“Seriously, though, it helps if you give your instrument a name. What do you think you'll call yours?”
“Maybe I'll call it Oliver,” I said. That was the name of my hamster, and I was used to saying it.
Then again, maybe not.
“Oliver?” Mister Mancini set my guitar on the floor. “Oliver? What the hell kind of name is that? If you’re going to devote yourself to the guitar, you need to name it after a girl, not a guy.”
“Oh, right,” I said. “Joan. I’ll call it…Joan.”
“So tell me about this Joan,” he said. “Is she something pretty special?”
Joan was the name of one of my cousins, but it seemed unwise to share this information. “Oh yeah,” I said, “Joan’s really…great. She’s tall and…” I felt self-conscious using the word tall and struggled to take it back. “She’s small and has brown hair and everything.”