Three Gems

Weird dreams are not uncommon for me. I have them all the time. Often they are completely off the-wall-make-no-sense-silly-sometimes-scary weird. But mostly they are somewhat mundane with a seemingly nonsensical element or two thrown in just to make me scratch my head in the morning. Like the time I dreamt I was at the mall with a buddy of mine from work, and for some reason we stopped in a barber shop and I cut his hair. Still haven’t figured that one out.

Anyway.

First I should explain that I’ve been kicking around the idea of buying a guitar. I played years ago. I took lessons when I was 9 or 10, but I got bored and quit. Then I picked it up again in my early teens, but once again grew bored with the lessons and quit. A few years after that I sold both my guitars and my amp and used the money to buy a Commodore 64. That should give you an idea of how long it’s been since I’ve played. So why now? What got me thinking about it? I don’t know for sure. I know a few buddies started playing a couple years ago. And few of the guys on the creative team at work have their guitars at work. But I used to find it annoying and thought them to be slackers. So why did I suddenly become fascinated with guitars? When I go by their desk and the guitar is just sitting there on the side table, I have to fight the urge to touch the strings. But I’ve still been fighting the urge. I tell myself it’s a waste of money. I won’t stick with it again. I’ll get bored and it will sit there collecting dust.

Then I had the dream two nights ago.

I made my way down a local street here in the city, one I am familiar with. At the corner, I turned into the doorway of a music store.  (There is no store there in real life) I looked at the sign on the inside of the old glass and wood frame door. They opened at 8:30am. My watch said it was exactly 8:30. I try the door and it opens, a bell jingles and announces my arrival. An old man comes out of the back of the store and hobbles his way toward me. I want to leave. I am thinking this will be awkward. I know nothing about music. He will know everything and pressure me into buying some old piece of junk. The old man gets closer. He is wearing a t-shirt, but no pants. Just briefs. Loose dangly old man briefs. But he doesn’t seem to care, and I make no mention of it. He looks at me and knows I want a guitar. He smiles and says he knows just what I need. He sits down at an old desk and I pull up across from him. He pulls some pieces and parts off the wall and I watch while he proceeds to build me an entire guitar from scratch. He glues the wood parts together, sands it, attaches the neck, adds the strings, everything. He smiles while putting the finishing touches on the lacquer.  He embeds three tiny gems into the pick guard, setting them into place then applying the lacquer finish on top. Every now and then, catholic school girls in uniforms would come in to pay for lessons they were taking. The old man would get up and talk to them and take the money. They seemed to like him and asked where “ma” was.  He said she was still sleeping in the back. The whole time he still had no pants on, the girls didn’t seem to notice or this was normal. When he was done the guitar it was absolutely beautiful. He handed it to me and said to take it.  I asked him how much knowing I couldn’t afford a hand made guitar. He told me to take it, it was mine. Just try it, let me know how you like it, and we can talk about money at another time. He just wanted me to enjoy it. I left the store holding my new custom hand made treasure.

The dream ended there. I woke up later and replayed it in my head all day. It was another one of those vivid dreams. I even remembered the smell of the music shop, the shuffling sound of the old mans footsteps across the creaky hardwood floor. I am not sure what to make of it. But I’m pretty sure I’m buying a guitar soon. And if it ends up collecting dust after a year or so, so what. A few hundred dollars for a year’s entertainment is well worth it.