I can see it now: me, on the stage at my local coffee house on open mic night, in a gorgeous dress. I’m holding a guitar. I scan the audience, hoping to get a glimpse of—yes! There he is! There he is, right there in the second row (the first row would be trying too hard). Trying to look interested in whatever faceless female is trying to chat him up, while keeping his eyes trained on mine, an unreadable expression on his face. I gulp. I sit down, and proceed to pour out my heart through my song, while the heartfelt, emotion-ridden guitar I am playing harmonizes. He is watching me the entire time. We connect on a spiritual and musical level, as I sing everything I long to say to him. I close my eyes, for the overwhelming emotion is just too much. I sing the last few bars of the song, and look back up at him. His eyes are blazing with passion. Everyone is clapping, but I can only hear and see him. He slowly gets up from his stool, paying no attention to the other girl. He slowly walks over to the stage, and helps me down. We look into each other’s eyes, the music having done all the speaking for us. He leans in slowly, and whispers softly, “My soul mate— ”
Ring Ring Ring Ring!! No, it can’t be. No, I’m not gonna wake up. Nope. No siree. Not me. I throw the pillow over my head. Ring Ring Ring Ring!! Stop mocking me you stupid little electronic! Crap. Darn. Fudge. Nuggets. Any other non-swearing swear word I can think of. It was a dream, again. Oh well, this is what I get for reading those frigging romance novels before bed. I gaze out the window all emo-like, and wallow in the fact that I am not musically inclined, at all. Nada. When I was little, I couldn’t even play the recorder. The best I can do on the piano is “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” It doesn’t help that I love being all emotional, and being deep, and music. Can’t forget that. Love music. Everything I do can be expressed through some sort of song. Of course, I can’t sing that song. Or play an instrument. I just play the song on my iPod when I’m in a mood and lip-synch along. I’ll never be able to do some grand romantic gesture for someone I love. I always fantasize about it. I picture myself as Taylor Swift, writing songs for my significant other and playing them for him. I know it’s not a big deal, and whoever I’m with will probably not care if I can play him a song or whatever. But still! Wouldn’t that be amazing? That is the kind of thing that puts you ahead of the game, ya know? That’s the kind of thing that can give you a deep connection! You know, the ones they always talk about in romances, where you stare into your loved one’s eyes and see your entire future in him, all romantic and stuff like that … sigh. Call me a girly-girl, call me a romantic, call me what you will, but that would be incredibly amazing.
You know what? That’s it! I’m going to learn to play guitar! I don’t care how long it takes! I’m going to be musical whether I like it or not! I’m going to be the deep girl, the one in the cafeteria in the corner with all her friends, playing guitar and singing while they play their own little assorted instruments, while my current object of interest watches, with interest of course, because I’m different!!! I’m deep!!! What could possibly go wrong with this plan? Upscale romance, here I come!
Three Weeks Later
Crap. Ow. Pain. Fudge. Any other non-swearing word I can think of! Ow, ow, ow! That is me, taping up my fingers with bandages, after yet another callus forms on my fingers and I start bleeding, again. I borrowed my brother’s old guitar (that he asked for and never ever played again) and tried to teach myself using a book I bought from the local bookstore, a la a musical prodigy. “Tried” being the operative word. More like, failed miserably, and embarrassed myself along the way. Okay, so playing the guitar hasn’t come along quite as smoothly as I hoped. But that’s okay. After all, pretty soon, I will be a guitar-playing goddess, who sweeps men off their feet with a shy smile and a couple chords or my magical guitar. So what if there have been a few bumps along the road? So what if I still can’t get the G chord right after nearly a month? Who cares if I get a little frustrated and burst into tears? Is it a problem that I get angry after getting a note wrong and nearly smash the accursed instrument into tiny, miniscule, beautiful sound producing, pieces? Pshaw, no problems here. After all, there is a light at the end of the tunnel!
