by PeeWee
On our way to the beach, I spotted a friend looking at my ukulele gig bag suspiciously. “What’s in there, Peewee?” she asked. “Uhmm . . . just stuff,” I shrugged in the most nonchalant manner I could manage. You see, my ukulele gig bag does not look like a conventional ukulele bag. Grandma custom-made it for me, ‘different’ from all the typical ones you get in music stores. I wanted one which would blend in easily with
other travel bags and not attract too much attention. ‘Why go to such lengths?’ you might ask. Well, the answer was simple. I had never really told anyone that I had a ukulele and had spent the last year secretly learning to play it by watching tutorials on YouTube. Strumming away in the solitude of my bedroom gave me great joy. Though my skills had improved over the months, I considered myself more of a closet ukulele player and I intended to keep it that way. I would not want my uke bag to turn unnecessary heads and give away my secret. Why then had I risked being exposed? Taking my ukulele to the beach with four other friends had been a bold, reckless move, I know, but the beach seemed to beckon me. I imagined finding a lonely, secluded spot to play my uke, the sea breeze in my hair, the sand between my toes. The feeling had been so intense that I had had no qualms about picking up the uke and packing it in with my luggage.
The day at the beach passed by in a fervour of games and fun. Post-dinner, we sat talking around a campfire. My friend, Raoul got out a guitar and played a few songs. The dancing firelight… the waves breaking upon the shore… the sea spray… the music… It was blissful! My fingers itched to get hold of my ukulele, but I controlled myself. Slowly, one by one, people drifted indoors to go to bed. I went in too, but sleep eluded me. I felt restless. I finally got up, grabbed my uke which had been carefully tucked away out of sight and sneaked back outside.
The campfire was still burning, although feebly. A light wind gently caressed my face… playing in my hair… It felt wonderful! I hugged my uke and began to play a little ditty I’d learned on YouTube. I played it over and over, lost in the moment, oblivious to the passage of time. It might have
been a minute or it might have been ten; I stopped and sighed contentedly. Suddenly out of the blue, I heard a tiny cough and I stirred out of my reverie, scared. “That was beautiful,” said a voice and a face swam into view.
It was Raoul, the guitar guy. I blushed, at a loss for words and clumsily attempted to get up. “I didn’t know you play so well…” He smiled and sat down next to me. “Er… do I?” I asked. “Yeah, you do. Do you sing too?” “Er…” I said cautiously, “I don’t intend to..” “Why not?” “I can’t.” I said flatly. “Of course you can!” “Not in front of you.” “I’ll look away then.” “No… I can’t…” I repeated. “What are you scared of?” He asked. “I’m not!” I said defiantly. “Sing then. Show me how fearless you are. ” “But…” “Try,” he said simply and smiled. “Okay fine!” I said agitated. He had touched a nerve. I hate above all being called a coward. I took a deep breath and tried. My fingers involuntarily began playing my favourite chord melody. He began humming softly. “I love this song,” he mouthed. Within a few minutes, we were both singing our hearts out. One by one, I played all the songs I knew and he joined in with equal enthusiasm. Never before had I experienced such joy! Playing alone was great, no doubt, but it was nothing, nothing compared to this. This was magical, soul- stirring.
“Thank you,” I whispered to him, moments later, as we stopped to catch our breaths. “Anytime,” he whispered back. “This is the first time that I have played before someone,” I blurted out. “I know,” he smiled a knowing smile. “You know?” I asked. He grinned mischievously. “How?” I persisted.
“Well, we’re neighbours, aren’t we?” he laughed. “I live right next door to you, Peewee!” I will never forget that night… the night that changed me… the night that I finally let go of all inhibitions… the night a closet ukulele player CAME OUT !