That Old Familiar Hallway

I walk down that familiar hallway to the last door on the right. The room is empty but for a guitar, a beautifully clean acoustic guitar which seems to be crying for someone to play it. It sits on a dingy looking holster that, if I remember right, you made yourself. I sit crossed legged in front of it, admiring the slick finish and newly changed strings. It’s interesting how something as simple as a guitar can hold years of memories, four years to be exact, but hey who’s counting? Oh that’s right, I am.

We sit, facing each other, the guitar willing all kinds of memories to surface, while I desperately try and force them back down. It’s easier to suppress and push forward with a brave face than look backwards and crumble.

I knew you would get out of here, set a plan for your future in motion and never look back; I just didn’t think you would leave something so important to you behind. It’s likely you left it behind for the same reason though. The reason you promised we would meet before you went but never followed through. So the memories wouldn’t follow you to a new place, a new city, and haunt you the way they haunt me.

You left the guitar strap that I bought for you. The black and white one you were looking at even though we only went into the shop for new strings. It hasn’t been taken off the guitar, so I assume you used it until you decided it was time to leave it all behind.

You introduced me to new music and reacquainted me with old music I had forgotten about. Now music holds a bittersweet feeling, because you used to play all those songs on this stupid guitar. Under the Bridge; tainted. Adam’s Song; tainted. That stupid Lazy Eye song that you would play to psyche yourself up before you tried to play any Metallica song all the way through; I can’t even listen to that one anymore.

I reach across the distance between and run my fingers along the neck of the guitar. I smile softly as a memory pushes it way to the surface, the one where you tried to teach me how to play. I messed up on purpose so you would take the guitar back because I didn’t want to learn. I didn’t need to learn. I was content with listening to you play. I strum my fingers over the strings and the room is filled with the chord; perfectly tuned. You always made sure it was tuned to perfection.
A tear rolls down my cheek as the chord gets softer and softer until it disappears into the empty space. I can’t be any sadder than that one tear because I know this is for the best. This place was suffocating you and you were always dying to leave and find fresh air the first chance you got. I know you’re happy with your decision, and I can’t be mad at you for following your heart, even though there wasn’t enough room for me to take with you.

I’m sure you will find yourself another guitar. I’m sure it will be one you have always wanted. I’m sure it will be beautiful. I’m sure it will always be tuned perfectly. I’m sure you will play it with all the emotion you played this one with; whether you are happy, or sad, or angry, or lonely. I’m sure you will take care of it to the highest degree, even though there will always be a special place for this old one.

And even though it will sometimes be unbearable, I’ll still listen to those songs. I’ll listen to that CD you made me of the songs you said remind you of me. I’ll listen to that Kings of Leon album that we listened to on that road trip because it was the only one you had in the car. I’ll listen to the album Neighborhoods that you said kinda sucked, but still knew the words to every song. I’ll listen to those obscure Red Hot Chili Peppers songs that no one else knows, but because they were your favorite band you knew them all by heart. No matter what they will always be a part of me now, and I don’t resent you for that. In fact, I thank you.

I heave a sigh as I get off the floor, give that beautiful acoustic guitar one last look, and leave down the hallway, closing the door behind me.