I was 6 the first time I placed my hands on a electric guitar. I slid my tiny fingers up and down the strings and swirled my hands around the knobs and smooth surface of the guitar and finally I plucked a string with my nails, the clear and crisp twang ringing in my ears. "you like my guitar?" a semi-familiar voice said. I turned around, ready to explain myself, to see my moms friend crouched down behind me watching me with amusement in his eyes. I hadn't even talked to him before and I was a little scared of him, but I was intrigued enough about the guitar to nod my little head up and down quickly. He chuckled, and pulled his guitar from the stand and plug it into the large box, that I learned years later to be an amp, and he turned a few knobs and flung the black strap over his shoulder, stood, and played a tune. My mouth opened in awe at the beauty coming from the guitar. He bent down, turned a few more knobs and began shredding on the guitar a small smirk on his lips. He watched me slowly get closer and my tiny face twist up into an expression of pure joy and excitement. The sound was so unique. How it could go from gentle, then to loud and crazy, and wonderful. Even to this day I can not explain how I felt, only that I felt like, all at once, I had been missing a part of myself, and that the guitar was what I was missing. The final piece of myself. He finished and I lost it. I cheered and clapped and laughed and asked him to play it again and again. He ruffled my dark brown hair. "You know, I started playing the guitar when I was about your age, I think I still even have my kid sized guitar." He frowned in thought and placed his guitar down and went into his room, where I heard some talking and the voice of my mother. When he finally came out again he had a smaller acoustic guitar and he held it out to me. I stretched my hands out and took the instrument from his hands and looked at it with a from. "It's different." I muttered. He laughed, his voice booming. "Yes it's different. This is an acoustic guitar. I play an electric. start with this one before you get to play this one okay, Princess?" I nodded and plucked the nylon strings in a random order. my grin growing which each sound emanating from the acoustic
He spent the next hour, teaching me to hold it right and when to put my hands and how to make a pretty sound from it. I never learned his name. After that hour my mom came and said we were leaving and to say goodbye to the nice man. I gave him a hug and gave him his guitar back. He placed a hand on my shoulder smiling "Why don't you hold onto it for me, Princess? And remember the little guys when you're big and famous, 'Kay?" I nodded and gave him another hug and went to stand by my mother's side holding the guitar up in triumph. She smiled and said something to the man in a hushed tone and turned and nodded, grabbed my hand and led me out of the house, closing the door, cutting off my hysteric waving and 'bye's'.
I never saw that man again.
