Fifty-Two
Friday Nights
About
the Author
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It is one of those Midwestern
mornings when the fever of a long spell of humid, sticky, summer weather
finally breaks. The first light of morning breaks yellow-green and the
mist covers the low ground until the sun is fully up.
There’s a certain lightness of
feeling in the air on mornings like this and it only added to the
anticipation Sara felt as she waited for Jim to come and pick her up.
Today was the day Jim was taking her guitar shopping and though she
absentmindedly stumbled through her morning routine of coffee, and
straightening her small apartment, she could think of little else but the
anticipation of the guitar adventure upon which she intended to embark.
Sara silently warned herself not to
overly romanticize the whole notion of learning the guitar. How many
dreams had died too soon as reality burst the bubble of fantasy.
From down on the street came the
sound of a horn. Sara gave a peek out the window to make sure it was Jim,
then grabbed her credit card and tucked it in her pocket as she hurried
down the stairs to the awaiting car and hopped in. Without delay, Jim
pulled away from the curb and they were off!
“Isn’t that where you turn for
the guitar store?” Sara said as they passed Washington St.
“I’m planning on taking you
somewhere else. I think I’ve found a better deal.” Jim said this as he
pushed a cd into the player.
Steve Earle’s voice whined out
“I am a pilgrim on this road…”
Sometimes anticipation and
excitement makes a person overly talkative---you know, chattery. But
sometimes the anticipation just hushes you as your mind keeps circling.
That’s how it was in the car this bright morning.
Soon Jim turned the car off the
main road and headed out of town toward the town reservoir. As he made the
turn Sara looked quizzically at him as the wind from the rolled down
windows whipped her hair across her face.
“Jim?”
“I’ll get us there. I just want
to stop off up here and get something we’ll need later” Jim lied.
Nothing else was said as they got
lost in the beauty of the morning on that small backroad, shaded by the
huge sycamores that laced the river that ran parallel to the road.
They soon pulled up to the public
boat dock at the town reservoir.
“What are we doin…?” Sara
began but Jim had already jumped out of the car and was calling back to
her…
“Come on!”
And as they walked along the dock
Sara could see that Jim was heading for an old but very nicely cared for,
small, mahogany boat that was tied to the dock. Across its stern was
lettered “Beautiful Dreamer” and across its gunnel leaned a couple of
fishing poles.
“Get in!” Jim said as he
lowered himself into the small boat.
“Why are we…what’s…” Sara
stammered out.
“You said you were tired of
fishing from the dock. I’m going to take you…” Jim started to say
and this time it was Sara’s turn to interrupt.
“I was speaking…you know…metaphorically!
I wasn’t saying I wanted to go fishing!.
Jim just put out his hand to help
her steady herself into the boat as he said “Humor me. Come on and let’s
just get in and get this boat going.”
Sara didn’t know why but she gave
in anyway, took his hand and stepped in. She sat down on the broad bench
that spanned the boat from side to side and Jim went to the stern and…yup…he
pulled the starter chord on the old outboard motor and the boat
came to life.
“Where in the world did you get
this old boat?” Sara asked.
“It’s Mark’s” Jim said,
referring to their friend in the local police department. “He refinished
it in his basement last winter. It’s been in his family for over 30
years.”
“It’s really kind of a
beautiful old boat isn’t it?” Sara said as her mind drifted back to
the old mahogany boat at their uncle Bill’s cabin. She was connecting
that this wasn’t coincidental---Jim had REALLY been listening to her the
other night! He’d even tried to find a boat reminiscent of the one that
left them standing, unwilling landlubbers, while their father and brothers
went off to do some real fishing.
Sara was awakened from her reverie
by the site of a group of people gathered on the shore of what they always
referred to as “The Beach” when they were growing up. The Beach was a
glorified sandbar at the far end of the reservoir that had been the summer
hang out in their teen years.
As the little boat pulled closer
Sara realized the gathering was a group of her friends. As they closed in
on the shore of the sandbar the small crowd parted to reveal…
…hanging from a VERY oversize
bamboo fishing pole, bent nearly onto itself…
…a guitar.
And over the guitar was a huge,
hand-lettered sign that said “Bon Voyage!” and “Happy Fishin’!”.
As Sara got closer she saw that the sign was signed by all the friends.
At a complete loss for words Sara
just walked between her friends, toward the guitar to get a closer look at
it. As she thought she had noticed, there was an envelope tucked carefully
behind the strings and resting on the bridge. It was marked “Sara” in
Jim’s printing.
After pausing a bit to admire the
beauty of this guitar that hung there by its headstock, Sara carefully
extracted the envelope.
From the envelope she drew out a
card obviously hand-made by Jim. It was obviously handmade by Jim because
the cover of the card was a scanned old photo of a VERY young Jim and Sara
in their underpants, mugging for the camera, each making “rabbit ears”
behind the other’s back. They were standing on that very dock in Canada
so many years ago, and upon a careful look Sara could even see that old
mahogany boat tied to the dock in the background.
Sara’s grin just got lots bigger.
As she opened the card a letter
dropped out on the sand at her feet. She quickly picked it up and began to
read…
Dear Sis,
I couldn’t be more excited for
you, or more honored that you asked me to help you along this new
adventure toward becoming a guitar player. I just wanted to thank you for
that late night “wake up call”. I had let way too much time grow
between dreams. Your call got me to pick up my old friend. In fact, Julia
and I have been making music again ever since your call and we’re both
wondering how we ever could have put that part of our life aside for so
long.
I got a great deal on this guitar
for you. It’s a Larrivee and I bought it from a guy who bought it and
then decided he already had a guitar too similar to own both. By the way…you
owe me $850. A cheap guitar is just an excuse to back out of learning when
the learning becomes more difficult. Besides, when a guitar sounds and
plays better the practice isn’t nearly the chore it could be on a low
quality instrument.
But that’s not what I really
wanted to say. What I wanted to say to you is that it’s not lost on me,
or any of your friends gathered here, that you choose to work the shift
you do because the night time is the time when the kids on the ward are
the most frightened. You know you have the gift for comforting them and
you’re not satisfied to assume someone else will come along and do it.
We all admire the heart you have that has you caring more about the kids
than job advancement, more than a more comfortable shift.
If the kind of life you live is “fishing
from the dock” as you say, and if you live your life always reacting,
waiting and never bass fishing in the deep water, then I’ve gotta tell
you……I can’t imagine admiring anyone more than I admire you for the
way you handle what life throws your way.
Maybe, just maybe, in life the
bluegills are the real game fish!
Love Jim (and Julia)
As Sara finished reading the letter
she looked again at the card, now open, its inside page revealing dozens
of children’s names in all their backward letter, first cursive glory.
All the names are circled in bold blue ink, and above them all Jim had
printed in big block letters....
“THE BLUEGILLS”
That evening the gang built a big
bonfire and sat around it as Jim and Mark initiated Sara’s new
guitar---breathed a soul into it, as they took turns leading the group in
some old favorite songs.
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About The Author
 John Bauman is a very
talented Potter from Warsaw, Indiana. He sells his pottery at some
of the best known art shows around the country. But his creative
talent runs deep and John also writes songs and stories such as this one
to channel his creative energy.
John is a frequent and well loved
contributor to Acoustic Guitar
Magazine's "Guitar Talk"
Forum, and this story was created and posted by John piecemeal over a
period of months on that forum. It has been reproduced here in its
entirety for all to enjoy.
Hopefully, he will be so inclined to share
other stories with us in the future.
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