Washing dishes. Water across plates. Food remnants in the trap. Water slow to drain.
He says he wants to play the piano. They walk through the kitchen from family to living room. Pass behind me. A sound. A felt sense.
Sponge and brush and soap. Tupperwares. Silverware. The cut on my thumb stinging in the water.
The notes from the piano. Expecting crash and bang. A cacophony of fingers slamming keys. I stop. Turn off the water. The notes are quiet. Searching. Loud, then soft. Legato continuous. He finds a melody. Repeats it. One hand accompanies the other. Exploring. Jumping octaves. Shifting dynamics. The sound of listening. He is paying attention to what he is doing.
I dry my hands with a towel. Lean against the wall. Hidden, so he doesn’t see me. So I don’t distract him. The song continues for a few minutes.
Joy. Emotion rushes through my head. My face. I smile. Enjoying this moment.
Him playing music.
Februrary 24, 2017.
He sits on the piano bench. She sits next to him. They read the music in front of them and bang out atonal note clusters. He plays with his feet and with his butt. Occasionally he turns to look at me. He smiles self-consciously. Continues playing. Now loud. Now quiet. He creates a melody. Plays it a few times in a row. Snippets of song. She and I take turns sitting next to him and playing piano with him. In this way we pass the time between dinner and bed.
February 24, 2017
After dinner he asks if we want to have a band. He plays his cat piano. She plays a ukulele. Per his request, I play my guitar. A few plucks, strums and plonks and he declares this the worst band ever.
You know what the most important part about being in a band is? I ask.
Then he starts us gain and we play for a longer duration.
He speaks of emotions in colors. Each emotion a color. For him, happiness is blue. He wonders if the color remains the same when the word is expressed in another language. Is happiness blue in Spanish? Or is it yellow?