Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: MUSIC (04/02/20)
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TITLE: Guitar Lady Rockumentary | Previous Challenge Entry
By Tammy Ortung
04/06/20 -
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I trudged upstairs and barely had enough time to stash my backpack underneath the desk, before Randy, my Navy counterpart, rushed over to my cubicle.
“Hey Guitar Lady,” he said. “I bought a guitar from a Chaplain on base.”
“Awesome!” I replied. He’d mentioned wanting to learn a few days earlier. “I’ll bring mine tomorrow. We can practice in the conference room either at lunch or after work.”
“Sounds great,” Randy said, visibly psyched to begin his music lessons.
“I’ll show you some chords, but you’ll have to do the rest on your own.” I reminded him.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Practice, practice, practice,” he said, mocking me as he bobbed his head to emphasize each word.
A few weeks later, I was in my boss’ office discussing a work-related issue.
“By the way, I bought a guitar online,” he said as I turned to leave. “It should arrive in a week or so.” I swung around in surprise. After seeing Randy and I practicing, he’d mentioned wanting to learn, but I’d thought he was merely making conversation. I never expected him to actually purchase a guitar.
“That’s awesome, sir.” I said, not considering it awesome at all.
I liked Colonel Erving, but I was intimidated about giving him lessons. I didn’t mind teaching Randy because he was a peer. It didn’t matter to him that I was practically a greenhorn myself. I could play basic chords, but I didn’t play tablature, and my strum was slow and not always steady. Over the years, I’d barely managed to play with other guitarists, pacing my half-time strums to their double-time cadence. I never imagined I’d be giving guitar lessons here—or anywhere for that matter.
Colonel Erving’s guitar arrived a week later and we met in the conference room after work to practice. As we sat in a circle, I taught him and Randy several chords, and then we practiced strumming and transitioning between chords.
“My fingers hurt … they keep going numb,” Colonel Erving said. He held up his creased and slightly swollen fingertips for our inspection.
“Yes sir, mine hurt too when I first started, but you won’t even feel it after you build up your callouses,” I said, holding up my fingers so he could see their crusty tips. “The more you play, the faster they’ll form.”
He repeatedly rubbed his thumb across his fingertips as he listened. He did not look convinced.
“Good morning, sir,” I said, peeking my head through his open doorway two weeks later. “Can I come in for a few minutes?”
“Sure.”
“Since we haven’t practiced, I thought I’d check on how things are going with the guitar.”
“I haven’t had time to play,” he said. “And my fingers still hurt and keep going numb.”
This discomfort was one of those things all newbie guitar players had to overcome. I wanted to say to him, “Army strong!” (Or better yet, “Army strong, sir”). In other words, “Toughen up, cupcake,” but he was my boss, so I opted for a more politically correct response.
“Well, sir, eventually your calluses will form and playing will get easier. You really should practice every night for fifteen to twenty minutes.”
“Every night?” he asked, as if I’d just asked him to sing the National Anthem at the Army-Navy game.
“Well, at least three or four times a week,” I said, trying to maneuver the obstacle course I’d landed myself in. Heck, at this rate, I’d be telling him he didn’t need to practice at all.
“Okay,” he said, half-chuckling at my veiled admonition.
As we drew closer to the drawdown of troops in Iraq, our workload increased, pulling us away from the music. Colonel Erving’s guitar lessons became nonexistent. Though Randy continued to practice on his own and the two of us got together at every opportunity. My favorite memories are of the times we spent jamming in the comfortable shade of The Juicer’s back patio, relaxing in the warm breeze and watching waterfowl glide across the water as they seemed to sing in perfect rhythm to our strums. In those moments, Baghdad felt like the oasis Saddam had envisioned.
Nonfiction
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