It was his home, his escape, the only place that he felt he truly belonged. Nothing could beat the way he felt when he played his guitar. Byrne Phillips was gifted in more ways than just his skill with an acoustic guitar. He was an expert in the crafts of loneliness and rejection. He handled them quite well. It seems that luck wasn’t usually on his list of attributes.
Byrne happened to be the only student in his entire private school that played guitar. Every other student that attended Hopkins Academy for the Arts played a classical instrument, making Byrne the odd man out. The School board accepted him, and he was incorporated into the school band, but the kids at his school didn’t believe he deserved to be in their prestigious academy. Apparently his instrument wasn’t good enough for them. They thought to themselves “No instrument with frets could be that difficult to play.” Those snobby rich kids prided themselves on how well they played violin, and cello. Neither instrument has frets to help them memorize where to put their fingers. The only thing that made them think they were better than Byrne is the fact that they had to remember how to play certain notes and he didn’t. So rudely, all the kids at school ignored him
The development of apathy towards being ignored grew quickly after his enrollment there. Nothing could faze him. He no longer cared if no one sat with him at lunch, or if no one wanted to be his partner in group assignments during class. The only thing he truly cared about was his guitar. The stuck up kids in his school would either laugh at him behind his back or not even give him the time of day. In response his light blue eyes would stare down while he walked through the hallways, and his long and skinny body went through the motions of every typical school day.
The only encouragement he received came from his parents, who worried about him often. Ever since he was young they urged him on to try his hardest in everything that he did. From the day he picked up his first acoustic to the first day at Hopkins, they were behind him at every step. Sadly, they couldn’t help from within the school. Byrne never really sought the help he needed.
He remained without companions for quite a while at his dreaded private school, simply because he longed to return to his hometown. His real friends stayed in the company of all the familiar faces that Byrne wished he could see again. Of course Byrne’s parents never meant to make him so lonely, they just wanted what was best for him. “He’ll prosper there and make new friends.” his father would try to convincingly whisper to his mother at night. That was not the case. He got by in school rather than prospered. And he couldn’t establish any good relations with the native pampered kids either.
So apathetic as Byrne was at school, he was equally if not even greatly more driven and passionate when he played his six string in his room. He would strum out a few chords that skipped along together playfully, and hum out the thought of his feelings towards everything he had to go through everyday. Most of the songs he made were for expression, and others were simply practice to make his expressive pieces better. Somehow no matter how resentful or even depressed he became, his absolute joy for fingering the frets of his acoustic couldn’t keep from presenting itself.
Whenever he picked up his most precious possession he would crack a short smile. If his bedroom wall was four feet closer to him there would be a massive hole in it. The rhythm bouncing out from under his strings made his head fly in all types of funky directions. He wished that he could feel this way all the time, although it would look rather strange in class. “If only there was a way those jerks could see me like this,” he mumbled to himself while playing more softly. Then suddenly he stopped.
Something new had arisen from the depths of his seemingly endless gloom. It was a thought, and a brave one at that. Perhaps this was his only hope to be happy. He thought “Maybe, if I could write a song so epic, so ridiculously outrageous and crazy, then I could show those snobs how skilled I really am.” As serious as his face could possibly get, he said aloud “OK.”
Every day he returned home from school and went straight to his room to do his homework. Within an instant of finishing his homework he would hop over to his guitar. After strapping it on he would then walk over to his pen and notepad that lye on the desk across the room from his bed. This was his masterpiece. A thousand flying notes in the air above him whipped around in a spread out symphony of creation. Byrne couldn’t help but be somewhat proud.
As the days rolled on Byrne played at his average proficiency at school. Once he was in his own musical domain, he excelled and flung his imagination into his instrument like it was an interpreter to his soul. His audible art made him feel like he could conquer anything. “Let’s do this,” he thought, before strumming his final note. It was time for his masterpiece to be known.
With his work finished he went to school one morning prepared to stun anyone that had ears. Students across the school had just finished filling their seats in class as Byrne had just started clearing his mind. In the school’s auditorium he stood alone amongst 300 empty seats. His amp, which had been brought along to provide the full effect, was plugged into his acoustic waiting to scream out flares of melodic sound.
Byrne took two of the longest deep breaths of his life and turned his amp to maximum volume. The loud screeching sound took him by surprise, but he shook off the noise after it died away. Several classrooms heard the unpleasant sound, and soon teachers were on their way to discover what caused it.
Byrne was not worried. He placed his fingertips on the frets and began. A soft melody enveloped the room and danced along with the movement of his fingers. He swayed side to side as the melody consumed him bringing him once more into that same world of wonder he loves so much. The teachers now knew where the sound was emanating from.
Now he sped up the pace, whipping out chords so powerful that the gods could surely hear them. He was rocking out harder than ever, switching from soft melodies to strumming bold chords that shook the air above.
Upon discovering Byrne in his niche of loudness, the teachers fled in to stop him. He didn’t pay them any mind, because his solo was coming up. As the teachers made their way to the bottom of the stage he struck the first extremely high note of the solo. The sound forced the teachers into the front row of the audience.
As a gracious onslaught of high pitched notes flew in waves to the ears of everyone in the room. The unattended students poured into the auditorium just in time to have their minds blown. With his guitar held vertical in the air he struck his final chord and ended his performance.
There was a short pause from his unscheduled audience. Then, a glorious applause came from everyone. Whistles and cheers echoed about the room as Byrne stood on stage alone. He raised his pick in the air triumphantly, and bowed. His anthem was finished and so was the plague of being ignored.