I just fell in love with a pair of hands.

Fingers to be exact. On a boy wearing all black except for brown motorcycle boots. He held a Jackson plugged into a Fender and he knelt until it was his turn to ring out. He had no peddles. Andre said it's called tone.

These hands, well, it was love at first sight for me. I happened to glance their way across a darkened ballroom in mere disinterest for the onstage set being played. They were practicing, the hands, fingering scales over a shiney wooden neck. At first I thought it would be the guitar I lusted, or even the boy. But I've always been a Fender girl, and there are dozens of dark-locked boys where I exist. No, the heart I wear on my scene gurl sleeve pulled me elsewhere. I commented to my girl friends how much I liked the view. They giggled and I realized they knew not how true my feelings were.

Yes, I've fallen in love with a pair of hands. I watched them hopscotch across frets and slide from bridge to head. They doubled dutched with a wammy bar. I love playgrounds. You know that 'How Are You Feeling Today?' diagram? I always made fun of the lovestruck face; nobody really looks like that! Tonight I just stood, numb arms at my side, and listened to these hands pluck at all 6 strings in my heart. I stood, corrected.

I am in love with a pair of hands. One right and one left. And I am fairly certain that we will live rockingly ever after.







...Ricky.