Richard lounged in his lawn chair, his mind simmering lightly on the backburner while his Rocky Patel crackled in his left hand. Gazing wistfully at the night sky, he blew thick rings of smoke that clouded his field of vision, ushering in the evening’s introspective vespers. Remote stars twinkled while his eyes disengaged their focus; the night, with its infinite promise, began to engulf his senses, until finally, he was left with only his ability to hear. That, too, was quickly overwhelmed by a low-pitched buzzing… then the continuous drone of a dialtone.
Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu… uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu…
uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu…
*click*
“Hello?”
«Uh… hi?»
Silence.
“Well, what do you want?”
«What are you talking about?»
“Well, you called me. What do you want?”
«I can’t say I quite understand what you’re asking.»
“So then it’s answers you want! There, I can work with that. What is it that you want to know? Come come, don’t be shy. I’m happy to help.”
«Fine, answer me this; what is going on?»
“I’m here to help. People don’t call me unless they want help, and I’m happy to give it. I know you’re troubled, Richard, so let me put your mind at ease.”
«I…»
Deeper silence.
«Just, sometimes, I feel like I get lost in trivial things. Can you… show me what’s important? What really matters?»
“Of course.”
«I can hear the smile in your voice.»
“And I can hear the love in yours. Let us not waste time. Come with me; it’s time to explore.”
Reticence. Then…
Ricky’s eyes fluttered open, and he started to cry under the bright lights of the hospital.
“WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”
His voice seemed to carry to drown out the fire trucks racing past the building outside. My God, he was so beautiful, with those big brown eyes. I knew he was going to be a real mensch, most definitely. Everyone was just so impressed by him, just sitting up and grinning; but you know, he was a handful at times, too. Why, one day he got mad at his older brother, Steven, and he pulled out his shmekl and gave him a shower! And all I could do was give him a stern look and warning; no one could resist that face!
He was a big boy; a little overweight when he was little, but that just means he was healthy and we fed him right. He grew into it, anyway. He could have done a little better in school, too, I suppose. I was always derkutshen him about his grades, and one day he decided to grow up and become an attorney. Well… he never really grew up, you could say. He never stopped being a little kid; his smile was like an infection that couldn’t be cured. And it spread, too! When he walked into the room, he was always singing or laughing or both. I never could understand exactly what he was so happy about, but I didn’t want to jinx it.
Rik walked down the hallway of Beachwood High School, bouncing in rhythm to the music in his head. It cradled his limbs and gave him vitality, like a second heart playing counterpoint to his corporeal one; a second heart that was just as necessary to the continuation of his life.
Ba dum, tshh, ba dum, tshh, ba dum, tshh, ba dum.
Ba dum, tshh, ba dum, tshh, ba dum, tshh, ba dum.
The screech of a guitar joined the fugue, and the hallway began to disappear.
Bwwaaaahh… bwahna na naaa na-na-na naaa.
The images of students were replaced by humming; lockers shook like vibrating tambourines, and the floor tiles rearranged themselves into the keyboard of a baby grand piano. Right before Rik’s eyes, the whole world had become a stage. His whole body bristled with excitement and pride; nothing else could ever matter as much as the electricity jolting through his joints.
«So it’s the music!»
“Don’t interrupt, Richard. Keep paying attention. It’s so much more than that.”
The music flowed out of the walls like water, which itself began to spill from the music and flood the halls. Rik looked down and found himself adorned in a wetsuit with an air tank strapped to his back. Entire reefs, replete with glistening coral and lively fish, blinked into existence. “What splendors lie beneath the surface!,” he sighed. He revolved, absorbing everything he was seeing like a sponge in its natural habitat.
Wheeling around, he nearly gasped, for instead of the blue-green ocean expanse he was expected, before him lay a very different outlook. The sun was setting, and looking down, Rik saw a hundred different instruments and gauges monitoring his altitude, airspeed, heading, and other variables necessary to keep him from nosediving. Clouds refracted the dying light, smearing orange and gold rays across the sky.
«It’s beautiful.»
“It’s your life.”
Dad walked in the door of his house and dropped his briefcase on the floor.
Thunk.
I was parked on the couch in the living room watching television, while Ky was idly tapping the keys at the computer. The house was aglow with the ambience of electronics and affection. Twenty minutes later, we were chatting wildly about our day over a dinner of cold ravioli. Dad got the hang of cooking eventually, but for years, it was ravioli every day. I miss it, a little bit. I miss the traditions and the little signifiers and quirks. I think those things get a lot more concrete in retrospect, though. I mean, all those things that seemed annoying at the time, or that we complained about, those are memories while they’re being manufactured. And no matter what changes in the next twenty or thirty or fifty years, we’ll still be able to laugh about cold ravioli.
The sun accelerated its descent, pushing through the clouds to bury its face below the horizon. The clouds began to burn, dissipating into billowing clouds of smoke which were siphoned away by a gust of wind. The night sky seemed less taciturn; it whispered to Richard, but the register of the words was just below comprehendible; they blurred together into a low hum. Smiling infectiously, Richard ashed his cigar on the concrete and walked inside to retrieve his phone, bouncing to the music in his head.
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