I'm sitting in front of the piano looking at a book with a bunch of notes in it. I proceed to play those notes upon the keyboard. I play until I need to turn the page and then another. Aside from the noise of cars driving on the streets, it's very quiet. It's just me and the piano.
There is no one else around me. No one to talk or anyone to criticize my playing. So I look back at the book with the notes in it and continue to play.
I soon go into this little world where I ignore everything around me and focus only on what is in front of me. I start humming the melody as I'm more adept at humming than I am at playing and I hum the melody in many ways to try to find the best way to hum it. Then I play it. Then suddenly, the birds outside start calling and I come out of this little world and look toward the window and see the light shining through. I look around. I see a large room. I see a messy room. I look back at the book, then at the keys and continue to play.
I stop playing. I look around. I hear the birds calling. I get up and go to the window and look at what's going on outside. Nothing very interesting from what I can see. So now I open the window and poke my head out and look as far down the street as I can. Just parked cars, the rustling of leaves. And the birds calling I can see now. I walk back to the piano leaving the window open.
It's noisy with the window open. The wind blowing makes noise. The calling of the birds is louder. The cars driving by are even noisier. I put my fingers back on the keyboard and continue playing. I'm a bit less focused now with the extra noise but I don't seem to mind. I'd rather have that distraction than without it for some reason. It's also colder with the window open. There's a long-sleeve shirt up in my room so I go there, put it on, and come back down and continue.
I continue doing what I'm doing. There's no one around. There's no one that I can talk to. There's no one to criticize my playing. There's no one. Just me. The blowing of the wind. The calling of the birds. The sound of cars driving by. No one but me in this room. Even in the house. Just me.
But I am then joined by these people. They open the house door and then stamp up the stairs making a lot of noise. They look over in my direction and proceed to branch off into the kitchen, bathroom, and bedrooms. I don't look back at them but the reflection of the black polish on the piano is a mirror I use to see what they had brought home. I usually hope it's food. My hopes are usually wrong. I'm hungry.
These people don't say anything to me when I go into the kitchen. I walk in, look around at what they have brought home, then open the refrigerator door, then the freezer door, and then walk out toward the piano. I press a few keys and then stop. I then get up and walk up to my room. In that direction, I pass by one of the bedrooms in which one of these persons reside and I look in and look at the person sitting on her bed. I then open my door and walk up the stairs to my room.
I don't know why I went up to my room. I had no need to do so. I must pass by someone's room to get here and then I proceed to walk back down the stairs after some loitering. I don't head toward the piano, though. I head toward the kitchen and open the refrigerator door, then the freezer. Nothing. This woman in the kitchen says something about washing the dishes and how I didn't do it with all the time I had home alone. I don't say anything but walk out toward the piano and sit down and play.
I haven't said one word to these people yet.
The birds are still calling. It seems like they are singing to the music. I press a few keys and they respond. They like either slow music or fast and upbeat music. I'm dillusional. They just call out randomly regardless of whether I play or not. But still...
Still, if they appreciate my playing...
Do they? I sure hope they do. If not, then I'm still alone sitting on this bench with a book open in front of me.
I haven't said a word in hours. Just some humming if that counts. Would someone say something to me? Would someone play with me?
It's still just the open book, the calling birds, the open window, and the cars driving by. And some noise coming from the kitchen and bedroom. The TVs have been turned on.
Topic: The Loneliest Instrument