Every evening, I’d sit on my porch with my old Gibson Les Paul, fingers running across the strings, bringing back memories. That guitar was all I had left from my music shop, which had previously felt like the center of my universe. When I closed the shop, it was as if I had packed away a piece of me, leaving only this guitar to remind me of a time when music was everything.
One evening, while playing, I observed a boy standing by the fence, watching intently.
I knew him as Tommy, the youngster from next door. He was often hanging out around the house or with his older brother, Jason, who appeared to be rearing him with a strictness that left little room for affection.
I paused while playing and motioned for him to approach. He seemed apprehensive and glanced back at his own house before moving closer, his gaze riveted on the guitar as if it were something wonderful.
“You like music?” I asked, nodding toward the guitar.
He gazed at me, his eyes filled with a spark of hope.
“Could you… teach me?”
“Only if you’re serious about it,” I said, holding the guitar toward him. “Learning takes work, but if you want to try…”
His expression brightened, and he nodded, reaching out with delicate hands. His fingers stroked the strings, and he smiled slightly.
Every evening, Tommy shuffled up to my porch, where we sat in the evening light, the calm strums of the guitar filling the space between us.
It wasn’t just the way he held the guitar, but also the subtle spark in his eyes whenever he learned a new chord or made a smooth transition. I’d never seen someone so committed, especially a guy his age.
Then, one afternoon, he arrived, clutching a glass jar tightly in his hands, the contents clinking with each step. He held it proudly.
“I’m saving up,” he declared, his cheeks flushed a bit. “For my own guitar. There’s this talent show in a month. If I can get a guitar, I can practice, and… maybe I could play something there.”
“Forty dollars,” he said finally, looking up, his eyes wide with expectation and pride. “It’s not enough, I know, but I’ll keep saving. Maybe by next month, I’ll have enough.”
“Tommy, wait here a minute.”
I purchased a good guitar—not brand new, but solid and well-made, with a sound that I felt would carry Tommy’s heart on stage. As I handed it to him, his eyes opened and his mouth dropped open.
“For you,” I nodded. “It’s not a gift, alright? It’s an investment. I expect you to work hard, practice, and show the world what you can do. Think you’re up to it?”
“I promise, Sam. I won’t waste it. I’ll practice every day. I’ll make you proud.”
He wasn’t merely a boy fiddling with an instrument. He’d finally found a method to be heard. And I knew right then that he wouldn’t let anything stop him. Not now. Not ever.
After that day, I observed Tommy withdrawing.
One afternoon, he came sprinting up my steps, his face bathed in tears. He appeared broken in a way that made my heart twist.
“Tommy? What’s going on, son?”
He wiped at his face. “It’s Jason… he… he doesn’t want me to play guitar anymore.”
“Jason says I shouldn’t be looking up to… well, to ‘some old man. He thinks… he thinks he’s the only one who should teach me how to live. He says I should stop coming over here.”
I gazed down at the boy, whose small shoulders shook. “Okay, Sam. Maybe… maybe he’ll listen to you.”
When we walked inside, Jason was already leaning against the doorframe.
“What’s he doing here?” Jason’s voice was cold, his eyes fixed on me.
“Jason, please… I just want to play. Sam’s been teaching me, and I’m learning things… things that make me happy.”
Before I knew it, Jason lunged for the instrument and slammed it on the floor. The sound of wood shattering broke the air. I watched the guitar break into bits on the ground.
Tommy dropped to his knees and gathered the broken parts of the guitar.
For days, I didn’t see or hear from Tommy, and the silence felt more intense than any loneliness I’d ever experienced.
Then I returned to Tommy’s residence and discovered him in his room, surrounded by the broken parts of the guitar. The spark that once illuminated his eyes has vanished.
I led Tommy back to my home. Inside, I went straight to the closet in the corner of the living room. My hands paused on the handle before I opened it and reached inside for my old Gibson Les Paul.
Tommy held the guitar like it was the most valuable thing in the world.
“Thank you.”
When the talent show day arrived, Tommy was fidgeting and nervously looking around as we waited backstage.
His fingers shook slightly while he tuned the Gibson.
I observed Jason seated near the rear, his eyes locked on his brother. He waited until Tommy exited the stage before approaching him.
“How about we play together?” he asked. “I know that song pretty well, remember?”
They returned to the stage together and began playing. The song was the same one Jason had played years before, when Tommy was still a tiny boy, gazing up at him with big, adoring eyes.
When they finished, the audience applauded even louder. Jason drew Tommy into a hug, hugging him tightly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I haven’t been the best brother, but… I wanted to be. I thought I had to be your father, but maybe… maybe I just need to be your brother.”
As the crowd became silent, the announcer came up and handed Tommy a tiny trophy, crowning him the winner. There was also a scholarship to a music school—a great start for his ambitions.
Tommy’s face lit up with excitement, and Jason laid his palm on his shoulder, pride in his eyes. Watching him hold the prize, I knew he’d be prepared no matter where his journey took him.
