The Piano Knows Something I Don't Know

What is knowledge?

What is knowledge?

When I woke up the next morning with a sore throat and a stuffy nose, I took that as proof of my horrible luck. I knew that something had to be coming for me after an amazing night like that one, and sure enough, it took the form of Brendon Urie's cold.

Despite my illness, I still went to class and played at the Aubergine, although I did consider skipping Advanced Piano Studies a few times that week. Professor Leopold wouldn't understand my suffering, but that wouldn't matter. I deserved a break from his class. Nevertheless, I continued to show up, if only to make a half-hearted attempt to keep my GPA up.

A few nights went by, and my cold only got worse. By the end of the week, I was so congested that I could barely speak. How could Brendon sing with a cold this bad? He had sounded gorgeous every night he was at the Aubergine, yet I was sure that he had suffered just as much as I was. How else would I have gotten this cold? Nobody else that I knew had a cold during that week.

To counteract my misery, I stayed at the Aubergine for longer than usual that Friday. I knew that only more sleep would help me get rid of that cold, but Brendon made me even happier than a peaceful rest would have. I spent most of the night chatting with him and simply enjoying his company, and I thought that it was one of the best decisions that I had ever made.

On the way home, however, the medicine that I had taken earlier in the day began to wear off. It was nearly three o'clock in the morning, and I felt as if death was coming for me. I was well aware that I wasn't really dying, but that was what I imagined death was like - coughing and sneezing in the cold, harsh winter air, unsure if you were ever going to make it home.

Eventually, I did find my way into Flack Hall, and I quietly opened the door to Room 27. Patrick seemed to be sleeping soundly, but I still tried to be as silent as possible as I entered the room.

That was when my body betrayed me, and I let out a loud sneeze.

Patrick bolted upright and turned on the lights. "Ryan!" he shouted. "Can you at least try to be quiet? I was trying to sleep!"

"I'm sorry for waking you up, Patrick," I said. "If you don't mind, I'll just finish getting ready for bed, and then we can both sleep." Patrick didn't respond, but he gave me a glare. "What do you want?" I asked.

"This isn't the first time you've done this," Patrick told me.

"What are you talking about?" I asked him.

"You've been going somewhere every night," Patrick said as he climbed out of bed. "You're always getting home late and waking me up, and it's driving me insane. Ryan, where have you been going every night?"

I gasped. How did Patrick know all of this? For that matter, how could anyone know anything? He had always been fast asleep each night when I came back to the dorm room, or so I thought. Perhaps I had been wrong about that. If I was wrong about something like that, what else could I be wrong about? Were some of my core beliefs completely and utterly wrong? What would I do then?

I didn't want to answer Patrick's question directly, so I diverted his attention. "You've been driving me insane too," I said. "Have you ever considered not waking up at five o'clock in the morning?"

"That's just when I wake up!" Patrick exclaimed. "I can't control it!"

"At the very least, you could avoid blasting Elvis Costello songs in my ear," I said. "I don't even like his music, and I definitely don't like hearing it that early in the morning."

"How is that possible?" Patrick asked. "I thought everyone liked Elvis Costello."

"I hate to break it to you, Patrick, but not everyone likes the same music," I said. "In some ways, life would be much better if everyone was the same, but in other ways, it would be far worse. There would be no point in making friends or talking to other people at all, and we would never progress as a society because we would all have the same ideas, beliefs, and flaws..."