Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Darian stands on our porch holding a guitar case, looking exactly like himself. Jeans, t-shirt, that easy smile.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I say back.
“Hi!” Lily practically shouts. “Is that your guitar? Can I see it? Is it acoustic or electric? What color is it?”
“Lily, let him come inside first.”
“Right. Sorry. Come in!” She backs up, giving him space.
He steps inside and I close the door behind him. Our house isn’t fancy, but it’s ours. Comfortable. Lived in. Real.
“Nice place,” he says, looking around.
“Thanks.” I watch him take it in. The photos on the walls, Lily’s artwork on the refrigerator, the lived-in comfort of our space.
“Can we start now?” Lily asks. “Please?”
Darian looks at me, questioning. I nod.
“Where would you like to do this?” he asks.
“Living room?” I suggest. “More space.”
We move to the living room and he sets the guitar case down carefully. Lily hovers, vibrating with anticipation.
“Okay,” he says, kneeling to open the case. “First rule of guitar: respect the instrument.”
“Respect it how?” Lily asks, dropping to her knees beside him.
“Take care of it. Keep it clean. Don’t bang it around. Treat it like it matters.”
“Because it has feelings?”
“Exactly.” He picks up his own guitar. “Let’s work on transitioning between chords. Watch me first.”
He demonstrates moving smoothly from G to C to D, his fingers flowing across the fretboard. Lily watches intently, her fingers twitching as she mentally follows along.
“Now you try. Slow at first.”
She attempts the progression on her guitar, stumbling on the transition from C to D. He shows her a trick for repositioning her fingers, and she tries again. Better this time.
I sit on the couch and watch. Watch my daughter concentrate with an intensity I usually only see when she’s reading. Watch Darian teach with natural ease, breaking everything down into manageable pieces. Watch them interact like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Your mom said you remembered everything from last night,” he says to Lily. “Want to show me?”
She proceeds to demonstrate her recall, naming parts of the guitar, explaining what frets are for, remembering the string names he taught her. He listens, impressed.
“You’ve got a good memory,” he tells her. “That’s going to help a lot.”
She beams at the praise.
For the next hour, I watch them work together. He teaches her how to hold a pick, how to press the strings, how to make her first chord. She struggles with finger placement and he adjusts her hand gently, explaining why each position matters.
“It hurts,” she says at one point, looking at her fingertips.
“It will at first. Your fingers need to build up strength. But if you practice a little each day, it gets easier.”
“How long did it take your fingers to stop hurting?”
“About two weeks. But I practiced a lot. Maybe too much.”
“Can you play something?” she asks. “So I can see what it sounds like when you’re good?”
He glances at me and I nod. He takes the guitar and plays something simple but beautiful. Lily watches his fingers, mesmerized.
“Will I be able to do that?”
“If you practice, absolutely.”
“How long?”
“Depends on how much you practice. But I bet you could play a song in a month.”
“A whole song?”
“A simple one, yeah.”
She looks at me. “Can he come back? To teach me more?”
I meet Darian’s eyes. He’s waiting, not pushing, just waiting to see what I decide.
“If he wants to,” I say.
“I want to,” he says simply.
And there it is. The decision is made. Not just about guitar lessons but about everything they represent. About letting him into our routine, our life, our space.
“When?” Lily asks.
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her. “Right now, focus on what he’s teaching you.”
She turns back to the guitar with renewed determination. Darian shows her the chord again and this time she gets it right. The sound that comes out isn’t pretty, but it’s a real chord.
“I did it!” She looks between us, thrilled. “Did you hear? I made music!”
“You did,” Darian confirms. “That’s your first G chord.”
“G for guitar,” she says, then laughs at her own joke.
He spends another thirty minutes with her, teaching her two more chords, showing her how to transition between them. She’s frustrated when her fingers won’t cooperate but doesn’t give up.
“I think that’s enough for today,” he finally says. “Your fingers need a break.”
“But I want to keep going.”
“That’s how you hurt yourself. Better to practice a little each day than too much at once.”
She sets the guitar down carefully, the way he showed her. “Will you come back tomorrow?”
He looks at me again. I should say no, that tomorrow is too soon, that we need to pace this. But Lily’s looking at me with hopeful eyes and Darian’s just waiting, patient as always.
“If he’s free,” I hear myself say.
“I’m free,” he says immediately.
She throws her arms around him before I can stop her. He freezes for just a second, surprised, then gently hugs her back, looking at me over her head. I nod, letting him know it’s okay.