Falling

Falling

My heart has been a helpless victim of wanderlust, leaving my focus in want at the slightest of distractions. Lessons bore me even more than they normally do, and I cannot find an anchor for my concentration however hard I try. Voices drone on in my background, and I vaguely feel my pupil dilating, conscious sight receding, as I'm oddly absorbed by six strange friends that my imagination recently animated. A, G, D, B and the E twins had my attention in rapture, as they dance in chord after familiar chord in an endless, calming loop.

I guess writing is good for the soul after all.

I sat down eagerly, raising my footstool, tilting my chair slightly to the right the way I prefer. My eyes couldn't make out much of the dimly lit crowd, but what I could see was a rather packed house. The shuffling of feet soon faded, and all that's left was the pure, comfortable silence that emitted all around. Kevin stepped out, and - with the particularly confident smile he often saves for true performances - greeted us as we stood. The crowd showed its anticipation, and I could hear a few specific cries for some familiar voices in the audience.

We took our seat, and drew in the silence once again. And as the familiar, comforting pair of hands were raised, so were ours. We took a breath, as our fingers took their place on each accustomed string. All I saw then were those hands that hung in the air, and as they fell I fell into my section, and fell into my ensemble.

The six-stringed stories we had practiced so hard for started to take form, gaining colour, shape and almost space in the otherwise silent hall. I couldn't help but smile, and for the first time enjoyed the collective trance we fell into - It was the first time we put our trust into each other, leading and following when the notes allowed for it. The guitar felt no more distant than my fingers, no heavier than another limb. I loved every single moment.

It culminated into an eerie, yet comforting silence that we consciously maintained. Our held breaths waited for the very last echo to make its round within our guitars, leaving through the sound-hole and finally evaporating into the thin quiet. Kevin winked, and I knew we finally made it.

Who knew that it only takes less than a year to fall for a piece of wood?