The Guitar Man

A Short Story by Chris Lawton

      It was December 29th when Jake B. Simpson put his guitar away. He had spent the past ten years playing in dive bars and blues clubs, earning him numerous nicknames, such as the King of Strings, the Sultan of Speed and his most famous, The Guitar Man. In his life on the stage, he had met the love of his life, married her and had two wonderful kids. But, that was all over.
      Jake remembered when the doctor had told him the bad news. The gangrene had started small, but grew quickly and out of control. Within a few days, he would lose his hand. Even then, he could see the infection through the bandages. It was a black sickness that ate away at his skin and muscles. A life of smoking and diabetes had taken its toll. He would never play again.
      Jake thought about his life. Since a young age, he had been drawn to music, learning piano at the age of three and taking voice lessons at the age of eight. But, it wasn’t until his mid-teens that he found his love and passion: the blues. He had been walking along Main Street, stopping in front of music shops and admiring the stringed instruments in the window. He had earlier decided to learn the guitar as the next in his long list of musical conquests.
      And then it happened.
      The noise was soft, at first, but grew with each reverberating note. Jake was immediately mesmerized by the soft twang of the guitar string, and the slow, steady pace of the music. As Jake turned his head to listen, the flow of the song drifted through his head, intoxicating him with its sweet tone.
      Jake followed the sound to a small bar on a nearby corner. The thick smoke wafted through the open door, accompanying the gorgeous sounds. The stench of beer and liquor was also strong, but Jake didn’t notice. He was drunk, in another sense.
      Moving through the empty bar, he approached the stage, to see an older man, sitting alone on a stool. Entranced by his own music, the man didn’t notice the one member of the audience that had come to hear him play. His fingers moved quickly, then slowly, then quickly across the strings, as each note drowned out everything around him.
      Jake moved closer to the guitarist, taking in everything from the movement to the sound, loving every moment. He heard the pain and emotion contained within the music and he felt the soul that was put into every chord. The Blues had found him and to resist was hopeless.

      It was December 29th again. Jake had gotten lost in the past, as he continued to close the buckles that held the lid of his case closed. He would save the guitar. Perhaps, someday, his son would pick it up and feel the love and joy that Jake felt, whenever he played it.
      Jake was unsure of his future. Music had never completely sustained him, but it paid enough to allow him to work just part-time, seasonal jobs. But, now, he would need to find something more permanent. He was the primary earner in his household and he had a family to support.
      But, he had never done anything else. He never went to college. Right after high school, he went straight to the road, playing his music for anyone who would listen. He had played on the street and he had headlined auditoriums. For the past ten years, music was his everything. Maybe, it was time to move on.
      And now, he would be 28, one-handed and jobless. Maybe, he should go to college. His father had been disappointed when he chose a life of music instead of education. Perhaps, now it was time to fulfill his father’s wishes.
      Jake ran his hand across his guitar case, swiftly circling his fingers across ten years worth of stickers and autographs. The vinyl cover, a document that grew with each accomplishment. Now, it would grow no more.

      It was December 29th, at 8:00 p.m. It was time for Jake’s last show. After he had learned the news, he decided to go out with a bang. His hand hurt. But, it didn’t matter. Music was his love and this would be goodbye song. He had chose to play his final show in the bar that had originally brought him and the Blues together. He had played here a few times before. With each passing year, the owner changed and the name changed, but the feeling stayed the same. This was where it had all began.
      A good-sized crowd had turned out for his final performance. He looked into the crowd and saw his wife. He saw band members that had backed him up. And he saw bands he had played shows with. The crowded room was rife with energy and anticipation as Jake turned the Volume and Tone knobs up on his guitar.
      Jake paused, sucking in every sound and sight. This is his environment. The loud crowd hurriedly hushed, as Jake struck his first note. Quietly, the crowd became entranced by the sounds, as Jake moved his fingers up and down the guitar neck. He normally played with a band, but tonight, it was all about him.
      As usual, he had planned a set list. But, with the first note, his plans went out the window. He decided to just play from his heart. With every tone and harmonic, Jake wrote a new song that night. It was a song that would live on in the minds of everyone who heard it.
      This was Jake B. Simpson. This was the King of the Strings. This was the Sultan of Speed. This was The Guitar Man.
      Every worry and fear that had engulfed Jake for the past few weeks was gone in an instant. Music had always been a relaxing activity, but Jake never realized how therapeutic it was. When the music started, Jake escaped into a world of quarter notes and time signatures. It was a world where nothing bad could ever happen. And if it did, it didn’t matter.
      The tears started to flow as Jake threw everything he had into this one piece. His fingers moved quickly, as Jake bared his soul to the guitar, the audience and the world. His hand hurt. But, Jake didn’t care. He needed this.
He played like that for a full half-hour. The calluses on his fingers—the calluses he had spent ten years defining—ripped away, as the song neared its crest. His fingertips were on fire, but he could not stop playing. He never wanted to stop playing.
      When Jake felt like he had given everything and there was nothing left to put into the music, he finished. Jake wiped his eyes, as the final note reverberated across the crowd. The people around him remained silent, allowing Jake this one final, emotional moment. And then it happened.
      The crowd erupted in applause, screams and whistles. Jake looked up across the crowd and saw, what could only be described as, love. There was not a dry eye in the house, as the crowd continued their support. With a solemn “Thank You,” Jake B. Simpson stepped off the stage for the last time.

      It was December 29th, when The Guitar Man put his guitar away for the final time. Tomorrow, he would lose his hand. But, as Jake picked up his guitar case and started to walk out of the bar, it didn’t matter. He had played one final show and it had been incredible.
      Walking out into the bar, carrying his love, he saw people he hadn’t seen in years and shook hands with some of his best friends. He found his wife and he kissed her, wiping away her tears. He told her that everything was going to be great, and he meant it.
      He was going to miss music. That was certain. It had been such an important part of his life for so long. But, now, there were other, more important things to think about. He had played his last show and it was one hell of a show, at that. He didn’t know what he would from here on out, but that didn’t matter. He would survive, as he always did. And life would be wonderful.
—
“I think I should have no other mortal wants, if I could always have plenty of music. It seems to infuse strength into my limbs and ideas into my brain. Life seems to go on without effort, when I am filled with music.” – George Eliot