This is the first "Writings" post. This is an experiment. My thought is to put the 'posts' here. And then when they are edited and more final put them on a "page" where they will be in their entirety, and it will be one smooth reading experience. Well here's the first attempt. It's been a long time since I've done this … hopefully it doesn't suck too much. But feel free to be critical, but please be constructive. Enough of this crap. To more crap!
"The rain is falling in time … Martin is not," thought Gilbert. He cringed as another sour note rose from the upright piano. "Lord, give me strength. I am going to have to tune this thing again after Martin leaves." The blessed irritation of the door buzzer brought the lesson to a close. Gilbert gave as quiet sigh of relief, then turned and smiled. "Sounds like your mother is here, Martin" The eight year old leapt off the bench and sprinted for the door. "Heh. I agree Martin, this … is not your strong suite."
Martin flug open the door and latched onto the leg of his mother. "Martin. So eager to go? I thought you liked Senor, Gilberto"
Martin's face twisted in thought. "Si Mama. But the piano … the piano doesn't like me."
His mother, sighed, "But what will Papa say?" Martin could not look her in the eye.
Gilbert, coughed and said, "Maybe Martin will find his creative outlet in another art form. I have several friends in The Village who give group art lessons in several different forms of art. They cover painting, ceramics, sculpture, and one of them even does writing." Martin's mother looked slightly hurt. "I do not mean to say that your son has no talent, I merely suggest that he may have an aptitude for a different area."
"But his Papa is such a good piano player."
"Agreed. Your husband is a most accomplished musician. But not every artist has his touch on the keys. I realize it may be a disappointment but I think that it is worth an experiment to see if Martin has another muse."
Martin looked up expectedly at his mother. She shrugged, "We'll talk to Papa and see what he says." Martin's face broke out in a wide grin, and he fairly pranced down the hall way to the stairs.
As Martin's mother turned to leave, Gilbert placed a hand on her shoulder. "I mean no disrespect to you or your husband. It's just …"
She smiled a little, "I know. I had a feeling that this may happen. I say, what I say so when talk with Papa he at least think I try to defend his honor."
Gilbert smiled, "Thank you. I hope it goes well for you."
"You, a good man. You make it famous some day." Gilbert watched them and waved to Martin for what he hoped was the last time … for awhile at least.Gilbert collapsed into a chair. He closed his eyes. The rhythm of the rain slowly eased his mind. After a few moments he got up and retrieved his tuning kit. His upright was not a Stineway, but it was his and he did his best to make it sound its best. His teeth were on edge as he tried to undo the notes. It always amazed him how much the child could do in such a short time. He approached the turning like he approached every thing else. like a work of art. After a new moments there was a knock at the door. Gilbert stood and stretched. "who is it?"
"The Tooth Fairy. Open up so i can knock your teeth out."
Gilbert grinned. "It's open, Des", he called out. The door swung open and Deserae's heels tacked into the room. "Des, one of these days I'm not going to be fully awake and you're gonna end up with a face full of my fry pan."
"Oh please." Des' full figure slid into his couch. "You're about as dangerous as a fly with whoopin' cough."
"Heh. Love you to, Des."
"Don't misunderstand. I love you dearly. But you're not much of a threat."
"I guess against the only woman in the whole of New York who can hold her on in the pro wrestling circuit, no I'm not much a of a threat." He stretched his fingers and reached for the tuning wrench again.
"Patching up Cathy?" Gilbert grunted and tapped the key as he turned the wrench. "Sounds like a Martin session."
"Mm-hmm." The key struck a clean, clear note. "Although I may be spared this agony now."
"Yeh. Ms. Hernandez may finally convince her husband that their child may be a better painter than pianist."
"Will wonders never cease. I'm sure that's a load off your mind." Des looked thoughtful. "But what will you do now? Rent is due in a week?"
Gil, sighed and placed his hands on the keys. As he breathed in his pushed the first chord. Slowly with each breath the music began to expand and fill the room. The sonata continued for several minutes. Finally the last note faded into stillness. Deserae shook her head. "How is it that you can't find a job playing?"
"The night clubs don't want classical piano." Gil started a new quiet melody. "And I just don't have the jazz touch."
"Heh, name a song."
"Fly Me To the Moon." Gil smoothly transfered into the new song. But after only a few chords his hands became still. "Why'd you stop? It was really good."
"What am I going to do? Deserae … I am broke … I have no new students … I have no steady work … I … I don't want to hawk Cathy." He buried his face in his hands. "I am not going to make it."
Deserae stood up and put her hand on his shoulders. "Yes, you will. You will do more than that. You will rise like a star, climb to the height of the sky and beyond."
"If nothing else you believe in me Des. Thank you."
Des wrapped her arms around him. "Any time, Hon. And I ain't just saying that so you'll feel better. I know it will work out for you." She held him a moment longer. Then she punched his shoulder. "Hey don't you have an appointment tomorrow?"
Gilbert looked up. "Erm … Yeah. It's for the mid week position at The Muse."
"That's a swank little club."
"Yeah … but I doubt I'll get it."
"Dennis, is also trying for the job."
"Dennis?" Des, spat the name. "Dennis isn't even good enough to be your student. He'd have to stand on a chair to get close to you."
Gil laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but he is currently the highest paid club pianist in the city."
"Then you'll just have to play the circles around him that I know you can."
"heh … yeah."
Des grabbed Gil in a headlock. "I said, 'play circles around him!"
"Alright I will! Air! Please!"
"Damn, straight you are!" A head peeked in at the door.
"Des? There's a call for you from your agent."
"Oh, Thanks. I'll be there in a sec." The head disappeared. "You keep practicing young man! You can't leave until you've played at least three masterpieces." She kissed his forehead. "And don't think I can't hear you on the phone down stairs."
Gil laughed. "Yes 'em."
From the door Des said, "Knock 'em dead kid. I know you can." Then she disappeared and her high heels faded away down the stairs.