Muted Tones of Softness

Clammy cold hands fumbled with my bike lock, repeating rotations and impatiently tugging at the unyielding metal. When it finally came off, I tucked the cable neatly in my track bag. I straddled over the frame of my bike and started toward home. 

I always wonder, absent mindedly how many rotations of the pedals follow that first hard push down to start. But once I gain momentum lose all consciousness of the whirling of my feet beneath me.

Today was muted. The cold left from a constant drizzle of rain that had continued through the day. Soft grey clouds, what was left from the storm, were smeared across the sky, like soft touches of charcoal. There were golden orange undertones, reflecting an obscured sun. Everything let off light without a hint of brightness. It was the dark rich sound of an orchestra nested in the bass tones of the sousaphone. There were no hard edges left, just hushed tones and subtle suggestions.

Deadened sky. A hanging chill in the air. Fine suitors to the trees stripped bare; faded leaves already littering the pavement. 

Today, the universe was  unconventionally beautiful.

Steak and Shake

We went to Steak and Shake Saturday evening. There's something about the stark contrast of the shiny white and black tiles with the red light up letters that makes me feel so retro. We sat in our booths and everyone ate milkshakes as tall as their faces; like they'd ever heard of a calorie count before. Carefree. Reckless. Ice cream and maraschino cherries.

Saturday nights are like that. Sickly sweet.

Sophie and I sat at the long counter on the stools that swivel. And we just spun and spun and spun until we were all spun out.

"Hey soph, do you want to lend me a quarter?" I ask, gesturing to the line of gumball-esque machines next to the window. I feel like there should be a jukebox. But there isn't, so we just stumble over - world all topsy turvy from our twirling. We slide our quarters in and turn the knob.

It's surprisingly satisfying, the quick turn of the wrist and hearing the click, click, click as your candy comes down. I got a grand total of five Spree chews. Each one a different color. And in the moment in seemed like the most beautiful happenstance in the world.

I ate them one by one, in rainbow order. And I let the melting of the corn syrup on my tongue be my music for just that little while. 

Piano Lessons

When I came to Thailand I started taking piano lessons - something my mother, in Ohio, is probably infinitely grateful to my mother here for. My Ohio mother has been trying to get me to learn piano since I was about five. She said I needed to try something I wasn't good at.

It is true that music isn't my forte. When I started piano, my teacher, Mr. Octopus (or at least that is what his Thai name roughly translates to), made me sing the notes as I played.



Do. Re. Me. So. Fa. La. Te. Do. Re. Me. Re. Me. Do. So. Me. Do....

Not only did I feel dorky, but I like I said music isn't my forte, I am a sucky singer. By my third lesson, my piano teacher had even reached his limit. Among all his little crazy children students, I, the fourteen year old, had pushed him to the edge.

Mr. Octopus said, "Fine, fine, you don't sing is okay!" And so I stopped. He proceeded to ask me if I was Christian. Kind of confused, I told him I was. Then he asked if I went to church on Sunday and if I sang there, like people do in most Christian congregations. I said yes, of course.

To which Mr. Octopus responded with gusto "Your poor God! He must have to plug his ears whenever you sing!" No joke. My piano teacher said this on the third day I ever saw him.

But yesterday at my lesson, I started singing again. I don't know how it happened - probably as I was trying to keep all the sixteenth notes straight as I practiced. I started out sounding as crappy as before. I could practically imagine God wincing at the sound. But then my voice pitched up and all of a sudden I was singing falsetto. And it sounded good.

Mr. Octopus clapped his hands together and leaned his big square face in. "You is a soprano!" he said in awe.

Then he made me sing the whole song twice in a row as he listened. Then he turned to me and said, "Tell you're mother to forgets science classes, you need to go to be a singer. You need to major in music and become a professional."

This from a man who's only comment on my singing up to that day was that it would cause God to plug his ears. Who would have guessed.