But he already knows...

     My best friend of many years died four months ago.  It still feels like yesterday.  I remember the moment I heard the awful news and replay it in my head like an analog recording.  Playing the tape…Rewinding it back to the beginning or specific words in the conversation…hearing the screech of the magnetic filament and the heavy click of the stop button.  

     I was giving a piano lesson when his mom called.  I would have never answered in the middle of a lesson but I was waiting to hear from her and anxious to find out how my friend was getting on.  She asked if I was driving.  I said no.  Then the words came over the phone…David died today.  And for seconds…I’m not sure how long the thought that she was joking went through my head.  She’s joking.  Why would she joke like that?  She wouldn’t joke like that.  This is real.  She’s not joking.  The gravity of it hit me like a ton of bricks…right in the chest…bowling me over…staggering to find a seat.  Oh my god.  Oh my god.  That’s all I could say as I wailed into the phone.  She kept asking me if I was going to be okay.  She wanted to drive to my house to console me…console me!  I apologized to her and said I would call back in few minutes.  I’m not exactly sure why I was apologizing. For not being able to speak? For wailing and crying in her ear?  Because her son just died?  All of the above?   My students tried to console me and I tried to reassure them I was going to be alright.  Then I went into the bathroom and screamed and cried and banged on the wall.  Things I still do today.

     Today I met with a friend that had David’s (that’s his name) guitar because he had left it at his place after they gotten together for a jam session.   He gave it to me to return to his family.  I called his mom and told her it was in my possession and that I could drop it off at any time.  I was not sure if I would be able to keep it in my room as it is such a personal item of his.   She however was out of town and asked if I could hang on to it for the weekend.  I said sure…no problem.  

     It stands in the corner of my room.  From here it looks almost as tall as I am.  Encased in a black leather bag it poses a sizable threat to my emotional being.  The weight of it is heavy…in feel and in feeling.   I stared at it for close to an hour wondering if I should open the case.  I know this guitar was his favorite.  The ecstasy and pain entwined in those strings is palpable.  Even in the bag…across the room…in the corner.  I want to take a look and feel close to him again…strum where he strummed…pluck where he plucked.  But the grief of his loss is overwhelming.   I’m not sure if I’m ready to be overcome with  melancholy and passion and elation and sorrow all at once.   It would be like looking him in the face.  The thought makes me tremble.  For now it remains encased in the leather armor it wears to protect me.   I really just want to run over to it and hug it and hold it and tell it I love it.  But he already knows.