101: how to play guitar

The guitar case stood propped next to the front door when I descended the stairs. The owner was nowhere to be found until I arrived at the coffee shop, some hours later. The guitar had in that time been transferred to this new location, which was cluttered with gaudy paintings and handmade vases. We couldn’t be bothered to arrive early enough for a seat on the sofa, so we gathered around a table too small for our group.

The guitar’s owner was already bent over it in concentration, plucking at strings to produce familiar sounds. Situated around him was the usual line up: drums, bass, now a trumpet, some times a saxophone. They took their turns showcasing their talents, although the sign outside did say Mike Lorenz Jazz Quartet.
The crowd gathered to watch was the usual fare. Kids drinking their coffee black, sharing mugs for refills. One tea for Katie, a chai latte for Viv. We half listened while talking, occasionally being shushed because tonight Mike was trying to make a recording of this song or another.
And then the notes struck some nerve, rendering the small room silent minus the barista’s tools and machines. The guitar attracted everyone’s attention to it. Look at me, it said. Listen to what I have to say. The tune was new, something Mike had just wrote and was playing for the first time. It brought us all back to the glorious cacophony which had been his senior recital, when he had created new sounds entirely from his instrument. Now skillful fingers made each string sing something brilliant and wonderfully new.
When he finished, applause filled every inch of the space, the musician smiling sheepishly, inquiring for names for the piece. There were shout outs and praise, and then more familiar chords and progressions. It was another old favorite. We went back to our conversations, and Andrew began to grow fidgety, wondering when we would make it to the bar.