The Dove Keeper

Lesson Five: Sound

I finally brought my guitar in for Gerard later on that week. I had been playing it a lot since the day where my feelings and realizations reached a crescendo, making a symphony I could finally understand. And I hoped all this practice, this tearing out my hair with calloused fingers, wasn't all in vain. I had written a few things down, gone through a few different pieces of paper, pens, screamed a few good times and smoked the rest of the pack of cigarettes before I felt like I finally had something worthy enough to show the ingenious artist. Even if I did end up sucking in front of him, the way his face beamed as I entered the apartment later than usual, my acoustic guitar under my arm, was enough to make my day. 

"Finally!" was all he said when I appeared, exaggerating the tone. 

He burst forth from his seat on the ledge looking out the window, showing his enthusiasm in ways his voice could not portray. There was a moment where my heart fluttered and I hoped he had been at the window looking out for me. Knowing Gerard, he was probably looking at some cobweb in the corner, dissecting it for his own art, but I could dream. And even if he wasn't studying that cobweb and really was waiting for me, he would never admit it. 

"Yeah, I know," I agreed shakily as I stepped inside. 

I dropped my bag down and hung my jacket on the hook, then stood awkwardly in the hallway, waiting. I had been coming to Gerard's for a few weeks at that point, and this was the first time since the beginning that I felt awkward. Usually, when Gerard welcomed me with opened arms, I would ease into the place with a smile, and then we'd start in on our task for the day. But now, the task was undetermined and I didn't know where to go. The light weight of the hollowed instrument was suddenly like a ball and chain, dragging me down and making me unsure of my surroundings. I could feel myself shaking but I gripped the neck of the guitar, willing it all away. The rough strings dug in and I knew I would have a mark. 

"What are you waiting for?" Gerard called over to me in a mischievous tone. 

Since he had sprung to his feet, he had not moved from his position in the bay window to come down and embrace me with a hug like he normally did. Instead, he merely stood solidly, a hand on his waist as he motioned to me with the other. "Come over here and serenade me. Right by the window; all clichés included." He gave me a small smile and a wink, his thick locks falling over the side of his face. 

I smiled at his joke, easing some of the tension off my back, and stepped forward. While I fiddled with my backpack straps and guitar neck, he cleared away his art supplies so I could have the middle of the floor to myself. I wished the paint cans and brushes were scattered around me, though. It would have given me something else to focus on other than Gerard's stare. His look wasn't too intimidating, but the fact that he was looking at me, waiting for me was unnerving. 

"I haven't played for anyone before," I warned, pretending to tune the knobs at the end to pass time and adverting my eyes from him. 

"I feel honored then," he smiled, shaking his bangs out of visage. The way he spoke, the way the words flowed out of his mouth, made my knees weak. He actually wanted to hear me. And I still couldn't figure out why. 

"I'm not that good," I warned him again, stalling for more time.