Confusion
This damn piano
I am resting my head on the keys. The intricate instrument feels cool against my face and the keys seem like they go on forever. It's like my own little yellow brick road, a road of black and white that will take me to strange and wonderful places. Today, it is a challenger, and I am dizzy from something I can't seem to remember. What was it? Why am I dizzy, and why do I have such a fierce knot in my stomach, like something bad is lurking at the back of my throat? I'm alone in the house, and when I stand up, the room in front of me goes black and I spin like a top until I hit something, be it wall or floor, I don't even know, all I know is that I strike it with a muted thud, like I'm hearing it from far away. Wherever I am, I lie against it and sigh until I open my eyes and see a fuzzy line in front of me. It is the floor, dusty and covered with books. There is a book in front of my face, and silently, I squint in the dim grey light pouring through the windows to read the title. It's called, "Guiding the Gifted Child."
I stare at it for minutes on end until I realize why the book is here. My parents bought it when I was in elementary school, a blurry four years of my life. "She needs a challenge." They said, as I looked out the window at my class on the playground. "That's why we think full advancement would be the best option for her." Three days later, I piled the supplies I bought for a grade I would never attend into my backpack and left a school that didn't, it seemed, want me.
Now, years later, I reach for the book and stare at it some more. Am I "Gifted"? Do I need to be "Guided"? to avoid certain insanity? It would seem so, I suppose, to those who knew me at the time, a silent but violently moody child, who either tried far too hard to fit in or didn't try at all.
I look up at the ceiling fan. It seems farther than the stars, moving lazily in languid little circles. I squint again, and the fan blades blur soundlessly, nothing is making sound on this silent little day. I feel like the sugar in a cup of tea, dissolving away, unaware of anything around me. I know I should get up, but I don't quite want to enough.
I am resting my head on the keys. The intricate instrument feels cool against my face and the keys seem like they go on forever. It's like my own little yellow brick road, a road of black and white that will take me to strange and wonderful places. Today, it is a challenger, and I am dizzy from something I can't seem to remember. What was it? Why am I dizzy, and why do I have such a fierce knot in my stomach, like something bad is lurking at the back of my throat? I'm alone in the house, and when I stand up, the room in front of me goes black and I spin like a top until I hit something, be it wall or floor, I don't even know, all I know is that I strike it with a muted thud, like I'm hearing it from far away. Wherever I am, I lie against it and sigh until I open my eyes and see a fuzzy line in front of me. It is the floor, dusty and covered with books. There is a book in front of my face, and silently, I squint in the dim grey light pouring through the windows to read the title. It's called, "Guiding the Gifted Child."
I stare at it for minutes on end until I realize why the book is here. My parents bought it when I was in elementary school, a blurry four years of my life. "She needs a challenge." They said, as I looked out the window at my class on the playground. "That's why we think full advancement would be the best option for her." Three days later, I piled the supplies I bought for a grade I would never attend into my backpack and left a school that didn't, it seemed, want me.
Now, years later, I reach for the book and stare at it some more. Am I "Gifted"? Do I need to be "Guided"? to avoid certain insanity? It would seem so, I suppose, to those who knew me at the time, a silent but violently moody child, who either tried far too hard to fit in or didn't try at all.
I look up at the ceiling fan. It seems farther than the stars, moving lazily in languid little circles. I squint again, and the fan blades blur soundlessly, nothing is making sound on this silent little day. I feel like the sugar in a cup of tea, dissolving away, unaware of anything around me. I know I should get up, but I don't quite want to enough.
posted by Solovino at
11:27 PM
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