The Ashley Harms Collection: Circa 2016-2018

Piano Man.

Prompt: Write a story based off of a song and its lyrics.

TW: Billy Joel.

...

The Executive Room: where dreams and aspirations go to die, to wilt away into nothing. It's a Saturday night, and I'm sitting in my usual, worn out bench that has seen more crowds than I could imagine. The bell hanging above the door chimes continuously as the regular crowd shuffles in. The dimly lit room provides little for the social life, but nobody comes here for love and romance, unless you're the old man sitting next to me, making love to his tonic and gin.

Numerous nights on the same bench playing the same four chords, it's not hard to pick up on the usual dreamers. Now John at the bar is a friend of mine. He gets me my drinks for free. As he continues to pass out glasses filled with liquid amnesia, I can see in his eyes that there's someplace that he'd rather be. He brings me another and says to me, "Bill, I believe this is killing me. I'm sure that I could be a movie star, if I could just get out of this place." The same words continue to repeat themselves each night like a skipping track, never quite getting to the next verse of his life.

In the corner the waitress is practicing politics, with a textbook that costs more than her paycheck, for a college she's never going to graduate from. She sits with the business men, as they slowly get stoned. Yes, they're sharing a drink they call "loneliness", but it's better than drinking alone.

It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday. Halfway through, the catch the eye of the manager. After downing his third drink, he gives me a smile. He knows that it's me they've all been coming to see to forget about life for awhile. They sit at the bar and put bread in my jar. They say, "Man, what are you doing here?"

As my fingers continue dancing with the keys, my mind asks me that same thought. However, deep inside me, I know the truth. This is the Executive Room: where dreams and aspirations go to die, including my own. This same bench I've sat on each night for months on end will continue to support my body as I play my melodies on the yellowed keys. The same crowd will continue to sing the same melody along to the familiar four chords.

Sing us your song, you're the piano man. Sing us your song tonight. Well, we're all in the mood for a melody, and you've got us feeling alright. Towards the end of each night, I can't help but sing to myself the same melody. "I'm singing this song, as the piano man. I'm singing this song tonight. Well, I'm just in a mood for this melody, and it's got me feeling alright.."