LJ Idol - Preoccupied
It was a wonderful song. I knew it from the first moment I heard the brushes shuffle across the skin of the drumhead. There was something inside the music which touched my soul and made me want to listen to it. The man at the piano seemed as though he wasn’t even attempting to play, but music all the same spilled from the keys and grabbed me in my very soul. I drew in a slow breath, taking in all of the music and the smells of liquor and smoke that danced around me. If there was a heaven, this was it, I knew it. There was no reason to want to do anything other than to listen to music, and feel the overwhelming peace that it gave.
I ordered a martini and sat down next to a woman who looked to be in her early 20s. She wore a red dress that looked like she had it sewn that day. A cigarette was delicately balanced between her lips as she sat fixated on the musical trio. I wanted to say hello, but there was nothing that could have even attempted to break her spell on the music. I certainly felt similar. It captured me, much to my surprise, and I felt it difficult even to remember to drink from my little glass I paid so much for.
No one else came in the room, or even in the club, for quite some time. I think I might have seen someone else come in along the way, but then again I didn’t really take my eyes off of the musicians. I studied them, almost, trying to see what it was that made them able to play so many deep, resonating notes throughout the entire piece that almost brought me to tears. There was an intensity, but modesty. A force of reckoning, but a gentle welcoming, with every pluck of the bass and every pressing of white or black keys. I looked down and my drink was empty, but I only remember having a sip at the bar. The glass was warm, too. I didn’t think anything of it.
The woman’s cigarette was nothing more than a cylinder of ash, barely clinging to the filter.
Slowly, the music began to feel like it was coming to an end, and I felt a kind of sadness inside me about it. This was a perfect song. Nothing this amazing should ever have to come to an end. There were other people there who seemed to have the same reaction as me about it. The woman next to me shed a tear, and the ash fell of her now dead cigarette. There was a hole in all of our hearts that could not be filled by anything else.
When it drew to a close, we all clapped, softly. Some of us crying, but all of us touched in a way that we could never really understand. The trio bowed, and they stepped off the stage. The curtains dropped and the spotlight dimmed. A couple of moments later, there was a man who made his way to the center of the stage with a microphone. He introduced a band, and the curtain rose.
They looked familiar in a way that I couldn’t really describe. It was a trio of musicians: a drummer, a pianist, and a bassist. I wasn’t sure if I’d like them. I scratched the side of my face, and noticed that there was the makings of a beard-- I had shaved that morning. My nails also seemed longer than I remembered. Maybe I just thought I trimmed up everything. The woman next to me seemed a little older, for a brief moment. My martini glass seemed to have spots on it that I swear I didn’t see when I ordered it.
Something struggled in me to come to terms with what was happening. But I was preoccupied with the band. Who were they? Then they started playing. It was a wonderful song. I knew it from the first moment I heard the brushes shuffle across the skin of the drumhead. There was something inside the music which touched my soul and made me want to listen to it.
I ordered a martini and sat down next to a woman who looked to be in her early 20s. She wore a red dress that looked like she had it sewn that day. A cigarette was delicately balanced between her lips as she sat fixated on the musical trio. I wanted to say hello, but there was nothing that could have even attempted to break her spell on the music. I certainly felt similar. It captured me, much to my surprise, and I felt it difficult even to remember to drink from my little glass I paid so much for.
No one else came in the room, or even in the club, for quite some time. I think I might have seen someone else come in along the way, but then again I didn’t really take my eyes off of the musicians. I studied them, almost, trying to see what it was that made them able to play so many deep, resonating notes throughout the entire piece that almost brought me to tears. There was an intensity, but modesty. A force of reckoning, but a gentle welcoming, with every pluck of the bass and every pressing of white or black keys. I looked down and my drink was empty, but I only remember having a sip at the bar. The glass was warm, too. I didn’t think anything of it.
The woman’s cigarette was nothing more than a cylinder of ash, barely clinging to the filter.
Slowly, the music began to feel like it was coming to an end, and I felt a kind of sadness inside me about it. This was a perfect song. Nothing this amazing should ever have to come to an end. There were other people there who seemed to have the same reaction as me about it. The woman next to me shed a tear, and the ash fell of her now dead cigarette. There was a hole in all of our hearts that could not be filled by anything else.
When it drew to a close, we all clapped, softly. Some of us crying, but all of us touched in a way that we could never really understand. The trio bowed, and they stepped off the stage. The curtains dropped and the spotlight dimmed. A couple of moments later, there was a man who made his way to the center of the stage with a microphone. He introduced a band, and the curtain rose.
They looked familiar in a way that I couldn’t really describe. It was a trio of musicians: a drummer, a pianist, and a bassist. I wasn’t sure if I’d like them. I scratched the side of my face, and noticed that there was the makings of a beard-- I had shaved that morning. My nails also seemed longer than I remembered. Maybe I just thought I trimmed up everything. The woman next to me seemed a little older, for a brief moment. My martini glass seemed to have spots on it that I swear I didn’t see when I ordered it.
Something struggled in me to come to terms with what was happening. But I was preoccupied with the band. Who were they? Then they started playing. It was a wonderful song. I knew it from the first moment I heard the brushes shuffle across the skin of the drumhead. There was something inside the music which touched my soul and made me want to listen to it.