Picking Up The Guitar

I never really imagined being good at guitar or at anything. I was always dreamy, full of idea but when it came to natural skills, I was like everybody. I want to remember myself as a bit better but I was not. I was low average. I could still make fun of the fat kid but not too loud for I was next.

I was always afraid of really putting myself into something for I was scared of sucking at it again. I wanted girls to notice me. I was making jokes and tried to look tough. Failure was not an option. I was sure the easy success would show up. I would one day wake up as spiderman, receive a letter from Hogwarts, face such a danger my bravery would instantaneously turn me into whatever iconic figure I was looking up to at the time. Truth is, I was a fat kid with braces and broken glasses. I looked younger but yet taller than my age. A giant baby.

Living at my dad’s helped for I lost my fat very quickly. I went from the round boy to the long asparagus teenage look in no time. I gained self-confidence for I became part of a big group of friends. We would usually all hang out at my place after class. I would have lived a bit further from the school I wouldn’t have had so many friends. But what would I care? Even the cute girls sometimes came to hang out on my couch.

It was one of these afternoon. I was chilling with my best friend Gleb, eating my dad’s biscuits by boxes, when he showed me the only song he knew: Seven Nation Army. He put my dad’s old guitar on his lap and started to strum on the string while singing: five, eight, five, three, one, zero. Making the zero sound as rock as a prepubertal voice can rock. He looked so cool. Not only could Gleb speak four languages, he could rock. And he just rocked in front of me. If he could do it, I could do it too. He showed me how, I learned.

From that moment, the guitar was no more a magical tool only the best could do. I could do it too. The spell was broken. I was thirteen and would become good at this no matter what.

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