Sunday, July 19, 2009
Adagio for Sunday Afternoons
I need silence to write, I tell myself. I seek escape to a hermetic place, some haven in pristine forests. Or a piano room? Perhaps a piano room will do. The outlet, the outlet is too far away and so are my words. On the floor I lie, exasperated, all 6 feet of me, and stare at the ceiling and fall asleep with ennui. I dream of falling asleep in a piano room and being woken by the fingertips of placid suns.
I set my laptop on the piano and write away. For me the sound of keys is the sound of stories. For others it is the sound of Facebook. I like to hear loud typing because then I know that the story has passion. Or stupidity. Either of these makes interesting stories.
There is someone in the room next to me. It is unprecedented. She entered a moment ago and scared the hell out of me. I will admit that I was eating chocolate over the piano and I should not have. I realized my negligence as soon as this other being announced its presence. Out of surprise, or guilt rather, I ate the whole damn bar.
The newcomer is playing a sad song. This is half of my dream come true: to write on sunny afternoons while someone is playing piano. For the other half I would have to see the ocean out of my window. And it is Moonlight Sonata that should be played. To be honest, though, I am delighted to hear any one of those classics that are pregnant with nostalgia.
Now she is singing along to the tune. Her voice is soft and soothing, like cold water over a fresh wound. I am thinking about candy floss and evenings spent in the park, with dogs running around. There is no time frame to these memories. They are perennial. They belong to a time when I did not wear a watch. Who cares if it will be dark by the time we get home? They belong to a time when I did not care to look in the mirror. Who cares what I look like? They belong to a time when everything was beautiful.
This faceless piano player has made me gloomy with her sad songs and lovely voice. I ought to close the door. All the doors. And burn the bridges, too.