I was the lone
talentless one
in a room of musicians.
As each took his place,
at his instrument
I turned on the cassette
recorder, determined
to capture the moment.
I collapsed onto
the couch, in
blurry eyed reverie
as the music tangled
in my brain, filled the
basement, bounced
off the ceiling tiles.
The pianist glanced
into my starry eyes
and grinned.
The others teased
between their strings,
but words fell away
in the fog of my euphoria.
His lips curled upwards
on one side
as his eyes twinkled at mine.
When he packed to go
I rewound the tape.
I heard the
mangled mess of a
damaged tape.
Devastated, I
blinked through
tearful eyes.
Everyone laughed,
but he draped an
arm around my shoulders
and guided me up the stairs.
As his ride arrived
he whispered,
“Don’t worry.
I’ll make you
more music.”
And
he
did.
.
.
.
(Is it any wonder I wrote a book about this? lol Tonight, I had a flashback. Thought I’d share.)
Shawn L. Bird 