I have a purple guitar pick. It has a baby face drawn on one side; on the other side, it says "Adam" and has the number 20 circled beneath it. You should have figured out by now that it once belonged to Adam Gaynor, everybody's favourite rhythm guitarist. I also have a yellow pick with footprints on one side and the signature "Kyle Cook" on the other side. If you can't figure out whose pick this once was, I can't help you, dear.
One day, I found a yellow pick, sitting on the floor. A plain... yellow... pick. At first, I was afraid that the ink had somehow come off Kyle's pick. But, no, it was safe in the little blue box of matchstick magic. I asked my roommate about the pick, and she has no idea from whence it came. I mean, neither of us play the guitar, (I did in middle school, and the world is SO glad I didn't continue. They're also glad I put down the trombone and walked away from the piano).
Anyway, back to the subject at hand.
A little... plain... yellow pick. From where did it appear? What is its purpose? Is this a sign? What am I supposed to do with it?
For now, I'll just keep it. I will ponder what might have come of it, had it ever been touched by an actual guitar player. What use, what capability, lay within its plastic, porous frame? At least my other picks can say they once played beautiful music. They can say they're a part of matchbox twenty's success. But what of this lonely, yellow pick? Nobody even took the effort to draw a cute design on it. And the two other picks can say "I am Adam's" and "I am Kyle's".
But maybe this is freedom. This pick has always been its own pick, mysteriously popping into existence in my kitchen. And though I might say now, "This is MY pick", is it really? Will I ever bring it across guitar strings?
Lonely... plain... yellow pick. It might be free, but it's freedom is only wasted talent.
A moment of silence, please, for the phantom pick. For it shall never know a musician. Just an insane poet.
[Come to think of it, you might want to have a moment of silence for everything and everyone within my reach. Poor souls.]
- 3/22/01
