Guitars at Midnight

“What?” she laughed. He could barely hold eye contact with her all night, only now it was the two of them, alone at her doorstep. After spending a noisy evening with their friends at a beach bonfire, he wished the night didn’t have to end already.

His instinct was to tell her, ‘Nothing,’ and shyly look away but he fought it.

“I-uh, I,” —he took a shallow breath— “You look nice… right now, under the stars and everything.”

“Oh, thank you.” she chuckled. “I… liked that last song you played on your guitar earlier. It was… poetic.”

“Thanks,” he laughed uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. Although he purposefully played the song and hoped she’d know it was about her, he didn’t think she would confront him about it. In order to save his pride, he avoided the topic. “Weren’t you learning to play? Why don’t you ever bring your guitar?”

“That was almost a year ago. How do you always remember everything?” she asked but he shrugged.

It was difficult to forget anything she said, for when she talked to him, it was always the highlight of his day. When they were kids, they walked home together after school, sometimes detouring to the pond near their houses to skip rocks in the shallow water. It wasn’t until they both found themselves living in the same city a decade later that he realized how much her company meant to him.

Maybe she’d only ever see him as her friend and nothing more. The thought didn’t make him very sad; he would understand if she felt that way about him. Even when he closed his eyes, he could feel so much of her beauty in the way she talked and the words she chose. She could crack herself up for hours and her laughter was the best part, for it felt warmer than sunlight, in a pleasant way that is.

After knowing how wonderful she was, he could only imagine what she thought of him. He mumbled too often. His sleep schedule was an atrocity. Some may even say he was unreliable, but it was only because he had a difficult time saying no, not when he stood a chance to make someone’s day easier; however, his attempted help usually had the opposite effect. Though he didn’t want to do that to her so he stayed quiet, letting himself believe that being her friend was enough for him.

“After a while, I realized that I’m lousy at the guitar. I learned how to do some strumming patterns but even that was toilsome.” she admitted but he laughed.

“Toilsome.” he repeated.

“What?” she playfully nudged him. “It’s a word.”

“I don’t doubt it’s a word. It’s just not one I hear very often.” He apologized and tried to get back on topic. “Did you ever learn how to play any songs?”

“I wanted to play ‘In My Life’, you know, that Beatles song?”

He raised his eyebrows and said, “I know how to play that song,” without thinking.

“You do? Could you teach me?” she asked and walked up the steps to her front door.

“Um,” he hesitated as he admired how the porch light behind her consumed the edges of her hair. His heartbeat quickened as she looked angelic to him, and it only made him nervous. Realizing his lack of words was getting the best of him, he nodded in response.

She beamed with excitement, and invited him inside her home.

“Oh, you want me to teach you right now?” he asked.

She laughed awkwardly. “A different time is fine too? I just thought you meant, I mean… yeah, I can just text you about it.”

“No, no.” he said as he held his guitar strap, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “Now is a great time.”

It must have been late because the light in her roommate’s bedroom was already out. To avoid being disruptive, she suggested they sit on her back porch. She laid out a blanket and lit the surrounding area with her camping lantern. After setting her guitar beside him, she went into her house one last time and returned with wine.

“I thought a glass of Merlot couldn’t hurt.” she said as she poured both of them a glass, handing him one before taking a sip of her own.

He agreed and she joined him on the blanket with her guitar resting on her lap. “Okay, I’m ready.” she said and playfully strummed the guitar strings once.

“Alright,” he smiled and played a few random chords to loosen his fingers. “Where to start?”

“Why don’t you play the song through first?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said and sat up straighter. Before he started, his eyes flickered to hers as she watched him intently.

He usually didn’t mind singing in front of others but her undivided attention was as foreign as it was uncomfortable. When it came time for the first lyric, he hummed instead, swaying his head to the tune. Occasionally, he strummed incorrectly or let his sweating fingertips slide off the strings.

His anxiety was almost too much as he closed his eyes and pretended to be lost in the melody however a wave of relief washed over him when she sang the chorus over his humming. There was a softness about her. Maybe it was the way she laughed between the lyrics or the way she tried to tame her hair after each soft breeze. Whatever it was, he couldn’t keep his eyes off her until the song finished.

“I could watch you play for hours.” she said as she took a sip of wine, leaving the glass to her lips as she smiled.

