Dear old Grandpa Gavrel was a modern-day sage – that is, he had that rare gift of knowing the right words to say at the right time, every single time.
When Sasha lost her first guitar competition, Grandpa Gavrel said, "When you learn something from losing then you haven't lost at all." And when her ego ballooned to the size of Texas from winning too many, he had told her gently that if people are able to rise to great heights, it is often because they stand on the shoulders of giants. Indeed, Sasha's musical prowess was the result of endless hours of guitar lessons paid for by her hardworking middle-class parents, the patience and dedication of her music teachers, and the kind support of anonymous benefactors. Sasha could hardly take credit for her achievements. She had learned to be humble and grateful from then on.
What would Grandpa Gavrel say now? she wondered as she emptied the contents of her wallet onto her unmade bed. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. She was two months behind in her rent and her meager paycheck from the coffee shop was just enough to cover her car insurance.
Sasha had moved to Boston to try out for the prestigious Schillinger College of Music but things did not go as planned. Of all the stupidest things she could do, she had botched the most important audition of her life. She had frozen and fumbled like an amateur.
Now she was stuck in Boston with no money, no career and no dream.
Oh, Grandpa Gavrel, Sasha thought. If only you were here. You'd know what to say to make it better.
Ignoring her grumbling stomach, she picked up her acoustic guitar from the floor. "At least you're here," she said. She had received the guitar in the mail when she was twelve and had been playing it since. There was no return address but whoever sent it seemed to know her so well. It was the perfect instrument for her.
She sat on the edge of the bed and positioned the guitar across her lap. She strummed a C chord and let the crisp notes ring through the one-room apartment.
She then started to play a simple melody. It was a melancholic tune, one that spoke of empty pockets, lost loved ones and shattered dreams. She poured her weary heart into the song, gradually weaving it into a more complex piece, her fingers gliding deftly across the guitar's fretboard. She felt a tear escape from the corner of her eye, then another, but she played on even as the drops turned into a steady stream.
Then suddenly, Sasha heard the unmistakable tone of a piano. It seemed to be coming from the next room... and it was playing along with her.
Mystified, she got up and pressed her ear to the wall while continuing to play. She transitioned to a higher key but the piano was right there with her, skillfully accompanying her. The piano notes wove in and out of her melody, creating a sweet harmony. She smiled in spite of herself. With the piano, her song sounded much better – and more hopeful.
When Sasha ended the song, it had turned into one about second chances, new opportunities and the wise words of a grandpa who would remain with her forever. She let the last note linger in the air as the piano sounded off the final chord.
