Piano is boring.
My head whips up. I stare.
I'm sitting on the bench in front of a piano, in one of the practice rooms I'd borrowed for that lunch period. You're standing, with your usual upright stance-- marching band, you grin-- where you'd invited yourself in a bit earlier. I'd just finished playing a piece that I'd been practicing for my upcoming recital.
I'm sorry?
You shrug. It's just boring to me.
Anger boils up in me again. Why?
I dunno. Band is better.
Anger swarms up to my throat, then something deflates in my chest and I feel the bitterness flood into the empty cavity.
I take a breath and relax my face into a grin. Yeah, I guess it is.
I walk out of the music building wishing for the camaraderie of a music program.
YOU ARE READING
Playback
RomanceSome days, I want to hold on to you, any part of you, lean on you and borrow your warmth. Others, I'm content just knowing you exist in my life. Playback to all the minutes and moments I spend with you. == © aster 2018
