play me a memory {arx!!}

There she was, watching Meri through the window as if he couldn’t see her through the other side of the glass. He could see her all right—all of her. Sitting quietly in the corner of the room, those long dark legs, that silky smooth exterior. Beautiful. She was smaller than the others, and he could tell she’d been used, but Meri wanted her just the same. He couldn’t even count how many times he’d fantasized about touching her, how when he’d hit the right places, she would sing. She probably wanted him too. What a tease, he thought with a smirk. She even had a nice rack. Music rack, that is.

That’s right, you guessed it. She was a baby grand piano, waiting patiently for him in the music store a few streets west of the College. And one day, she would be his… right after he made two thousand, five hundred and ninety-nine (2,599.00!) dollars.

Meri tore his eyes away from the shop window for a moment to chuckle at his own thoughts, as he often did. Is that what you do all day long? Make up clever innuendoes comparing musical instruments to attractive women just to giggle at yourself? a little voice in his head asked him. Yes, mostly, he replied. He could be very sassy with himself sometimes.

Despite the obvious price obstacle, this dream of buying his baby grand seemed just as plausible to Meriweather as a number of his other dreams, including buying a guitar, becoming a famous musician, learning how to talk to people his age, getting a real job, et cetera. In fact, the most prominent worry the piano brought up in his mind was where he would even put the darn thing once he did get it, since his house didn’t happen to have any rooms that were particularly grand (or even baby grand, heh.). He had already saved up a few hundred dollars for it, just by putting away money he got for his birthday and whatever extra he received from odd jobs on the side. Money wasn’t hard for him to save, especially since he often forgot about it once it was safe in the little box under his mattress. Of course, his parents knew nothing about this secret investment—even though Meri was pretty sure they wouldn’t take away his money to use for food and necessities, he wasn’t going to take any chances. This was too important. They would just have to find out when he brought it home for good.

Which will be soon, hopefully, if I keep this up, Meri reflected. Every Friday and sometimes Tuesdays after dinner, he had been sneaking out with his violin to play music on the sidewalk that ran along the stretch of restaurants near the music store. It seemed like most of the people passing by were either wealthy families going to dinner or musicians themselves (or both!), so sometimes they would slip a dollar or two or whatever change was in their pockets into the hat he laid out at his feet. After an hour or so he’d usually have at least twenty dollars on a good day, which wasn’t too bad considering his usual daily income (zero dollars!). Which meant that mathematically, it would take roughly one and a half years to save up enough cash for the piano. Well, I’ve got start somewhere, right?

Meri sat his violin case on the sidewalk and opened it up to take out his bow and rosin, and for a moment he stood there stroking the little block against the string. He did this carefully, patiently, and even reverently, the way a mother might stroke her child’s hair away from her face while they were sleeping. Oddly enough, he liked maintaining the condition of his instrument almost as much as he liked playing it. His violin was almost as old as he was; and yet, it looked just as good as any that was only one or two years old. Constant upkeep, in Meri’s eyes, was synonymous with love—taking the time to take care of something that meant a great deal to you.

And he really did love it, this old box of his. He often found that it understood him better than any “living” thing ever had, himself included. It didn’t matter how he was feeling—sad, dreamy, nostalgic, elated—he could push the emotion into his violin, and it would hum it right back to him like some kind of magic translator. A better, simpler language—not because it was easier to understand but because it contained, in Meri’s mind, the most basic essence of the human soul.

Deep thoughts, deep thoughts, Meri smiled to himself as he placed the brown fedora at his feet. For good measure, he put a dollar from his pocket into the hat, just so people knew what to do. He figured they probably knew already, but it didn’t hurt to remind them just in case. It hadn’t failed so far, anyway.

Finally, Meri put the violin under his chin and drew the bow across the worn strings, releasing the first note of his tune. To the passerby, it must have sounded mournful, but Meri was anything but. It was a sad tune, but sometimes he felt that playing the sad songs made him the happiest. When these notes crept into the chests and tugged at the heartstrings of the people passing by, he felt for a moment that he was connected to each one, whether they were rich or poor, old or young. In this way, he could speak to people he’d have no chance of interacting with otherwise—he didn’t have to worry about finding the right words or using more welcoming body language like his mother tried to get him to do. Music was the great equalizer: in its voice, everyone was the same.

As those around him milled about through city streets and shop front doors, living and breathing to the heartbeats of their own drums, Meri let his own soul sing.


{{ooc: yeah this is awfully long, woops my next replies definitely won't be this long}}