Sunday, September 09, 2012

a dream of lost guitar

In that dream I lost my guitar. That hadn't happened that I can recall... often I'd found myself without my guitar in a dream but it was always that I was in Venezuela, unable to make it back to England and my guitar, my pupils and my things. This case was different. I was with Carlos -whichever of the many calls that might have been, and we were trying to make our way back from the ... was it the airport? from a terminal building, in any case, but had had to walk miles in the dark, stopping by the second bus stop from the terminal; we get on the bus and I realise that I've left my guitar, my one good concert guitar that's been with me for the last thirty-five years, on the stone bench by the bus stop, in the middle of nowhere. Carlos has gone to the top deck of the bus, I haven't got a mobile phone with me so I have to shout to him, has he got my guitar -but it is too noisy and he's far at the back of the bus... I try to move over to where the steps for the top deck are but people are in the way, some rather noisy boisterous young people get in my way, apparently trying to get me to share their drink. By the time I get closer, Carlos has left the bus and we have arrived to wherever the bus was going. I trout get the bus back to go to that desolate bus stop in the middle of nowhere in case the guitar might still be there unstolen, but there won't be another one until tomorrow. I make it home, finally, and check all my guitars in case I had taken the wrong one (after all, would I have taken my best guitar without any sort of case to protect it), but it's all the others there ok -I have lost it. A cleaner I don't remember having hired is busy cleaning the guitars and making them shiny. Then I wake up. And, yes, I had to go and check the guitar was still there on its stand as always, and not in some desolate wilderness by a country road in a gloomy country of dreams.


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