Grace and Grant were not meant to be, but there were eleven reasons why he was unforgettable.
This is a short story of how she fell for him, and how he let it all fall apart.
[ Short Story #39 ]
She would gladly stop and stare at them dancing on the strings of his guitar. They were long and thin and beautiful—as beautiful as the music they made.
And when they touched her, guided her fingers to create the same tunes they'd just made, she couldn't help but shiver at the sudden jolt of electricity that ran through her veins.
Mid-February 2011
"SO, you ready for today?" he asked, taking the guitar from my hand and carried it for me.
"I guess," I said, shrugging, before giving him a small thank-you smile. After all, he did just sneak out of his boarding school that was almost half an hour away just to... to teach me how to play guitar.
Wasn't he such a sweetheart?
Grant led me to a bench just behind my school building that was conveniently placed right under a tree. We sat down and he pulled out the guitar from its case, and then placed it gently on his thighs.
"Woah," he commented. "Beautiful. And never been touched."
I rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. "Well... I don't exactly know how to play... Hence why we're here."
Grant chuckled before grinning at me. "Before we start with the actual lesson, watch me."
I rolled my eyes, but smiled anyway as he began to retune the guitar, preparing to show off his skills.
As soon as he started to play, I recognized the tunes, and my whole face lit up as I began to sing. My eyes were locked at his fingers that danced around the strings, creating the most beautiful melody I'd ever heard—well, maybe I was exaggerating it a little bit, but it really was beautiful—and I couldn't help but gaze admiringly as I sang.
"When I see your face, tears run down my face..."
It felt so right to be here, sitting right to next each other, singing to the tunes that I really loved with all my heart. He smiled through the rest of the song, his eyes would constantly close as if he was overjoyed by the synchronized music we created, and he would open them to look and smile at me. And then I would do the same when it was his time to do his music solo; I closed my eyes, enjoying the music, loving the way my heart fluttered at the very little distance between us, and I savored the way his eyes brightened up every time I looked up and gave him a smile that said, "These words are for you."
Eventually the song ended, and I felt so overwhelmed with the emotions swirling inside me.
Grant gently took my hand and brought it to hold the guitar. "Now's your turn," he said, winking at me. I rolled my eyes as I chuckled, and placed the guitar on my lap.
"Okay. Show me how to play this baby."
He began to ramble out about how to play guitar, about which strings I should put my fingers on, or how to strum or picked the strings to create melody, and so on and on and on. Gently, he took my fingers one by one and gently placed them over the right fret.
"For starters, this is the C chord. And it is commonly used in a hell lot of songs we know," he told me softly, his mouth only mere inches from my ear.
"Okay," I whispered as I nodded.
"And," he once again took my fingers and placed them on different places, "this is how you play the G chord."
I nodded as he strummed the strings for me.
"This is an easy one," he said as he yet again placed two of my fingers onto the right places. "It's E minor. See? It's a piece of cake."
"Mmm," I commented distractedly, my eyes gazing at his fingers on mine. And then I looked up. "Can you just skip all these things and teach me how to play Your Guardian Angel?"
Grant stared at me flatly before flicking at my nose playfully. "No, Al. How the hell can you play that song without knowing the chords? You silly girl."
I huffed, but he continued to introduce me to a lot other different chords, and I barely could remember them. My mind felt hazy, I couldn't concentrate on remembering these different chords when his hands were on mine and his face was crazy close to my cheeks I even could feel his soft breath. My mind was in some other place far away with this tingling feeling on the skin that he touched.
Approximately a half an hour later, my fingers were all stiff, and the tips hurt like crazy. Grant only laughed when I complained, saying that I would get used to it really soon. But I wore my best pout and he sighed, taking my hand and began rubbing all over the palm of my hand softly.
"Better?" he said, raising his eyebrows teasingly.
"Much," I deadpanned.
He shook his head and looked down at our hands, and soon he began to play with my fingers. Suddenly he squinted, and pulled my hand closer to his face to look at it closely.
"Did you... write my name on your fingertips?" he asked incredulously.
My eyes widened and I could feel my face heat up in embarrassment, and I instantly pulled my hand out of his grip. And I could honestly say that I regretted it, as my hand felt instantly cold without his touch.
That sounded crazy, but you'd understand if you had ever felt the same way.
"W-well... yes. I was bored," I answered lamely, starting to wipe of the letters on my fingers with the hem of my shirt.
"No, no, no," Grant stopped me. "I like it. They look cute," he said, winking at me.
I shoved his shoulder playfully. "I think we should call it a day," I started to put my guitar back into its case and let him help me. We both stood up and started to walk toward the front gate of the school where some other kids were still hanging around.
"See you later?" he asked as my mom's car came into view, shoving his left hand into his pocket. "I'll just call you tonight."
"Of course," I said with a smile. "Thank you for today." Even though I barely learned anything.
He nodded, grinning at me before suddenly leaning down to give me a peck on my cheek. "Happy Valentine's Day," he said quietly.
I felt my cheeks blush, and I saw his face turning slightly pink too. I couldn't find a right thing to say—all words had been jumbled out altogether inside my head like a blurred mess—and all I could muster out was a simple, "Bye."
As I turned around to walk toward my car, I gave him a wave. And then I looked down at my hands, tracing a finger over the letters of his name, and then I chuckled to myself.
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