I glance at the side and look at the guitar, imagining myself playing with the instrument. The man follows my gaze and picks the acoustic guitar. He brings the string instrument and hands it to me.
He uses an electric guitar and lets the acoustic rest inside a container. I could only guess that none of the band members can play the acoustic, so they leave it there.
The major difference between playing an acoustic and electric guitar is how the person feels. Acoustic guitars are gigantic and bulkier, and the strings can feel tight. Electric guitars looked more pocket-like and uncomplicated to grasp. The twines also feel soft under the fingers.
People usually avoid playing the guitar since it hurts their hands. Some rookies complain about how strenuous it is to strum the strings repeatedly until they get the faultless tune.
However, little do they know that their hands eventually toughen up, and they would not hurt anymore. With a dainty time to practice, anyone can learn to play the guitar.
The vocalist walks up to me and asks, "Do you know how to play the acoustic guitar?"
My body lips freeze, and I cannot speak when the man is in front of me. I just look at the guitar and give him a nod, hoping he could understand my message. With a smile, he hands the instrument to me and beams me a smile. I return his glee and get the guitar from his fingers.
I scrutinize the nylon strings. Some people recommend such wires because the strands are soft under the fingers. Other cords might scarp the skin, creating a wound at the fingertips. Fortunately, I am way past that phase and could hold my ground.
People call the nylon-string acoustic guitars classical guitars.
"I do not know your name yet," The vocalist asks, and leans closer.
I can feel every breath he takes as he talks to me. My face flushes bright red as I look at him in the eyes. All the cells inside my body burn right through me.
My fingers run through the smooth surface of the cord, as if mixed with powder. I pull the empty chair close to me and perch with the guitar resting on my thighs. The weight of the guitar immediately pushes my body downwards, but I pay it no mind.
"Okama. Okama, Izumi." I croak.
"Okama-san…" His voice trails elsewhere as he gives me a reply.
The man chuckles with a laugh and wipes his tears. I do not know what he finds funny by my name. But as I turn around, I see a glass and the band member tripping over a puddle of juice on the ground. With a loud thumping noise, we all focus on the girl.
After a while, the noise dies out. The band members resume talking to each other, while the lead vocalist continues from where he has left from the conversation. The bloke eventually concludes his crackle and looks me in the eye. I stare back and listen to what he is going to say.
Damn those marvellous eyes. It is heaven-sent; I tell you.
"Pleasure to meet you, Izumi. I am Dokusei Daichi, also called One, my English given name!"
His voice sounds masculine and unyielding, like a brawny man in a classic television series. I am immediately attracted to his voice alone, pairing with the features on his face. The guy has some abs protruding from his shirt, luring anyone near him. I try averting my gaze, but I unfortunately fail. I could not break my eyes from looking at him. But my gaze gets distracted as soon as I see something reaching out for me.
"I am Japanese but grew up in America for a long time!" Dokusei adds.
Unlike many Japanese people, Dokusei offers his hand for me to shake. I am fond of this culture, so I reach out and grip his hand. Dokusei clasps mine while gazing into my orbs, studying my face. The two of us give a firm but a light shake of our hands before diverging.
"Dokusei-san…" I also repeat his name inside my head. It is a technique that I used to remember someone new.
However, he stretches his palm and makes a "nope" sound to me. My eyes blink fast after seeing such sudden movements.
"I want to call you Izumi, your first time!" He exclaims, still with the glee carved on his face.
Dokusei-san does not suggest, but tells me he will call me by my given name. I do not mind how he would call me since people greet me by my first name when I am still in Singapore. I also have an English name, but abruptly disregard it since it does not suit me.
Izumi still rings a pleasant tone through my ears.
I give Daichi a nod and reply, "Sure. Can I call you Daichi?"
"Absolutely!" He responds.
He looks around and goes for the instrument beside him. The man cannot wait to test out the notes inside his head, so he plays with the strings. Dokusei strums his electric guitar, creating clashes of melody from the cords. He tweaks the specific cord and produces a clamourous tune.
The blaring sounds of notes blast through my ears as I listen to his performance. His music differs from before when he is performing with his band. Daichi keeps rocking his head back and forth, moving with the beat. I stop my feet from jerking away and force myself to listen to the melody.
After a few minutes of entertaining sounds, he puts the instrument aside and gawks at me with intense excitement.
"Do you like it?" Dokusei asks, and smiles.
I wiggle my face and answer, "Yes! Although I am not a fan of rock or something loud, I find yours pleasant to my ears."
I cannot tell him I am allergic to deafening noises. Mixed sounds coming from various instruments are acceptable to my eardrums. But with the electric guitar alone with its amplified speakers, I would feel my mind exploding into tears.
My father always tells me to listen to country songs and sentimental tunes. I am a huge fan of tracks that use acoustic instruments like pianos, violins, guitars, etc. These instruments bring me to a tranquil forest and let me think about my life.
Daichi closes his eyes and hums to himself a monotonous sound. After a complete minute, he picks his guitar again and tries a fresh approach. He tries creating a soothing pluck for the electric guitar, but I beg to differ.
Every instrument has a unique style of music, especially the different types of guitar. Each style works better with a specific instrument. Making a calm melody out of the rock-and-roll instrument might sound different.
But I might be wrong since my generation is innovative in finding such things. If Beethoven can create music even deaf, so can our time! We can make electric guitars, drums, and other noisy instruments become a calm tune.
As if reaching for an answer, Daichi opens his eyes. He reaches out for his pocket and gets a black notebook. Daichi scribbles everything he has thought on the blank sheets. After writing his notes, he applies them to his electric guitar.
Despite taking his second chance, I could still hear booming noises coming from the wind instrument. I realise I like a specific tone because of my preference, not the music. The beat he has created sounds similar to a band playing for a concert.
It is earsplitting to me, but not for everyone else.
Daichi finishes his show by strumming fast the cords and goes for a lengthy "yeah" sound. He then looks me in the eye, feeling embarrassed by what he has done. I may have felt the same way if I am in his position.
"How about that?" He asks.
I shake my head and answer, "Sorry. I prefer calming sounds. But you rock, like, literally rock!"
I raise my hands and shake them, forming a circle. After I have realised my position, I lower my hands and avert my gaze. We both afterwards burst into laughter, admitting to ourselves how embarrassing that line is to us.
"Maybe you play the acoustic guitar and show me what music you like?" Daichi suggests and directs his forefinger at the guitar.
The guitar does not discomfort me at all, despite it resting on my thighs. I do this often inside my house when I am practising a song. It is still an instrument that gives me pleasure rather than a burden.
I take a deep inhale and focus on the song that I want to play. If I can list the songs that I can play, it might take me forever!
But there is one song that I have in mind that I want to test out. A song that I have created for my dad.
Before I can even play the instrument, a band member pulls Daichi to the stage and gives him the microphone.
"Practise!" the girl, who has tumbled before, says.
Daichi glances at his watch. He looks at the time and stares at the arrow hitting one o'clock.