June 11, 2010
You can bet that I was nervous to hear what my father had to say about me pursuing the acoustic guitar instead of piano. My dad did value what I was interested in, but the piano was very sacred to him. So, as I was trudging to the living room I questioned: “Can my father separate what he values from what I value and wish to pursue?” If my father didn’t understand how I felt about the guitar, my life was sure to drown in disaster.
There he was, sitting on the piano chair patiently waiting for my arrival. He seemed relaxed, but I knew it was his facial expression that would determine the fate of his mood.
“I know your secret, Nessie,” he announced, not once looking at me. The way he said it did not give me any certainty as to whether he was angry or not.
I was so nervous I stared directly into the wall in the distance. The sweat cascading from my pores would not give in. What was he going to say? Was he going to scold me for wishing to switch instruments? Or would he comfort me and tell me what I wanted to hear?
“So there’s no need to confess. Nessie I’m not angry with you, but I’m not exactly joyful about this either. Tell me what it is about guitar that makes you desire it so much.”
Alright, at least my father was being reasonable about this. He would let me explain my feelings to him. But I didn’t know how, exactly… so I’d just explain in my thoughts.
I mean, I just love the guitar. I see myself having more potential with a guitar. The way the guitar strings produce vibration, it’s just my symphony, my solo. I haven’t even tried it yet. But I just know it, I can feel it. And I could do piano on the side, maybe even sing a few notes.
Look dad, guitar is my life. I promise to devote all my time and effort to it. What would your life be without your piano? Dead. So for me, life without my guitar will be dead. Fruitless. Lifeless. I believe as a fellow musician you can understand how connected one can get to their favorite instrument. This connection, this bond, is joining me and guitar.
And just like that, he nodded as if he understood.
“Alright, you have some valid points there. I’ll consider it.” Consider it?!?! That’s all he was going to do, think about it? You can’t just deliberate on making your own daughter happy or not.
My father still made me participate in my ritual piano lesson, making sure I hit every key correctly.
“You’re quite extraordinary on the piano. Are you sure you want to play the guitar instead?” he asked, trying to persuade me otherwise, to stray me from my ambitions of being a guitar player.
“I’m one hundred percent absolutely certain I want to play the acoustic guitar, dad. There’s no other instrument perfect enough for me. The acoustic guitar is the one,” I added with a crooked smile.
To show me that he finally understood he flashed the same crooked smile, the exact same one. Did I inherit this from him? Or was it just a coincidence?
Before I left piano lessons, I made sure to check that my dad did actually know how to play the guitar. But I think the question was actually: “How does my dad not know how to play the guitar?” Of course he did, he just hadn’t played it in quite a while, or so he claims. Either way, if my dad did let me play the guitar, I knew I would have an outstanding teacher.
The thought brushed off when piano lessons were over. I was walking down the road that led to the pack’s house. I was just taking a calm stroll to ease the stress that had erupted throughout the day. I let my mind wander off into bliss.
If my dad has been listening to my thoughts lately, putting my thoughts of guitar aside, he might want to click the mute button. Why? Because the objective to bliss was fantasizing about Jacob, shirtless. Okay, I wasn’t trying to get too ahead of myself here, but could anyone really help it? He was always half-naked, granting me my wish to see him that way. Of course he was doing that so the phasing process was simpler, but still . . . he still has a . . . an . . . eight pack like a God.
I immediately shook my head as if a natural reaction to stop dreaming such inappropriate thoughts. But you couldn’t really blame me. First of all for being his imprintee I have a limited amount of control when it comes to my attraction for him. Second of all, I’m somewhat naive in love, so give me a break.
Nothing right then and there could have ceased my thoughts and lectures out of my head, or the fantasies and episodes of Jake and me having a fun time.
But as I walked a little more something eventually did. It was Emily Young. It appeared that she had just arrived from a long and strenuous grocery shopping trip. I wasn’t sure if she was used to it, buying tons of bulk items to cook for the pack. How did she manage to do it all? Shop and buy the goods, then have to carry and unpack them all by herself . . . it must take her hours. But this seemed to be one of the duties of a “wolf girl.”
She started to unload three heavy looking, massive grocery bags from the back seat. The groceries extended from the front passenger seat all the way to the petite trunk of the vintage sports wagon.
She glanced quickly in my direction, and developed a warm, inviting smile. I wanted to help her, and help fulfill my duty. I wanted to serve my duty as a “wolf girl.”
I’ll tell you in my next entry about assisting Emily.
With love (always),