Magic Fingers
A story of unrequited love
Watching him felt like a sin. His eyes closed, almost reverently, as his fingers manipulated the strings of his sleek, black guitar. His body was like an extension of his instrument, moving in whatever manner delivered the sound. His face reflecting every emotion, every feeling evoked by those chords. There were three other band members, but they didn’t register. To me, there was only him.
I couldn’t stop watching and listening. I felt myself float to the rafters of the club along with the amorphous notes. My pulse was quickening and I was almost panting. I couldn’t understand how six little strings and his magic fingers could make me feel…so much.
He wasn’t killing me softly; he was giving me life. I wanted to know what it felt like to create something so powerful, so beautiful. Sound. Shapeless. Colorless. Intangible. But pulling me in, pulling me to places that had no space and no time. I wanted to feel what he was feeling up on that stage as his magic fingers strummed my soul.
I adjusted myself in my chair and wrapped my hand around my cocktail glass, the condensation wetting my hand. The warble of the guitar reverberating in me. I looked around the room, making sure that no one saw the effect he was having on me. I sat, alone, at a small table tucked into the back corner of the bar, partially in shadow. My sanctuary. My solitary place of worship.
He threw his head back, his jet black hair curly and untamed. I imagined taking handfuls of it, getting my fingers caught in the coils. I wondered what color his eyes were. I wanted him to see me, to see his power over me. I wanted him to feel for me, with me, all that he was feeling up there on that stage with those six strings and his magic fingers.
I bit my lip before a sound could escape, and took another sip of my cocktail as I willed myself to calm down. I forced myself to take deep breaths just as he began to make the guitar wail. It sounded like some ethereal call, stirring, haunting. It felt insane, to feel so much, without knowing his name, or the timber of his voice. But in that moment, while he was on that stage, he was all that I wanted and all that I could see. My own demigod.
He played a final, lingering chord and brought me back down to the floor, back to reality. This was their last song. For weeks, I had been watching him from my corner. Maybe, this time, I would speak to him afterward …maybe. I downed the rest of my cocktail, hoping it would give me courage.
I clapped along with everyone else in the small club, then motioned for the waiter to bring my check. I watched as my music man unplugged from the amp, wrapping the chord before stuffing it and the guitar into its case. He wiped his hands on his dark denim jeans and reached for a bottle of water. I watched him gulp it down. I gulped, too.
Just as the waiter laid my bill on the table, I saw her. I knew by the way she smiled at him that she was his. And he was hers. He smiled back at her, his beautiful lips curving upward. Then he wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her into him. I looked away. Looked down at my receipt lying on the scarred wooden table, the corner of it wet from the ring made by my glass.
Foolish. Foolish woman, I berated myself. Caught up in fantasy and pipe dreams. Standing, I laid a $20 bill on the table, grabbed my coat, and began walking towards the exit. I didn’t look towards the stage. I didn’t want to see, didn’t want to feel the covetousness creeping up. I never knew his name, never saw the color of his eyes, never heard the timbre of his voice, and never went back to hear him play. But, in my dreams, he meets me and I become music, life-giving, soul-stirring music…with just me, six strings and his magic fingers.
Author’s Note №1
You can show support and support my java habit by buying me a cup of coffee.
Author’s Note №2
It would mean the world to me if you would stop by to view my photography gallery.
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Jenita Lawal is a writer, traveler, amateur photographer, entrepreneur, and mother. After 20+years of living the American Dream, she sold everything and packed her suitcases to pursue the life of her dreams. She lives abroad in Mexico with her three teenage boys and loves exploring whenever there’s an opportunity. She’s on Instagram @jlawal_atw.
