He did not need to bring SAMSA to his final performance.
He hardly needed anything more than himself, the piano, and the ill-fitting vest he threw on over his uniform in a botched attempt to feel human for once.
This was fine with him. He carried enough as it was, walking into his finale with the keyboard under his arm and decades of mounting pressure on his back. He hadn't even bothered to smile this time, and no longer cared whether anyone noticed.
He'd heard whispers from the others – and even from her, though for sanity's sake, he'd chalked that up to his imagination – on his way out. It turned knots in his stomach, even if he knew those whispers came from a "good place." He did not need any more gossiping about who he was, and it was for that reason he'd decided Christina no longer needed to sign off on those paychecks.
The piano now sits in the corner again. It would irritate him if he cared enough to even look at it now. He isn't sure where SAMSA had gone in the past twenty-four hours, but caring was a waste of time at this point.
Clothes now sit piled higher than ever across the floor. Among them were a uniform shirt, a pair of slacks, and sweatpants that hadn't been worn in weeks. There is even a flash of purple lace hidden within the sea of dark, solid garments; a bodice, or perhaps a pair of underwear. It's one of the two.
The blinds are dusty as ever. He hadn't even bothered moving them to open the window, and opts instead to blow smoke directly into the air between bong rips. It isn't like there's anyone around to complain about the smell, anyway.
The high has more than hit by now. It staves off the "what-ifs" and "should-haves" that have piled up alongside the clothes and dust. Staring up at the ceiling, he can forget for a few hours how much dust he had to clean off that piano, and how he could feel a certain man's eyes on him with every note he played.
From the other end of the room, the piano watches as his cell phone begins to ring.
The caller ID simply reads "Christina."
YOU ARE READING
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Short StoryA writing exercise done for a fiction writing class. This is centered around an unnamed character relevant to a longer work of mine that I am still in the process of writing. The aim of this piece was to write three scenes, collectively to under 1,0...
