Sound of Magic

I unbuckled my seatbelt before the car was parked, preparing to bolt inside Grandpa’s music shop. This is how it went every Saturday morning. My siblings and I would get out of bed, scarf down our breakfast, brush our teeth (always in too much of a rush to brush for two minutes), put on mismatched clothes, and get Mom’s stamp of approval that we were well kempt. Oh, and that our breath was up to quota… it almost never was the first time.  

But the rush was justified. See, Grandpa’s shop wasn’t any ordinary shop, it was brimming with magic. We never walked into an empty store. People were always in and out – and Grandpa seemingly had personal time for each client. Whether it was a 10-year-old kid with star-struck eyes casting his first alteration spell, transforming random sounds into his first chord, or an experienced musician looking for a specific part to repair his gear, Grandpa could conjure any solution or teach any skill. I don’t know where he learned to be a sorcerer, but he was a damn fine one. 

My siblings and I were privileged, because we got to see the whole shop, and Grandpa of course gave us his undivided attention. He taught us to harness the magic of each instrument. The guitar was a random piece of wood with strings that transformed into an intricate, magical device that could convey any emotion. We learned about proper tuning, scales, arpeggios, chords, keys, and scale shapes. Suddenly, plucking strings didn’t produce random, jarring sounds. Instead, traversing across the guitar became a delicate finger dance, displaying its full power. And I used its full power. It could project anger, love, and grief, all with the same device; if you were really talented, in the same song. 

Later, Grandpa taught me more than just the guitar, or any one instrument for that matter. He revealed to me the magic of a symphony. Grandpa taught me the Transposing Spell that was used to sync different tuned instruments for one song. The older I got, the better sorcerer I was becoming, with the hope of being just like Grandpa.

I don’t remember my first time in the shop or when he used his famous Charm spell on me for the first time. For a while, I thought it was in our blood. It was only later I learned he adopted my dad, and further grasped the power of his magic. But Grandpa wasn’t the only sorcerer around… there were others who harnessed other “talents.” These sorcerers weren’t interested in harnessing the power of each instrument, or even a symphony, they specialized in the magic of convenience. 

See, these sorcerers created magical devices that allowed people to shop for all sorts of elaborate magical gadgets and wares without physically travelling to these stores. The consumers were aware that they were losing the magic of experience, but the luring call of convenience was too… well, convenient, to pass up. 

And Grandpa, like other magic shopkeepers, couldn’t compete with these sorcerers. He harnessed great magic, but he couldn’t make bread fall from the sky. He had to eat, and eating meant he had to charge for his services. This competition, complemented by his aging, made maintaining the shop more difficult. I was 16 when I first walked into Grandpa’s shop when no one else was there. We didn’t talk about it, but we both knew it was a bad omen for the future. Nothing in this world is free from the winds of change. 

The one good (though admittingly selfish) thing about the shop losing traffic was that I received plenty of new magical wares for free as Grandpa lightened inventory. I learned the drums, the synth, hell even the handpan. I would use all these new instruments to record and produce songs at home or with friends.

Eventually, Grandpa could no longer compete with the sorcerers of convenience, and he had to call it quits. He didn’t say much on the topic. I am sure he wished he could continue selling instruments and running the shop forever and held some resentment, but not many got to surround themselves with such magic. He was, I hope, content. 

While Grandpa was a very talented sorcerer, one who charmed everyone he met, with music, his wit, or his actions, he was not immortal. Death sought him out, and I had never seen Grandpa so scared. Slowly, as age and disease wore down his body and faculties, Grandpa did not come to terms with his death. There was always more love to give, more things to do, more instruments to play and friends to share music with. We all believe with age comes acceptance, but now I know the truth. The fight never ends, we all rage at the dying of the light. It is the wise and the brave who sit with rage solemnly.  

One dark, rainy night I visited Grandpa in his twilight days. It wasn’t just me, we were surrounded with family, playing music with instruments he built and taught us how to play. Never in my life had I felt love like I did in that moment. But he was tired, sick, and unable to enjoy the moment. Later in the night, tears fell from his eyes, and said the most honest thing I’ve ever heard a man say. “My mom and dad are gone, and I don’t know where they went.” I didn’t know how to respond – would anyone? And so I was silent, reflecting on those words. I still am. 

***

Grandpa joined his mom and dad later that year. Meanwhile, we had to decide what to do with the shop. By this point, it had been closed for months. We pulled into the shop again, on a Saturday, as we had for hundreds of Saturdays. This time, the lights were not on. Grandpa was not inside. My siblings and I were older. We brushed our teeth for two minutes and had a better fashion sense. As we opened the door, we felt the magic pour out, like the wind in a heavy storm. Tears flooded down our cheeks. 

We walked down Memory Lane for a while, but we eventually reached the present. Slowly, each of us took an instrument off the shelf, and we heard magical intonations. It started with tuning each instrument, plucking each string and playing each key, after months of sitting in dust. Eventually a symphony formed. We cast many spells that night. Spells that brought out laughs, tears, warmth, and love. That was the thing about Grandpa’s magical shop, and his speciality as a sorcerer. The magic was always there. 

At that moment, I knew exactly where Grandpa, and his mom and dad, were. They were the magic in the room. Every song brought an image of his face, his laugh, his kindness, his jokes, and his musical talents. I still don’t know what I should have said that dark, solemn night, but I know what I should do now: keep playing music.