My Best Friend Brook Anonymous

I met her when I was six. Though she stood two inches shorter, her intimidation towered over me. Yet, I saw beyond her hard exterior; I saw a friendship that has lasted over a decade. She’s more of a listener, only speaking when spoken to. She is open to new ideas and holds uncharted territory. She stubs her body on walls and sharp corners; she’s a bit rough around the edges. I get jealous when others pick her up. Yet, when in each other’s company, our bodies merge as one harmonious being. She is my older sister, my BFF, my wise and wrinkled shrink.

Her name is Brook and she is my guitar.

When one looks at Brook, they first notice her body. Brook is very curvy. Stripped of shellac, unembellished, au natural— her frame is constructed from Rosewood, generating a warm, friendly tone. One may also note that Brook is pretty banged up: bumpy edges and scratches starting from the base of her neck to her belly. These beautiful imperfections shape her every note and know how to draw a crowd. When I look at Brook, I see myself at three-foot-five, jamming out to the chords of “Al La Bamba”—at 6, it was all I could handle.

I then see myself in middle school: fumbling with training bras, food-filled braces, and cupcake-flavored lip gloss; I...