My Rhapsody: Musical Reverie

First in a series of short pieces all entitled 'My Rhapsody'. The pieces seek to explain things I cannot normally just describe or put into words. All are part fiction, part reality.

The notes slowly waltzed forth, weaving through the air with such mastery and skill, a tempo that had no match or reason, but somehow, was perfect. it was not too high, not too low, and she felt her pulse and heart begin to match the lovely sounds. Her walk changed to a more graceful stride, a body that wished to dance, stuck with a brain that didn’t know how.

It was dead, empty of life with air so still it felt thick and heavy. It was almost as if she had to push through a curtain to get through it. Hours earlier it had been bustling, and she’d had to rush through to get the meals on the table, waters in the right glass. There had been so much energy, so much friction. It had worn her down, quickly, efficiently. Ignorant adults and whining children, scornful elders and annoying adolescents. Cell phones and complaints, spilled wine and dropped food. She had just finished scraping spaghetti off of the carpet with a knife, just finished sweeping and cleaning. All the tables had been cleared, the soiled laundry and the sticky plates, the silverware strewn with glasses and napkins tossed carelessly on the floor. It was a service industry, and people came to be serviced. She had serviced, and they had left their thanks, a small tip and a huge mess. Rare was the table that left the opposite.

The sweet melodies of before had rested in the back of her mind, background music to calm the frantic air, the frenetic hum of her veins and nerves as she darted from kitchen to table, table to table, table to register, register to table, table to kitchen, and repeat. It had been a buffer, allowing her to keep that fake smile in place, the one that fooled everyone. It allowed her to engage in minor chatter, feigning interest in the lives of those who pretended to take an interest in hers. Currying her favor would take more than polite inquiries, but she let them think that was enough. If it made them happier, who was she to complain? There was nothing for her to hide, just precious time to be lost as she explained for the fiftieth time her backstory, the story of the restaurant, and everything in-between.

But now, now! The people were gone, the restaurant pristine. The kitchen was a mess, but being cleaned. She had scoured the bathrooms and taken out the trash, done the bookkeeping, and was left to her thoughts. Thoughts that had no meaning or purpose, just a swirling mass. A swirling mass that once more, returned to the music.

No Italian tenor tonight, only the pure sounds of keys to break the thick air, closing time drawing near. No one else was coming, they’d taken care of their last customer. Longingly, she looked towards the piano, and the man playing it. As always, he seemed in another world, his fingers pressing in the exact spot they needed to, before flitting away to press again, and again. Somehow, through those simple motions, he made this thing of beauty, a hypnotic drug that called.

Left foot, then right, slowly betrayed her as they stepped forward, drawing her closer and closer to the music, and the man. The song he was playing was new, and even if it wasn’t it would have entranced her, things like this always did. He seemed to take no notice of her, and she didn’t mind one bit. Her biggest fear was to disturb him, and she tried to stop herself from being enticed by the music, but it called in a way she never had really understood. Sometimes, recorded songs could do this, but often it failed to replicate the series of emotions that budded within her when someone played it live, right in front of her. There was an enchantment about watching fingers and arms and feet move right then, instead of recorded at a later date.

Silently the young girl sat on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, beside the bench. Her eyes followed the graceful yet rapid movement of his fingers, back and forth, up and down. It captured her entire attention, time and place melting away, all her focus on that one thing. His dancing fingers, gliding across the keys. Trying to explain this was impossible, words could never express what happened when she watched people play, it was a surreal experience, one she valued and treasured more than people could know or understand. How does one explain a fascination with the mundane? A fascination that drew her in, and kept her there, staring and marveling while relaxing her utterly?

The melody flowed on, music so light and powerful, so deeply hitting her. There were no words, and there needed to be none. Her mind instantly began to conjure up images, feelings, traveling along the path the notes laid out. Her grip on her legs slowly loosened, and she sagged against the bench lightly, letting her head rest on the wooden object. Eyes closed, her shoulder lowered and released the tension that had built up. He continued playing, and she let herself be lost in it.

The music wrapped around her being, taking her places and inserting images, colors, feelings into her mind. She could see it, and it delighted her. A sort of languid air fell over her, blanketing her in this strange delight. If only, if only this could last the whole night! For now though, she was content to listen, and breathe, and feel, and just be.

He glanced at the girl, she’d been running around all night, dealing with the people who ate there. He saw her sit next to the bench, but did not stop playing. A small smile came and went as he watched her sigh and relax. If only more people felt that way when he played, perhaps he would have made it professionally. Perhaps, but if he was a professional, would he get this same reaction? Slowing the music down, he reduced his playing to one hand, letting the other rest on her head. Poor girl, she was tired and had fallen asleep. It would probably be best to wake her… but he would indulge her sleepiness a bit longer. Removing his fingers, he returned them to the piano, letting the lilting melody go on for a bit longer. He would have to leave eventually, but not now. Now, he would just play and enjoy the music, and let her remain in her musical reverie a bit longer.

Author's Note

All critiques welcomed. I tend to have sentence structure/variety issues as well as grammar/punctuation errors. Anything helpful is loved.