For Me This is Heaven (Camren)

Chapter 20

I had picked up my first guitar at my uncle's house one day when I was eleven years old. He had an acoustic Martin DRS2 and at the time I didn't even know the difference but it looked so pretty and I remember I couldn't stop smiling and looking at my uncle in awe when he would play it. I never dreamed of hearing something so incredible. And not only that, but watching someone play it in front of me was just...indescribable.

My twelfth birthday found me sitting on my bedroom floor with a brand new guitar and nothing but the burning desire to learn how to make something beautiful. It took me a while to get the hang of it but I had this fierce determination and I knew I wasn't going to give up until I had it. I practiced until my fingers practically bled.

When I opened my email over the summer following Lauren's surgery, and subsequently her bad news, the last thing I expected to see were my pale and fragile girlfriend's dainty hands holding my old guitar wearing a huge smile on her face.

I raised the volume on my laptop and watched her fumble with something on hers before tucking some of her hair behind her left ear and then readjusting her slender fingers on the neck of the guitar. Her gestures weren't enough to distract me from the discolored patch of skin on her arm or the way her collarbones stuck out more than usual.

"Don't laugh at me, okay?" she said, her tone reminiscent of a child on stage at a school play for the first time, unsure and scared but still excited at the same time. She looked up and off into the distance, somewhere beyond her webcam, and said, "That goes for you too." I was confused until I heard the very obnoxious, high pitched laughter of someone young and stoned.

When she took a deep breath I saw myself, nearly eight years ago, staring down at this big instrument, so curious and thrilling all at the same time. I saw the energy and nerves and determination I had in myself. She was an intrigued, passionate little girl lost in her oversized t-shirt trying to find a way to make something beautiful.

She steadied her hand and went straight for the first verse of Green Eyes and I don't think I'd ever loved a horrible rendition of a song so much.

She opted for humming occasionally in lieu of singing and her timing was off, playing a bit slower than she should have to make it sound just right. But the way she strummed was comfortable enough for her to be consistent. She tried to look away from the frets and her fingers for the most part but I would catch her glancing down, furrowing her brows in frustration for the briefest moment then looking elsewhere, chuckling to herself softly at her amateur performance.

But if I had to choose between listening to her cover or the real thing for the rest of my life I would pick that slowed down, sloppy mess any day. Because it was Lauren. And because it was Lauren, it was perfect. I couldn't stop smiling at the slight buzz and it was all I could do to tear my eyes away from the faintest moments of discomfort flashing within her eyes because she was pressing the strings just so hard to make it sound right.

I was momentarily grateful for the quality of the camera. The deep grooves sinking into her fingertips like valleys cruelly lit ablaze by the thin, sharp metal. Over and over. Fresh blisters ripped open again and again and she kept playing. Without stopping, she played through, putting me to shame because never in all my years have I dreamt of playing with that much determination and pain.

I could play the most intricate and complicated guitar solo imaginable and I would still have nothing on her. And as she neared the final chorus I wished I knew how she was feeling. Because nothing I have felt after playing could ever come close to the sense of accomplishment and self-pride I knew she must have experienced.

"What the hell is that?" my dad had asked me, passing by my room and catching the end of the cover.

I laughed and simply shook my head. "It's nothing." He wouldn't have understood anyway.