Ever Dream
He could still hear those soft piano notes, they’ve been following him around the whole day. The melody was familiar, he was sure there was more to the music than those notes.
But try as he may, he could not remember the rest of it. And still the music went on.
He joined the line. What a strange sight we must make, he thought. They were all lined up in front of a small window, behind which sat a young man in a white coat handing out small cups filled with pills. Unlike the others around him, he could still walk up straight and he didn’t need to wear glasses; he was in pretty good shape for his age. But, how old am I? he thought.
Try as he may, he could not remember. And still the music went on.
It was almost his turn now, a woman at the front of the queue was complaining about something she had lost.
“I’m telling you kid, my mirror was stolen. They’re all jealous of me, it was a gift from my son, all the way from India.”
“It’s always the same story with her, she forgot that she broke it.” someone outside the line was telling another man in a white coat.
It was finally his turn, the young man behind the window flashed him a warm smile, “Good evening Thomas, how are you doing tonight? Any headaches?”
Thomas? Is that my name? he thought, deciding to hide his confusion and smiling back, “I’m quite well, thank you.”
He took the cup, it contained three pills: two yellow, and one blue. It felt like a familiar sight.
As he brought the cup to his mouth, he sensed a sudden change. The music slowed down, the notes were now higher. It had remained the same the whole day, what made it change now?
He took the pills hiding them under his tongue; he didn’t swallow them. He sat down at a quiet side of the common room and closed his eyes. He let the music fill him up, desperately trying to catch onto the rest of the melody. Unconsciously, his fingers moved along an imaginary piano, knowing exactly which keys to press.
But, try as he may, he could not remember. And still the music went on.
It was time for bed, he had his own room, and the people in the white coats treated him very well compared to the others; he didn’t know why, though.
His room was filled with books and notebooks. He was hoping he’d find a piano there; he wanted to try to play that melody. Was there a piano here last time? When was the last time I was here?
Try as he may, he could not remember. And still the music went on.
One of the notebooks was open, filled with a strange drawing repeated over and over. Not any drawing, though: it was music! He didn’t know how he knew that, but he knew it was the same melody that was on his mind the whole day. Suddenly, hints of faces flashed into his mind, faces he could not recognize. One of them repeated more than the others.
“Elena,” he spoke to no one, his heart suddenly heavy with emotion. He laid down, humming the melody.
When he woke up the next morning, he looked around confused. Where am I? He had a strange headache, and there was a strange sound following him wherever he went, soft piano music, precisely. The melody was familiar, he was sure there was more to the music than those notes.
But try as he may, he could not remember. And still the music went on.
