The Guitar

Songwriter Confessions #2

Any real Beatle fan knows that Stu Sutcliffe was the original
bass player,who died of a brain embolism before the Beatles
became famous. But what if it hadn’t been Stu with the deadly
weakness, but rather…?

There is very little time left now. The meeting will take place
in a matter of hours: an event so significant for future
generations that nothing can be allowed to change it in any way.
I have found the boy: a cheerful soul with wide eyes that
question the world with amusement. He does not yet know the path
that is set for him, or the tiny thing inside his brain that
brings me here through the oceans of time. We agreed that it is
a task that must be done for the peace of souls everywhere. From
my place of concealment across the square I wait for him to
appear on this cloudy day. In the skies I see a vortex that
promises more storms but the people around me, simple people
with low reception levels they do not understand, pass by in
their life patterns. Once the boy is in sight, my timing will
allow me to meet him at the shop window where he pauses without
exception every day to stand and admire. I am programed with
every trace of memory from the projection undertaken by the
finest minds in our universe. There are no randoms not accounted
for: no variations not calculated to the infinite degree. I see
him now. The boy comes around the corner whistling a tune of his
own making, with eyebrows high in delight as the activity in the
square greets his vision. For a moment he slows as he passes the
shop they call the baker, but then resumes his journey across
the square directly towards me where I stand close to the shop
that intrigues him so. Every step he takes is more important
than he can ever know, but his cheerful smile shows none of this
as he reaches the window of the store that sells instruments of
music and stops with hands in pockets to stare in familiar
routine. If he were to look at me, he would see only another boy
his own age, but his attention is unwavering and complete on one
of the items in the window. He leans forward until nose touches
glass. Hofner…he says out loud to nobody. Loovely, he says and
his focus is so complete that I take three swift steps towards
him, swirl the cloak of transformation over him and the deed is
done. I turn away from the shop window and resume my journey. In
my mind are random thoughts of how to get enough money for the
music instrument, with bursts of spontaneous melodies in the
background. A part of my mind sees images of playing a guitar
sitting on a bed in a small but friendly room. I walk on. It is
30 minutes later and I have come to an open field which a small
festival has filled with music, banners and the chatter and
laughter of two hundred people. I have only just reached the
first stall when someone calls my name and I turn to see my
friend Ivan smiling at me while the activity of the fair flows
around him. Come over here, he says, I’ve got someone you should
meet. I follow him deeper into the fairground to stop in front
of a small and rickety stage barely three feet off the ground.
Sitting at the corner with legs dangling over the edge is a
skinny youth in a black shirt and jeans with hair combed back in
extravagant sculpture and a cigarette dangling from the corner
of his thin-lipped mouth. His left hand is adjusting the tone of
the strings of the guitar he cradles on his legs while his eyes
measure me with care. Hey, Johnny…Ivan says with a measure of
casual excitement to the skinny figure…got someone you should
meet… he’s a guitar player too… Johnny squints through the
smoke of the cigarette at me. Oh yeah?…he says. Yeah…says
Ivan and throws his arm around my shoulders. Johnny…says
Ivan…meet Paul McCartney…

Copyright – Bill Dollar 200

About the Author

Bill Dollar is a survivor of the record company wars. He
currently lives on a small farm somewhere in the southern
hemisphere, amongst cats,dogs and cobras.He writes songs he
likes, because he’s not hearing anything worthwhile on the radio.

Hear what Bill calls music:
http://www.billdollarmusic.
com

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