Sunday, September 24, 2006

the doctor

When entering his new life his fingers will fall softly toward the keys. His hair will be straight now, as he had wished as a boy. He will no longer need his worn out copy of Grey’s Anatomy, because he is no longer a doctor, and although he does not realize why, he keeps it around his new apartment, hoping that one day it will be useful, or one day it will teach him something he does not know. His music is daunting. Anyone is amazed to hear it. His straight beautiful blond hair will be thinning in ten years, but he has no memory of any other texture or thickness. When he grows older, he will say he was once a great concert pianist and run his fingers over his scalp, thinking backwards as best he can, and doubting, in a small way, whether that life really happened.