Guitar Man

At the exact same time every morning he strums his guitar day through night and night through day. Nobody knows who he is or why. I have never seen his face, or heard his voice, or even learned his name. I have never seen him go outside once. Sometimes my little brother knocks on his door but no answer. The whole town has heard his music but not a single person has seen him before. Everyday when I walk to and from school I hear him play. It’s soothing yet stimulating. Sometimes, when it’s quiet outside I can hear him from my bedroom. Late at night it puts me to sleep. 

When I wake up it's to the sound of his music echoing throughout the house. I can feel the music winding through my body and wonder if I could ever live without this music. I wonder if I would be able to sleep at night without the soft calming music that shuts my eyes, or the beautiful morning music that brightens my day. I know that this music isn’t just a morning routine. It's more than that. The music is connected to me. Apart of me. I glance out my window at the gloomy dark house. The paint is peeling and the shutters are closed and ripped but the music travels through my window and I shut my eyes and listen.

As I get ready for another day of school I think about who the man is. I walk slowly to school and think. I think about what he looks like, how his voice sounds, and I wonder where he learned to play his guitar so well. I think about his guitar, the color of it, how it smells, and I think about how they are together, and the sound they make. I finally 

Arrive at school and sit through another boring useless day at my desk waiting to go home and listen to the music again until I finally get home and look out the window for hours listening to the music.

It’s the same everyday. It has been ever since I was five years old, but not today. Today I brought something that I hid in my closet all these years. I wait for a few moments until the music starts an then I pull out my guitar and strum along. The man stops and listens but I keep on playing until the man starts playing again. We play together for a long time. Neither of us stops, or talks. Just listen to each other's warmth. I don’t say a word, I don’t even know how I’m playing or what I’m playing. I’m just playing and I love it. I love the man who lives in that house and I love the way plays and listens, and how he doesn’t say a word.

When I get home that day I decide I should talk to him, I think of what to say and who he is. The next morning I knock on the door and he doesn’t open up. I play my guitar until he eventually opens it. When I see him, it's not who I expected. Completely different, yet familiar at the same time. It’s someone who I haven’t seen since I was four. It’s my dad. 

When I was two, my dad gave me this stuffed animal. It was a koala, who I named Hershey because of the koala's dark creamy color. I loved Hershey. I slept with him every single night, brought him to school everyday, and everywhere else I went. By the time I was four, my mom thought I wouldn't grow out of him. She thought I would sleep with him until I grew old. My dad didn’t view it the same though, he knew I would grow out of him someday but until that day came I could love Hershey the way I did. That was the first day my parents started to argue. Eventually they started arguing about every single thing that happend. Soon they just couldn’t take it anymore. One day my dad left. Just like that he left and I never saw him again. A few weeks after, my little brother was born. My mom took care of my little brother and I and no one ever heard from my dad again.

“Dad?” I looked right into his sky blue eyes and he looked right back into mine with a straight face “God dammit dad, what happend to you? I havent seen you in 10 years!'' Now, my dad looks old, scraggly, and looks like he could use a good meal. His clothes were ripped up and his face was caked with dry dirt. I don't know what happened to him.

“I’m sorry I just-” He responded looking down

“You’ve never even met your… You’ve never even met your son,” I said. I could feel the tears slowly running down my face “where did you learn to play guitar anyway?”

“When I was young, my dad left too. The only thing he ever left me was my guitar and I played it every single day. I thought about him every single day and I swore I would never leave my child. So when I left I moved in right next door and played that guitar every single day. Until the first day you played with me. I couldn’t stop crying that night.” He said as he dragged his shoe on the floor making a screeching sound.

I stared at him looking back into his sky blue eyes and he looked right back at me until there was only one thing left to do. I pulled out my guitar and started playing and he looked right at me and smiled. He smiled his beautiful warming smile and started to play with me. We played together for hours and throughout that night and in the morning I knew. I knew the secret buried down in my soul and I’ll never forget.