This guitar was handmade by some guy I met in a field.  I bought it from him right then and there.  Rash purchases are often followed by remorse, and this case was no exception.

I soon learned that the intonation was off, there were dead spots and buzzes.  It had a hard time staying in tune, and then the bridge loosened up and came off.  I should have just let it go at that point, but it was a handmade guitar, after all.  At that point in my education, I hadn’t learned yet that glue can be trusted, so I re-attached the bridge with glue and a pair of machine screws.  It didn’t make the guitar play any better, or any worse.

Little by little, I did let go of my handmade guitar, eventually relegating it to an unheated loft.  To my way of thinking, that meant it was no longer a musical instrument; it was just a thing.  It languished there for years.  Occasionally, I would notice it hanging there and strum it in passing.  I hadn’t banished it out of cruelty, so the strings were loose, and it would sing out a low, confused chord.  It always had a nice deep voice, which is why I tried so hard to make our relationship work.  In the end, though, it just wasn’t possible.  This is how it ended.  I think it’s better this way.

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