My First Real Six String

The dilapidated old guitar case was more for show than offering any kind of protection, with hinges held together with old touring stickers, bits of wire, and hope, lay all but forgotten in this dark, dusty corner of the second hand store. Despite all of this, something drew me to it; the fancy brands and glossy wooden bodies on display out front didn’t interest me, even if I could have afforded them. Even the generous finance terms offered on these instruments were just white noise once I spied this tatty case peeking out from behind a stack of old boxes.

I open the case slowly, with an air of reverence and a hint of fear – this was not like me, choosing old over new, risking disappointment when easy satisfaction was available – but I was drawn, compelled, to find and open this case. The body of the guitar is battered but sturdy, with no obvious damage that would affect the sound. Plucking a string, it rings out clear and clean, and I feel something inside me shift; songs I have been wrestling with for months start to come together with perfect clarity, fully formed in my mind. In a daze, I lift the instrument free of its tattered velvet bed to try it out.

A siren sounds in the distance as I make a few quick tweaks to the tuning, and – ouch! I can’t see the sharp spur of steel string that pricked me, but blood wells from my fingertip, a single drop falls onto the fretboard. the odd sensation gets stronger, coursing through my veins. I feel a connection between myself and the guitar, and know that every song that flows from us will have the power to move people, change them, control them…