michael and music (car)
have you heard of synesthesia? it’s a neurological disorder where a person experiences something through two senses at the same time. like if i were to say the word “love” and you heard me say it, but also saw a color when i said it. or if you saw me draw a heart on your window, but heard love while i drew. you can’t stop doing this; you experience everything with two senses when you have synesthesia.
i don’t think they’ve created a word for my experience yet, because it’s not quite synesthesia. everything i experience, i feel in two’s. i have never been able to take a class, listen to music, read a book, or even engage in conversation without seeing the dual beauty of the mundane. it’s a blessing and a curse because i see beauty where no one else does, but it’s a curse because nothing is ever simple or exactly what it appears to be. do you understand what i mean?
i see metaphors where they really don’t exist. (car) will hold my hand and walk me to the piano school where there are practice rooms with other savants, composing and building music in isolated chambers like jail cells, prisoners to their mental gifts.
he sits on the piano bench, and i sit next to him with my hair braided back and his jacket loosely falling off my shoulder.
“what do you want to hear?” he asks. i don’t know. i never know. i’m so busy constantly planning that i don’t know what to do when i don’t have a plan.
“you can’t choose a wrong answer,” he says, and begins playing chords that literally sound exactly like my heartbeat. another metaphor i couldn’t escape.
“i’ve started writing a concierto about you,” he says shyly, looking at the keys as i watch his long fingers glide over the white and black skyline of his piano making art that i could never hope to imitate. “okay how about this,” he says.
he plays a chord, his fingers stretched impossibly over what sounds like a million notes, and it sounds the way i imagine sunshine would smell if you could bottle it into perfume. “it’s pretty,” i say. he plays another chord, darker this time, like clouds after rain. “which do you like better?” he asks.
the second, i think instantly. it was melodic and complicated and it sounded a lot like love. but i don’t want to write this concierto because i know that if i do, i’ll only destroy it.
“i don’t want to pick the wrong one,” i say nervously.
he laughs and explains, “i’m using a pentatonic scale,” he begins moving his fingers rapidly over the medium of his communication, playing different chords that all sound beautiful and the same and different too. “i won’t confuse you, but usually scales have 7 notes,” i don’t tell him that i already know this much. “i’m using a pentatonic scale, it’s a 5 note scale.”
“what does that mean?” i say, because i don’t know that much.
“it means that you’ll never make the wrong choice. it’s complicated, but basically, there’s no minor seconds or tritones. every combination you choose will be beautiful. so just pick, and you’ll be right.” he looks at me and smiles.
i have nothing to say to this. i had no idea anything like this existed. imagine a room or a world where you can never make the wrong choice because everything sounds harmonious and every choice you make is perfect. he proceeds to play two beautiful chords, and i choose the first. he plays another set, i have you heard of synesthesia? it’s a neurological disorder where a person experiences something through two senses at the same time. like if i were to say the word “love” and you heard me say it, but also saw a color when i said it. or if you saw me draw a heart on your window, but heard love while i drew. you can’t stop doing this; you experience everything with two senses when you have synesthesia.
i don’t think they’ve created a word for my experience yet, because it’s not quite synesthesia. everything i experience, i feel in two’s. i have never been able to take a class, listen to music, read a book, or even engage in conversation without seeing the dual beauty of the mundane. it’s a blessing and a curse because i see beauty where no one else does, but it’s a curse because nothing is ever simple or exactly what it appears to be. do you understand what i mean?
i see metaphors where they really don’t exist. (car) will hold my hand and walk me to the piano school where there are practice rooms with other savants, composing and building music in isolated chambers like jail cells, prisoners to their mental gifts.
he sits on the piano bench, and i sit next to him with my hair braided back and his jacket loosely falling off my shoulder.
“what do you want to hear?” he asks. i don’t know. i never know. i’m so busy constantly planning that i don’t know what to do when i don’t have a plan.
“you can’t choose a wrong answer,” he says, and begins playing chords that literally sound exactly like my heartbeat. another metaphor i couldn’t escape.
“i’ve started writing a concierto about you,” he says shyly, looking at the keys as i watch his long fingers glide over the white and black skyline of his piano making art that i could never hope to imitate. “okay how about this,” he says.
he plays a chord, his fingers stretched impossibly over what sounds like a million notes, and it sounds the way i imagine sunshine would smell if you could bottle it into perfume. “it’s pretty,” i say. he plays another chord, darker this time, like clouds after rain. “which do you like better?” he asks.
the second, i think instantly. it was melodic and complicated and it sounded a lot like love. but i don’t want to write this concierto because i know that if i do, i’ll only destroy it.
“i don’t want to pick the wrong one,” i say nervously.
he laughs and explains, “i’m using a pentatonic scale,” he begins moving his fingers rapidly over the medium of his communication, playing different chords that all sound beautiful and the same and different too. “i won’t confuse you, but usually scales have 7 notes,” i don’t tell him that i already know this much. “i’m using a pentatonic scale, it’s a 5 note scale.”
“what does that mean?” i say, because i don’t know that much.
“it means that you’ll never make the wrong choice. it’s complicated, but basically, there’s no minor seconds or tritones. every combination you choose will be beautiful. so just pick, and you’ll be right.” he looks at me and smiles.
i have nothing to say to this. i had no idea anything like this existed. imagine a room or a world where you can never make the wrong choice because everything sounds harmonious and every choice you make is perfect. he proceeds to play two beautiful chords, and i choose the first. he plays another set, i choose the latter. we continue and i am amazed when he compiles all of my choices into a small 2 minute piano piece that sounds like nothing i can adequately describe to you, even if i had synesthesia.
now fastforward a few months and here i am, in love with (chsy). we have decisions to make because unfortunately, unlike that piano room with (car), we live in a world with more than 7 notes and much more opportunities to make the wrong choices. i might think i’m choosing the right chord, but i’m terrified that i’ll look back on the symphony of our story and realize the only harmony in my choices was the dissonance of each melodic choice.
he thinks he knows the next note, but i think i do too. sometimes i try to escape from the symphony of our song, by not making a choice. i hope that by not choosing, everything can stay the way it is. but let me tell you, if you don’t choose, then you just chose for the orchestra to play on.
music is beautiful. science is beautiful. reading is beautiful. life is beautiful. everything i fucking see is beautiful. i just wish sometimes i could see (chsy) like a boy, and me like a girl, and us like a relationship and not like a symphony of notes or music. i feel like decisions would be easier if i weren’t imagining pentatonic scales and rooms where you can never make the wrong choice. i feel like if i could see things for what it actually was instead of what i think they are or what they could also mean, then it would be so much easier to just choose the right chord and keep playing.
i’ve tried to escape our song, but sweetheart, the orchestra plays on. so i will do my best to compose this piece with you knowing that we will never have the blessing of operating on a pentatonic scale, but hoping that having the two of us together will be enough to navigate through the wrong notes, the black keys, and the triads that will de mark the musical composition of our lovestory.
lauren
