Scene 23

And now what, he asked, looking right into the crystal of his brain.

He touched the piano with little strength, removing dust from two or three keys. He wanted to nail out a lullaby for himself, he thought maybe someday the tune would be reminiscent of his past, his unwanted burden of sorrow.

And he played this song...he wanted to be big but not loud, quiet but not muted. And he played on. Searching for a parasol in the corner he changed the chords to B7, he darkened the room with light morose. And yet the music sounded hopeful at the very end, letting out a dim ray of tomorrow for him and the audience.

Rain started to drizzle outside his window. And he thought of spring. He thought of the rainy days he had and he pondered upon "rainy". What a name, thought he, how could he come up with something like this for a name. And as if it was a big bouquet of dead daffodils he dumped the whole thing, the name the weather the scene. He wanted a new bundle, a brighter one that possibly lasts longer, and he was willing to pay full price to replenish the splendor, the watery fumes and the warming fragrances. He repositioned his hand on the keyboard, feeling for that new chord that could change the room's color, at least for the day.

And suddenly he remembered Stina's first album, and he was mesmorized...yeah mesmorized at the moment, seized by the tunes in his head.

I'm searching for a color, don't know what it's like. It's something between pink and brown.
And it came out of the piano, convolved with his own sadness and blurred with stress on the high notes. His color was even harder to find. And he didn't know what to expect this time. Soon the drapes of the room lightened up and he knew, for the first time in the day, that he was doing something right, something constructive and rewarding. He was filled with tears.

He finished the piece in great triumph, opened the window, and saw no rain or trace of any since morning.

Now he really cried.