Don Mann: Focusing on my Craft

Thursday, Sept. 09, 2004 - 12:06 a.m.

It's funny how people can make you happy, and never even know...

"She played a mean acoustic guitar," I thought as I heard her strumming (fingerstyle!) from across the room in the small wood-walled structure. Clint and I entered cautiously, ever mindful of her concentration. We engaged in small talk, he and I, as we selected random instruments to experiment with. I chose a broad-bottomed Gibson, a wooden juggernaut amongst its smaller counterparts. I wonder now if I was compensating for something. I played a few notes from a few familiar songs...Clint did the same on whatever piece he chose. It was then one of the employees of the store came in, barking something at Clint about "having to polish that guitar after you're done, we're trying to reduce the wear on them". WHat he said precisely is of little consequence. However, after the door was essentially slammed on us, a voice from the other side of the room intruded on the silence.

"I wonder if he has to polish that knob on that door, too." She said, facetious and mocking.

I said something, I don't remember what, since it's of little bearing now. Suddenly, I felt like there was a third member of our little party. Her name was Andrea, as we'd later find out, and she'd been playing guitar for little over a year. Her hair was a standard blonde, decorated with beads, her clothes mild earth tones. I did note her eyes, which were of a deep tone, blue I believed them to be, but perhaps green. She sat on the bleached, wooden stool in a classic pose, guitar cradled under an arm, her head proud and high like royalty amidst such laudable surroundings.

Despite Clint's strumming of various instruments, and my pretense of indifference, I managed a look over to her casually now and again. Our eyes met twice, both of us glancing back to our instruments, trying to make the other forget what we'd just done. Finally I broke the awkwardness and made a move for the door. Clint and I wandered a bit, and Andrea hovered close behind, moving to some of the instruments just a few feet from the door. I made a purchase; some strings for my guitar, and some picks. Some heavy metal-esque reject from the 80's metal trend was squatting on a stool, playing riffs from songs that must have changed the lives of the children before us, because they hadn't changed mine. After another brief meander, Clint and I headed for the door. It was then I spoke up.

"We should say goodbye to that woman..." I managed, as I'd already altered my direction, locked on her coordinates like some sick bomber bent on destroying a small village.

Before he could reply Clint was by my side in front of her, and her hand was in mine. I told her my name, she told me hers...and then I left. I said something to her on my way out I hoped she'd find inspiring...what it was is practically meaningless.

In the car Clint spoke.

"Why'd you go through all the trouble...and not follow through?"

I wondered a moment, because a sure-fire answer didn't come to me. I opted for a facade of ignorance.

"On what?"

"On that girl in there. It was obvious she wanted your number...why go nine tenths of the way...why not just finish it?"

Again, I had no logical answer. I stared at the road as if it held the answer. The conversation dropped there, because Clint looked down at the strings I'd purchased.

"Where are your acoustic strings?" He asked innocently.

"What do you mean?" I glanced at the package...-Twelve High Quality Electric Guitar Strings-

"SHIT." I turned the car around. Clint said something about this being fate's way of getting me to give that girl my number. I said it was fate's way of kicking my ass if that girl had already left. To switch the topic, I quickly mentioned never trusting employees again with finding the proper product one seeks.

We were back in the store in no time, Andrea no longer at her post by the door. I think this was the first time I ever breathed a sigh of relief followed by a deep inhalation of regret.

"She's back in the room." He said.

I brushed these words aside as I quickly completed my transaction with the cashier. Clint noticed they were holding a raffle, and began to fill out a ticket. I filled one out as well, keeping the stub and pen for a special purpose.

On the stub, which said "KEEP THIS COUPON" I wrote "Coupon Valid for One Conversation. 785-3701 -Don"

I'd have written more, but there was simply not enough room on the little orange fucker. We made our way back to the acoustic room, and I'm not sure who was leading us, me or Clint or blind inhibition, but before we knew it I was explaining myself to Andrea. After some extended small talk during which I learned much about her, she asked me if I had an e-mail address or something.

It was then my brain kicked into overdrive.

Quick. Think of something. You already have your number on a piece of paper. You KNOW you want to give it to her. You already missed one chance.

I stood, and filled the silent gap in the conversation with a drawn out "Actually..."

I produced the coupon from my pocket. I spoke, my face creating the words independent of my mind.

"This is my awful segway into giving you my number in some kind of sly way." I think the voices in my head chuckled.

I handed it to her, and without a sound she accepted it, and nodded..slipping it into god-knows-where...her purse or something. The tension had broken. We all resumed our behaviors as if nothing had happened, and to ease the tension more the assholish store clerk came back in and tried to sweet talk her into buying a guitar. I was unmoved, quickly scanning the wall for an instrument...no...an excuse to still be in the room. After he'd left, she told us of songs she had written. Both Clint and I implored her to play us one...without a struggle she did, and at first it was decent, then it became good...and the solo section in the middle blew my mind. It made me wonder why I was so talent-less in my first year of guitar.

Her voice was a wry blend of Sarah McLachlan and Ani DiFranco, unmolded clay which she'd yet to wrap a hand around. Her eyes met mine again during the song. I was moved, and shyly looked to the ground at her feet as she performed. Instead I began to focus on her lyrics, something about a window where she spent her time, the people outside being too loud for sleep. Then something about being naked but all they could see was the outside of a window blind. It was then the store closed and we were removed.

I walked out first, holding the door for my two companions, and she walked out, Clint on her heels. We walked for a second in a row, three across. I think her pace hastened as we crossed the street because next I knew she was beside me, asking our opinions on her song. We gladly gave them, and she smiled coyly to sugest she'd been flattered. I tried not to sensationalize my reaction to her, all of her, but it ended up all coming out muted. All I recall is her promising to give me a call, and me stepping into my vehicle. The small talk resumed, and the radio carried me out of the best part of my day back into the stream of possibility.

Delve Into The Past - Onward Into The Future