After what had felt like forever, we finally pulled up to the parking lot. I got out and walked to the entrance, where a large red and white sign hung above. The strong smell of wood
hit me as I opened the double glass doors. I heard the clashing sounds of off-beat drums, untuned guitars and synth keyboards, all playing their own things. It was beautifully cacophonous -- everyone was in their own little world.
This wasn’t my first time at this particular music store. In fact, I had visited a couple years before to buy my first guitar: a big, brown classical with nylon strings. Although I still love that guitar, I knew it was time for a new one — especially since I’d always struggled with the original due to its large size.
We passed the keyboard section where someone was playing a gentle melody. We then walked through the electric guitar section where a heavy metal riff was blasting through an amp.
In the back of the section was a smaller room with a sign labeled “Acoustics” plastered on the wall outside. As I walked in, I felt as if I were entering a peaceful sanctuary — a radical contrast to all the pandemonium outside. I looked around the room at all the various guitars hanging on the walls, ranging from old-fashioned rustic ones to more modern, minimalist styles. My eyes fell upon one, bluer than the deep ocean.
I gently lowered it from the wall, admiring its beauty. I sat down, placing it on my lap. I started out by playing a simple chord progression. I winced in pain — my soft fingers weren’t used to the sharpness of the steel strings. It felt as though they were slicing right through my fingertips. An employee reassured me that my fingers would get used to it, as they would harden with calluses over time. Although agonizing, each pluck of the strings captivated me, and filled me with a sense of euphoria. I knew it was time to take it home.
The employee helped me pick out a case. It was surprisingly heavy, even while empty. He packed it away, then guided me in finding some necessities. I picked out a strap: black, and embroidered with red roses and green leaves. I then collected a pack of guitar picks, which were all multicolored with a smooth, marble design. Finally, I found some extra strings, just in case mine ever broke. Then, it was time to go home.
Now, she hangs on my bedroom wall next to my first guitar. I like to imagine that they accompany each other, waiting to be played just so the other can listen.
Estefania Griffiths is a graduating senior at Pembroke Pines Charter High School. She has been enrolled in Creative Writing III and enjoys writing short stories and poetry.
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