how to play a guitar, "What’s your name"?

My little son asked me how I learned to play the guitar. And why did I do it? The question takes me back a decade to New York City and a different life…

I had to change trains at 57th Street to take the express train to Brooklyn, where I attended high school. I was standing on the platform waiting for the train when she came down the stairs and stood just ten feet from me. She was looking down the track, so I didn’t get a good look at her face, but the brief glimpse I got when she turned from her was intriguing. When the express train arrived we both got on the same car, I made sure of that and tried to make it look like a coincidence. I sat in the back so I could watch her read a book as we headed downtown. She got off at 14th Street, and as the train pulled away, I saw her walk away from her.

The next day I waited again at 57 and waited for her, and sure enough, she delicately came downstairs. He had been there for half an hour and by then two express trains had passed. We got back on the train together and I felt some kind of connection even though it was silly and she wasn’t aware of me. The song “what’s your name” kept going around in my head but I never had the courage to ask.

This went on for weeks, and I finally worked up the courage to smile at him as he walked into the station. And oh God, she smiled back, oh man, she knew I existed. She made my day, but she sat on the other side of the car and went back to reading her damn book. I wanted to get closer to her but I was frozen in my seat. What was she going to say? “Forgive me, but I’ve been watching you for a month and I think I love you”? That was really too silly.

So every day we would go through the same routine sitting in the same seats, never speaking but communicating from time to time with shy smiles. June was coming up and school would be out and he knew he had to do something because he probably wouldn’t see her again until September, but what to do? Buy her flowers? Oh yeah, great idea. That he would tell her “excuse me, what’s your name, but I brought you some flowers because, uh, I don’t know.” Maybe get him a card? No, that was another really dumb idea. All my ideas were silly because I knew I would never act on one.

Finally, on my last day of school, I was determined to ask her name and maybe go somewhere. I got some courage from my best friend after he finished making fun of me, he urged me to at least talk to her. He was correct; She was ready, nervous and scared but determined. I watched the stairs and let the express trains pass, but she never showed up. Maybe her school was over for the summer. I wanted to wait longer, maybe she was late but I was late for school and I almost didn’t go.

Summer came and I wondered where he lived, what he was doing, did he ever think of me? What should I do to fill a long and lonely summer? I started taking walks on 57th Street and Central Park almost every day. I drifted through a dream, I walked around the lake and through the walks between the trees and the fields of the central park; and up and down the busy streets lined with expensive shops and hotels. Sometimes I’d stop and get a hot dog for lunch while I was walking and who knows, maybe I’d see her somewhere doing whatever she does. Somehow it made me feel better and closer to her; You have almost certainly walked these same streets before and perhaps you would again. I started learning to play the guitar by asking my father for advice. At night he would practice until he could play “what’s your name” almost decently. I could hardly wait for school to start so I could see her again.

Finally September came and I was waiting again at the 57th street station. I waited, let the express trains pass and waited until I had to go. Every day for the first two weeks I waited but she never showed up. I never saw her again; I know it was foolish to feel this way for what was really nothing. “What’s your name?” she went through my mind all the way to school every day for the whole year. In fact, she was getting better on the guitar and she would sing the damn song and accompany me, I’m alone anyway. She gave me a strange kind of comfort. She couldn’t really be heartbroken because there was nothing, but she missed her all the same.

I finally graduated and sometimes when I would walk through town I thought I saw her but no, it was just a bad imitation of her. The next September I left for college and every once in a while I would remember her singing that song, playing my guitar and fantasizing about what I could have been if I wasn’t so young and shy. There were a lot of distractions for me then, a new university, new freedoms, new girls, a whole new chapter of life. It’s still a touching memory for me, but I couldn’t really tell you what it looked like anymore.

“Well, son,” I told him, “there was this girl, look,” “dad,” he said, exasperated as only a six-year-old can be. “Huh? Oh yeah, well, one summer I was sitting bored when Grandpa came up to me and said”…