The Date

 Dreams are weird. For a few hours each night your mind takes a vacation from reality and sends you to a different universe where your pants can suddenly disappear in the middle of a speech, to being able to fly across the world faster than the speed of light. Yet when you're dreaming you have no idea that you are, even if something feels off you take it for what it is, live in that weird world for however long it takes your alarm to awake you then wake up and promptly forget everything about your dream.

My prompt today is to try my hardest to remember a dream I had recently and write about it. Well I had a dream and that morning I immediately text a friend of mine about it just so I can write the basics of it. (I think she was very confused until I told her why I told her about my dream). I don't remember much other than it delt with me, a mysterious girl, my roommate and some guy I never met, oh and there was this weird feeling the entire scene was scripted. The scene I remember the most from this dream is described below:

            “Hey you,” she said, no recited.

            “Hey,” I recite back, “have we met?” I try to remember where I’ve seen her before, I knew I am supposed to do something with her, or she is going to do something with me? But my memory betrays me. All I know are our lines, our lines from a script we’ve never read nor scene.

            “Don’t be stupid, of course we haven’t or you would have recognized my face.”

            I look up from the table and see her standing right before me. Her hair was short and dark, only falling slightly below her jaw line, her skin was white with a slight tan (or is that just the dull lighting of the room?), and her face… Well I can’t remember her face but I think it was attractive, I’m just not sure how or why.

            “I don’t recognize your face,” I recite. Who would have written such a stupid line?

            “Good,” she says sitting down at the table. The candle light between us dances across her forgotten face.

            “What do you want?” I ask.

            “You,” she says. “I want you.”

            I know what’s going to happen next, I’m going say 'What do you want?' then my roommate is going to cut me off, entry stage left. Before I say anything I look around the room for signs of him. The room was empty except for identical tables to the one that this mysterious girl and I sat at. I look her in the eyes, those long forgotten eyes. Her expression is blank like a robot, it unnerves me. I give the room one final skim without turning my head; it would appear a table transformed itself into a grand piano when I wasn’t looking, nothing strange about that.

            “Why do you want –.”

            “Hey Kyle,” I hear the voice of my roommate say. She doesn’t seem to notice.

            I look to my left, and there he is, just as the script said. Yet he’s with someone else, someone that, like this girl, I don’t recognize nor remember his face.

            “Hey Daniel,” I recite.

            They walk closer. “Have you met Charles?” Daniel asks.

            “No,” the girl and I recite together. I turn to look at her, she gives me a scowling look, like it was I who took her line, but I clearly knew it was her that took mine. Plus Charles was never on the original script, how could she, or I for that matter, know what to say?

            “Oh alright,” Daniel says and begins walking towards the piano, Charles following right behind him.

            “Let’s keep talking about you,” the girl says.

            “Umm,” I scratch behind my ear as I’m supposed to, the script said nervous tick after all, “alright. What do you want to know about me?”

            “I want to know why you don’t want me.”

            “I never said that.”

            “You didn’t have to. I can tell how you didn’t recognize me.”
             "Because you said we never met" I say. She gives me the same blank stare. “Well,” I say looking into her eyes; piano music fills the air, “what’s your name?”

            “You don’t even know my name?”

            I search my memory, maybe it was on the script somewhere but I forgot it, or maybe we were friends outside of the two characters we were playing.

            “Is it Sara?” I ask, clearly knowing that like Charles that line was never on the script.

            "No, it's Sarah, with an 'h.'" She leans over and whispers to me: “Don’t you forget your lines.”

            On cue, my mind went blank, like words on a white board being cleaned away. With my mind now blank you would expect me to be even more confused, but in fact I was the opposite: I was free of the script.

            “Don’t worry,” I say leaning back in my chair, “I already have.”

Forgotten Piano

Today's prompt is to find a craigslist add and write a story on it. I choose something that happens quite often in the music world. Over zealous buying of instruments, especially large expensive ones. I hope you enjoy the story, the link to the add is below. 

http://austin.craigslist.org/msg/4438146089.html

I am part of the furniture now, an expensive uncomfortable sofa. No one has played me in years. Now only an orchid rests on top. How could this happen? All I wanted was to be played in front of an audience, for my sweet melody to be heard. Once upon a time I had soft fingers fall on my ivory keys, now only soft petals. Where did that girl go? She used to love my sound at her command, able to recite songs by memory that could change a man’s heart. She knew the power but decided to leave it behind. Finding new things to love and cherish. She forgot the beauty that came from my fat exterior, only seeing me as a passing fancy.

