Last night, I played the guitar. There were a few awkward moments in the beginning. I have not touched a guitar in 24 years, not since I suffered spinal cord injury. I gingerly held it as if it would crumble if I gripped too tightly. The scent of varnished wood assaulted my nostrils and brought back memories of a time I thought I could never relive again.
“Will I be able to play again?” I wondered.
It has been such a long time ago. I ran my fingers along its curves. Yes, that was one finely crafted piece of art that I could not afford then. Like I always did whenever I had a guitar in my hands, I would start with the C chord to make sure the strings were properly tuned. My fingers were stiff. My strumming awkward. I was holding my favourite plectrum. I like it soft. I strummed a few more times. The strings and I slowly became one. I was ecstatic. My once clawed fingers glided fluidly across the frets.
I never thought I could play the guitar again. But there I was strumming – unleashing two decades of frustrations for not being able to make music out of it. Never mind it was a little out of beat. I was a little out of beat previously anyway. Nothing has changed. I hope it never will. I felt liberated. Did I say I was ecstatic? For the first time in a long while, I sang and sang I did. I surprised myself even. Now I sit here beaming from ear to ear wishing it was all real. It was exhilarating while it lasted. I certainly do not mind having more of such dreams.