“Thank you,” said Josh quietly as he buckled himself in
“You’re welcome,” replied Jake warmly. “My mom bought me my first ever guitar. I still have it. Still treasure it. It doesn’t matter how many you ultimately own, that first one is special. I’m honoured to have bought you your first one.”
“I won’t let you down, Uncle Jake. I’ll practice every day.”
“I’m sure you will. Once we get home and get dinner, we’ll have a lesson. Just you and me after Melody goes to bed.”
“Promise?”
“Promise,” said Jake, starting the engine.
As they descended the steep stairs down into the basement, Josh’s eyes scanned everywhere, drinking in the drum kit in the corner, the guitar racks and the various amplifiers and cabinets. Watching his nephew’s reaction, Jake smiled, thinking that, at his age, he’d have reacted the same way.
“Take a seat,” suggested Jake as he headed towards a rack of acoustic guitars.
“I didn’t realise you had so many different guitars down here!”
Laughing, Jake revealed, “This is only about half of them. The rest are kept out at JJL with the band’s stage gear.”
“Why do you need so many?” quizzed his nephew.
“Good question,” began Jake, stalling for time to answer him. “I guess I don’t, if I’m being honest, but they all sound different. They all play differently. Some were gifts. Some I’ve collected because they are unique custom models. Some are vintage instruments like the one Mike sold me this afternoon,” He paused while he lifted his own first guitar from the rack. “This one is precious. This is my first guitar.”
“Wow!” gasped Josh, eyes wide.
Taking a seat on the stool opposite the boy, Jake settled the guitar on his knee before strumming it to check if it was in tune. He made a few adjustments, then said, “My mom bought me this when I was eighteen. My dad and my brothers used to give me a hard time because I wanted to study music. My dad was hell-bent that I’d follow my brothers into the air force. Was never going to happen.”
He paused, debating how much to disclose to his young nephew. “Your mom was just a kid so she probably doesn’t remember but things were pretty tense at home. My dad always said I was such a disappointment. Nothing I ever accomplished was good enough. I could get straight A’s in school and he would still complain. The only one who believed in me was my mom.”
“Did you learn to play at school?”
Jake nodded, “I had a great music teacher in high school. He would give me extra lessons after class and let me borrow guitars that belonged to the music department. He was friends with Mike. You know, the guy we visited earlier?”
Josh nodded.
“I begged my folks for my own guitar for Christmas and birthdays for about three years. Waste of time. My dad always said “no”,” explained Jake, remembering all too clearly the disappointment on Christmas morning as a teenager year after year. “Eventually, in my senior year, through my music teacher, I got a part-time job at Mike’s store. I traded half my paycheck for private lessons with him. He spoke to my mom one night after work when she came by to pick me up. To this day, I don’t know what he said to her. She would never say and Mike’s always said it was none of my damn business.”
Jake paused again then continued, “The day of my eighteenth birthday, my mom made a big deal about wanting to collect me from school. When she picked me up, there was a huge flat box on the back seat of her station wagon. She said it was a surprise. Was a gift just from her to me and that I wasn’t to tell anyone about it. It was this guitar.”
“And you’ve still got it?” gasped Josh. “It looks brand new!”
“First rule, take care of your instrument. Treat it like you would a lady.”
Josh flushed scarlet in front of him.
“Are all guitars girls?”
“Mine are,” replied Jake warmly. “A lot of them have names too.”
“What’s this one called?”
“I named her after my maternal grandmother,” revealed Jake softly. “Her name was Katherine.”
“Can I name mine?”
“Sure,” said Jake, grinning at his nephew.
“What was your mom’s name?” asked Josh, running his hands over the body of his own guitar.
“Cynthia,” replied Jake, picturing his mother in his mind’s eye. “But she hated her name. She preferred to be called Cindy.”
“Cindy?” repeated Josh slowly. “I like that. I never knew what her name was. Mom never talks about her much.”
“Well, now you know,” said Jake, inwardly delighted that his nephew wanted to continue the family connection. “Ok, enough talk. Let’s play!”
Next morning, Jake arrived at JJL before eight o’clock. Having parked in his usual space, he entered the building ready for his first day in the studio with his students. Half out of habit and half in expectation at having to play, he’d brought three guitars with him. A welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the empty lounge.
“Jim?” called out Jake, setting his guitars and book bag down on the couch.
“In the office. Grab a coffee. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Jake had just stirred the sugar and half’n’half into his coffee when the producer appeared.
“Sorry. Early morning call with Jason Russell,” apologised Dr Marrs as he refilled his own mug.
“And how is Lord Jason?”
“Same pompous pain in the ass as ever,” laughed Jim. “He’s signed another British band. Wants to book them in here in January for six weeks.”
“Good for business. Lori says both here and the west coast studio are more or less booked out solid six months in advance.”
“Business is booming,” agreed the producer with a grin. “Now, what young talent are