I haven’t seen her in some time. Only seeing her mother that bought me some years ago. I believe she went to college, to become wise. What about the pursuits that make her balanced? Music is said to help the brain in many different ways. But no one really believes that because it is all under the surface. The effort needed for the full effect takes years to master. Many just don’t have the time. The computer and TV brainwash them into shells of their former selves.  I can only wait and hope for one day for someone who will spend the many hours needed to improve.

I have lost my own sound, surprised at its ugliness. My stings have gotten old and gone out of tune. My music can no longer be played like it used to. Dust collects on my hammers that long to strike their strings. I gave up long ago to someone playing Bach or Strauss, and only hope a stranger will decide to touch my keys for a moment. Simple gestures speak volumes to me. The mother still dusts the top and waters the orchid that rests there and then goes about her day forgetting I exist. Please anyone save me from this prison. I want to live again.

            Then I meet you.  You were interesting at first, standing there studying me. It felt like you were looking into my soul, seeing me as I truly was, a neglected baby grand piano who only wants to be played. I was scared that you wouldn’t like me, I was out of tune still and no one had touched me in months. You pulled out my stool and opened the cover to my keys. Sitting you began to play, at first it was just scales: C, E flat, G. You couldn’t see it but I blushed at every out of place note. But you were smooth and calm as you cycled through them. You stopped for a moment, thought for a moment and began to play Bach’s Aria. It was sweet and felt good as you glided over my ivory. It felt good again to be played with such ease and grace. This house once again was filled with my music. When you finished you closed the keyboard once again. You stared for a moment, looked back at the mother who was standing there, and said: “I’ll take it.”

            With that I was no longer neglected, I was played everyday by my new master and the students he teaches. Not everyone is as gentle, but at least I am used and loved like a piano should be.

More than a home

I love the woman who lives inside of me. Her name is Vanessa and she is so nice, cleaning and taking care of me. She planted the most beautiful flowers in the garden last week; they were white Oleander.  Last year my hot water heater broke, embarrassing for sure, but she replaced it and had a contractor fix all the damaged walls and floors. It was painful to say the least but it made me new again and she stayed with me the entire time. The garden of vegetables in the backyard flourished this spring, she cooked the most wonderful feast for her friends and family. From Carrots to Zucchini it had everything, she was so happy, the food was delicious they said. That is when she introduced Zach to everyone and me.

At first I was jealous. He would steal Vanessa from me from time to time. Going out to dinner, nights out on the town, Movies and sleeping at his place. I missed her so much; it was dark and lonely through my halls. I could no longer hear her laugh or watch her all asleep late on my couch. I would try my hardest to keep her here, locking the doors and letting the locks break, each time she would stay here I would put on my best show, being warm and cozy just how she likes it. It wasn’t enough, the dishes piled up, dust covered my nooks and crannies, and it was hard watching her slip away from me. You only notice something when it is gone.

Zach was a fine fellow. She met him at a bar one Friday night. He would make her laugh and smile, something I could never do. He had all these wonderful ideas she would say, romantic and kind always looking out for her best interests. He made her happy like a house couldn’t do.  I became depressed, filled with longing and regret, the plants and flower wilted and died. The warmth and love I felt faded as I slumbered waiting for her to return. Ever hoping for the good old days. That was until she came home one day crying, her eye was black and purple with bruises up and down her arms. It was Zach’s fault.

Vanessa stayed home more often after that, letting her heart and wounds heal. I let my magic spring forth through out the house. Doing the things that she forgets, like closing open windows or turning off the oven after she was done. I was happy again but she was never the same. Zach started coming over to ‘talk’ but he wasn’t the same. He would start peacefully enough always, ‘baby this’ and ‘baby that’. Never really caring about her, only the thought of her. When she wouldn’t give into his demands he would beat her saying to ‘teach her a lesson’. I grew angry, how could he treat my Vanessa like that? Like some plaything that he owned. She was the most beautiful and intelligent person I knew. So I planned and waited for the right moment to strike.

            Vanessa became wise enough not to let him in, but he would still come. Any hour of the day and commonly at night he would show up. Always stumbling and slurring his speech, yelling and calling her name like it would change her mind. It was a disgrace. I hated that man more than anything, to me he was evil incarnate. He stalked her like some piece of meat. Soon she couldn’t leave let alone sleep with him around. Finally one day he came sober. Tried to tell her he had changed, but I knew better. People don’t change; only an act to get what they want and he wanted my Vanessa. She let him in to talk one more time. That was all I needed.  When their talk turned sour he turned on her again, never learning his lesson. He stepped into position when he followed her into the kitchen. That is when I decided to act. The second floor above him creaked and buckled as the old piano came crashing through and killed him instantly. My Vanessa was safe once again.