“Maybe I’ll say the same about you.”

“You haven’t heard me play yet…” she said then showed him what she vaguely remembered of the song.

Although she copied how he held the guitar, she struggled to keep her fingers in formation. “That doesn’t sound right…” she said, trying to find a comfortable way to hold the guitar.

Realizing it’d be easier, he adjusted her hand, gingerly touching her fingertips with his. “Try that,” he said but when she strummed the guitar, the sound came out flat. “Wait, you moved your fingers as soon as I let go.” he laughed.

With their knees touching, he gently held her fingers in place while she tried again, playing an adequate melody. “Hey, that didn’t sound so bad.” she said. “Maybe you can hold my hand through the entire song.”

“You don’t need me,” he laughed. “You just need more practice.”

“I think I just need a break.” she admitted and took the last sip of her wine.

“Why do you want to learn this song anyways?” he asked as he leaned back on his hands.

She shrugged. “It’s my dad’s favorite song. When I was younger, he used to play it on his guitar” —she gestured to the one in her lap— “and I would sing with him.”

“Ah, so that’s your dad’s guitar?”

“Yeah… It’s his birthday in a few weeks. He can’t play anymore and ended up giving me his guitar last year. So this year, I wanted to play him the song with it.”

He stared at their empty wine glasses by the lantern before meeting eyes with her shadowed face. “I would be over the moon if someone learned to play the guitar just to play one song for me.”

“Just tell me what song, and I’d do it for you.”

His face softened, as he tried to figure out if he heard her correctly. Though the night was transient, their laughter and their singing, even the wine made everything feel different; he held her hand and she didn’t flinch from his touch. The thoughts in his head were onerous with his heart, knowing he could lose her as a friend if he messed anything up.

“That last song that you played at the bonfire, did you write that yourself?” she asked and he nodded, with the fluttering feeling in his stomach returning since the last time she brought up the song.

“Yeah, it was just something… random that I wrote last week.” he laughed, unable to look her in the eyes.

“One of the lyrics went, ‘I see you. Do you see me? All I think about is what we could be.’” she said, looking towards the trees as she remembered. “Do you finally like someone enough to write a song about them?”

He laughed out of confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember that time at the pond?” she asked but he had no idea what she was talking about until she reminded him of enough details to jog his memory.

It was a time when they were teenagers, sitting amongst the ducks by the pond. She’d save the crust of her sandwiches, only to feed it to the ducks after school. As he played with the wildflowers, she asked him if he planned to ask anyone to their school’s prom but he said he didn’t want to go.

“You can be so reclusive sometimes. Why don’t you write a song for someone, then ask them that way?” she suggested.

“I don’t like anyone enough to write a song about them. I’m pretty… what was that one word you used… prosaic and… impetuous.” he said as he tried to remember the words in her ever expanding vocabulary.

He expected to see her laughing like him but she only frowned. “I didn’t use those words to describe you. If I were to describe you… I’d say you’re… benevolent.”

“What does that mean?” He raised his eyebrows. “That sounds like a word that’s too important to describe me.”

She said his name with frustration. “Why can’t you see how great you are?”

“But I’m not? I don’t do anything special.”

She disagreed and told him he did little things for people all the time. “Even right now, look at you. You never let us leave the pond unless you finish the daisy chains for your sister. That’s pretty thoughtful, don’t you think?”

He shrugged as he was close to finishing the flower crown with the wildflowers surrounding the pond. “She’s only eight and our parents just divorced. It makes her happy when I come home with a crown or a necklace or something made of flowers.”

Silence grew between them as he continued to weave the flowers but she stopped feeding the ducks. “I think you’re amazing.” she said, almost sounding choked up.

He furrowed his brows with confusion. “I don’t know… I just don’t.” he said and walked the rest of the way home by himself.

In the present day, he looked at her almost apologetically until he realized how steady her gaze on him was. The glow from the lantern reflected in her glassy eyes but he stayed silent, for her expression seemed vaguely optimistic and he didn’t want to ruin that.

Maybe he did sell himself short. Maybe he was more deserving of things than he let himself believe. After all this time, maybe he was the one holding them back. His eyes flickered to her lips… her soft lips. Maybe for the first time, he knew he was enough, or at least he could be, and he didn’t want to let her go this time.