Motivation of Memories: The Second Book of the Labors of Love Series

Music To My Ears

Prince's POV

After the guitar shop, we stop at her place to change out her strings. I walk into the quiet apartment and take in the familiar sights. We walk down the hallway and into one of the bedrooms.

Tables sit against the two further walls. One seems to be her sewing station and the other seems to function as a regular desk. A mannequin stands in corner between them draped in a pastel blue fabric. Taking more steps, I can finally see inside the closet. At the top are crowns and sashes placed in plexiglass. Below are costumes and gowns. Each one in its own garment bag labeled with the year it was made and the event she wore it to. The garments are divided in two sections leaving a split in the middle of the closet where several instruments reside. A few of the instrument cases and bags I'm unfamiliar with. Many of them are oddly shaped and slightly disheveled from use. She reaches into the closet pulling out the guitar case before sitting in the middle of the floor to work on it. I watch as she removes the old strings and carefully replaces them with the new ones tuning as she goes. She hums and strums the guitar finding each note in her voice before turning each tuning key and finding it on the guitar.

"You don't use tuners?" I ask watching her work her way through the strings.

"No, I can find the notes just fine. Growing up, I tuned my guitars using my father's. To this day, he checks the tune of his guitar every week. I sat with him most of those days and he'd point out the funny sounds then help me find the correct notes."

"You can just recall the notes?" She nods never looking up from her guitar.

"People assume that I have perfect pitch but truth is I have good relative pitch and a very strong memory." She smiles finally looking up at me before playing a soothing chord on her guitar.

"Can you play something?" She thinks for a moment before adjusting her posture to better hold the guitar. She strums softly with her eyes closed searching the back of her eyelids for the best song.

"I can do this one."

I watch as she finds her rhythm and begins to play. Her face scrunches up as she hums along and begins to sing.

"Grandma's hands, clapped in church on Sunday morning. Grandma's hands, played the tambourine so well. Grandma's hands, used to issue out a warning. She'd say Genny, don't run so fast , might fall on a piece of glass, could be snakes out in that grass. Grandma's hands."

I'm in awe of her as the music escapes her mouth. Who would've known that behind that soft demure voice was a loud soulful singer. Her accent has dissipated leaving clearer English in its place as she sings. Some words are changed probably for additional ease but, over all it's beautiful. Her whole body rocks gently as she plays. She's feeling the music, saying each word as if she wrote it as if the story is hers. When the song finishes she looks up at me shyly through her hair.

"You changed some of the words." I smile leaning on the wall.

"When this song came out I was still struggling with certain words and sounds in English."

"And Genny?"

"A bit of a personal touch besides, my name is long enough." She begins putting the guitar away. Securing it in its case before putting it back in the closet.