Skill.

As we continued sharing stories while driving away from downtown, we eventually reached the last and longest traffic light in our path. Seriously, that thing stays red for like three full minutes. But just as we began waiting, I remembered something I wanted to do.

“Oh, by the way, do you mind if I put some music on?” I asked the girls. “That classmate I told you about asked me to listen to his stuff, and to be honest, I’m curious, too.”

None of the girls minded, so I quickly brought out my phone, clicked the link he sent me and connected my phone to the radio bluetooth. Ah, right. Despite looking vintage on the outside, the van has a modern radio and a small touch screen. I don’t think I ever mentioned that. I put on the first song in the list and just let it play as we continued making our way home.

“...”

The music played and the girls continued talking about their day, but despite myself, I… began to tune them out. I listened closely to the music and found myself frowning.

Played in an acoustic guitar, the song had a sort of… ethereal feeling to it. High notes in quick, flowing arpeggios that screamed high technical skills. Not only that, but his guitar wasn’t in the standard tune. Was this… open C? It had a soft, calm rhythm to it even with its fast pace.

The next song was slower, focused more on plucking with a few sections of strumming. It felt inspired by some big classics, yet it managed to have its own identity.

Song after song, I began to understand why Steven was a popular guitarist. There’s this saying that good guitar isn’t impressive guitar, meaning that there comes a moment when high technical skill isn’t understood by people not at that same level. Steven was managing to incorporate high technical skill in melodies that sounded good, with his inspirations being clear, yet not iterative. And to make everything more impressive, some songs were played in guitar, some in bass, some in piano, some in flute. Hell, some songs had versions in different instruments.

“...”

I was jealous. Plain and simple, I was extremely jealous.

It had nothing to do with his success in social media or however much money he was making. I can confidently say that. No, I was jealous of the skill and creativity that produced those songs, because they felt so far out of my reach. I’ve composed a few original songs. Simple ones, clearly inspired by the music I listen to as well, but nothing that has made me say ‘Yes, this is truly mine. No one else could’ve made it.’

“...”

I thought I had spent my life playing guitar. I played every day, if at least for an hour. I wouldn’t miss more than one or two days a week, and that only started happening this last year when my social life got 1000% more active. What I was listening to was someone who had actually given his life to music, and it made me feel inadequate.

“Oliver?” Sarah called to me, her tone both worried and confused. “Are you okay?”

I was scowling, and that would’ve been a big enough tell to anyone, but the girls could directly feel my mood shifting, even if they couldn’t completely identify the cause.

I sighed. “I’m fine.”

“Stop that. We can tell you…”

“Grace,” I said firmly without raising my voice. “I’m fine.”

The meaning got across. I didn’t want to talk about it.

I love the girls, I really do. They’re my world. But we all need our space sometimes, and I’ve always been willing to give it to them when they need it, even if I’m ready to be there when they need me. I can understand them being pushy with me when it comes to my dumb mood swings, because they’ve had to deal with them from the beginning, pushing me to share instead of retreating into myself. This time, however, I really did need space. I needed to think, or rather… I needed time to come to terms with this.

I always knew there were people far better than me at what I did. Not just the pros making music that the whole world listens to, but even bedroom guitarists like me who were simply better. But they were always… far away, on the internet, a video or a sound file and little else. This… This was someone that I’d just met, someone I’d be going to classes with.

The girls left me be, though the atmosphere did get a bit uncomfortable, which I’m sorry for. We got home, I parked the van and we all went inside the house. Cake quickly rushed to the door, screaming at us for having the gall to leave her alone for a few hours. Noelle picked her up, likely to prevent her from jumping on me.

I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, seeing what I’d be making for dinner… And then Mila put her hand over mine.

“We’ll take care of dinner today. You… Do what you have to do, okay?” she said. The girls were all in quiet agreement.

I clicked my tongue. This was yet another thing I needed to fix about myself. These mood swings, the fact that I could let things affect me to a level where I brought everyone’s mood down with me.

I shook my head, **** a smile and kissed Mila’s head. “No, I’m fine. Sorry, I’m just being an idiot.”

“Love,” Alice said. “If you need a moment, take it. It’s true, we… don’t entirely understand. What we feel coming from you is… all over the place. But that’s exactly why. Go. We’ll call you when dinner’s ready, okay?”

“...”

I sighed, closed the fridge and gave each of the girls a kiss on the forehead. “I’m sorry. And thank you.”

“Where will you be?” Noelle asked. “You know, so we can find you,” she said with a smile.

“The music room. Cake, let’s go.”

Cake jumped out of Noelle’s arms and followed me as we ran up the two sets of stairs, to the third floor and into the music room. I picked up my guitar, the one the girls gave me for Christmas, plugged it to the amp, turned it on and began to play.

I don’t remember exactly how it started. I think I was just doing my usual warmup exercises. But eventually it went from repetitive exercises into something resembling a melody.

I was jealous of Steven’s skills, but… not in the sense that I wanted to trade mine for his. I wanted to be at his level, I wanted to get better at music, in general. I knew that I was playing from frustration and haste. Skills like these don’t function like some kind of power up that you get when you get angry. They don’t come from a sudden surge of motivation. They come with time, practice and intent. And yet…

Cake was there with me. She lay on the floor with her head and ears up, listening. I didn’t notice that the girls actually gave me a lot of time alone. They called me after I had let out most of my frustration.

I didn’t suddenly get better at guitar by channeling my frustration into music… but I did get something. I rhythm and a set of five notes that would be stuck on my head for the next two weeks.

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