful. And it was such a chaotic age.

Kind of like ours, she followed up. The guitar rested on her lap. She looked into my eyes with her dark eyes.

Very much like ours. Though we do get some breaks from time to time.

Yes. There was a sadness to her eyes. The kind of sadness that comes with living a sad life.

Why are you so sad? I asked, going deeper.

Why do you say that?

There is such sadness in your eyes.

I’m sorry. I don’t think you want to explore my sadness.

I thought for a second, then I answered her, I do.

Would you like to make love to me? she asked out of the blue.

Yes. But only if we can get to know each other. It’s too early for that.

She smiled. I liked her smile. I leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips.

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