The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

Is beauty objective or subjective?

Is beauty objective or subjective?

"An artist, a punk, an emo, a dog lover, and a philosopher walk into a bar," I said as the five of us approached a building that was rather nondescript with the exception of the neon purple sign that read "The Aubergine Dream" that sat in front of it. "That sounds like the premise of a bad joke, but what's the punchline?"

"I guess we'll just have to see," Pete said. He winked and opened the door, and Laura, Pete, Gerard, Frank, and I all walked inside.

At first glance, the Aubergine looked perfectly normal. Most of the people inside were simply hanging around and chatting. I recognized a few of the patrons from Kale, but many of the others were unfamiliar. I presumed that they were simply people from the town of Old Haven, though the city was so overrun with college students that it was hard to believe that anyone else lived there.

Pete and Frank immediately went up to the bar to grab some drinks, while Laura ran off to meet a small, mousy-looking girl who was waiting for her in the back of the room. I didn't know what I was supposed to do, so I found a chair and sat down to take part in one of my favorite pastimes: people-watching.

It took me a few minutes to realize exactly what was going on in the Aubergine. At first, it just looked like people were drifting back and forth, going between the bar and whatever group of friends they had come with. Nearly everyone else seemed to know each other, and even Pete ended up talking to a few people that I didn't recognize at all. I felt more like an outcast than usual, but that feeling wouldn't last too long.

I couldn't help but notice how Frank and Gerard seemed even more affectionate than usual here at the Aubergine. As Gerard started conversing with a woman in her mid-twenties, Frank's fingers slipped between Gerard's as if there was nobody else around. I looked around again, and spotted two girls making out at the back of the room.

When Gerard came back over to me, with both Frank and the unfamiliar woman in tow, I asked, "Gerard, did you take me to a gay bar?"

"Maybe," Gerard said. "Anyways, Ryan, this is Heidi St. Clair. She owns the Aubergine. Heidi, this is Ryan Ross. He's a very talented piano player."

"I'm not all that talented," I insisted. "I'm barely passing Advanced Piano Studies right now."

"Don't listen to him," Gerard told Heidi.

"It's nice to meet you, Ryan," Heidi said as she shook my hand. She was a relatively short woman, with curly black hair, brown skin, and deep brown eyes.

"It's nice to meet you too," I said.

"Why don't I introduce you to Brendon and Spencer?" Heidi said. "They're setting up the drum set right now, and I'm sure they'd love to meet you."

"I don't know about that," I said. "I haven't really committed to playing here yet." As soon as those words left my mouth, I regretted it. I needed this job more than anything. Maybe playing the piano for a living wasn't the best job in the world, but it wasn't the worst either, and I couldn't afford to be picky.

"Let's just try it for tonight and see how it goes," Heidi said. She led me across the room to a relatively clear spot where two men were attempting to assemble a drum set.

Well, more accurately, one man was assembling a drum set while the other was straightening his tie and sipping on a peach and lime daiquiri.

Both of them appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties, and both of them seemed slightly familiar. I assumed that they were both Kale students that I had seen walking to class, but I had never bothered to ask their names. "Brendon?" the one assembling the drum set said. He had a round face, pale skin, and blue eyes. "Can you please help me here?"