Loft dissonance

When we had a friend over for dinner, this memory came up in conversation. I hadn’t thought of it in years.

When I was in seventh or eighth grade, I was invited to play guitar at the local Catholic church’s weekly folk mass. Someone had told the authorities that I played guitar. I was one of three guitarists, born Catholic, yes, but a non-churchgoer, and the only guitarist who did not take Communion before the mass. All of which seemed to be okay.

My most vivid memory of our performances from the choir loft: Nancy and I played acoustic guitars, always in tune. Paul played an electric, always out of tune with the two of us. And he refused to retune. Maybe he lacked the confidence. I remember wincing as the three of us played “Kumbaya” and “Michael, Row the Boat Ashore” and whatever else.

I have no idea how many weeks I lasted in that loft.