The Guitar Lesson

I am in my grandmother's farmhouse. It is a spring day and I have an electric guitar. The room is very dark, but shafts of sunlight come through the windows very dramatically. I am facing the rear of the house as I sit, listening to music that is melodious and beautiful. To my right, outside of the room, in the foyer, by the bathroom is Alan Schmidt, a guitar guru and close friend that I knew in high school. Although his face is dark, strong light casts his features. He of course looks the same as he did in high school. He is sitting, playing the song, and it is winding and complex, easy to listen to, hard to understand it's technique. The tone is thick, and the notes echo upon themselves. It is hard to tell if the echo is an effect or a style of playing. The music stops and it is my turn. It's a game, a musical game we have played before, building on each other's pieces and it has been so long.

I rip into a relentless Sex Pistols type riff, and I know it's the fastest I have ever played. I also know that I can't compete with the sheer complexity of what I have heard, so I am trying to use volume and ferocity to counter. When I am finished, he sees straight through it.

"You have not grown," he says and I know that he is right. We argue about the best way to compose a joint piece of music, and about why we have never been successful in writing music. We decide that it would be better if we composed our music separately. Although, I know that this is the right decision, that any music we co-wrote would clash and be as separate as the patch from the jeans, I know that I will miss an opportunity to learn from his style.

I am left with the feeling that we are individually responsible for the contributions we make, just as we are individually responsible for our growth. I feel that I have been dependent on others to show me a way and that it is time for me to use the way that I have, using my way with confidence.