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my music (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
Sitting in my chair with my elbows placed precariously on black, plastic arm wrests, their texture holding to my skin like a cats tongue, I place the Styrofoam-padded headphones on my head. The limp, lizard-tail cord dangles down from the left ear pad, running between my arm and chest, hits the floor and turns, spiraling upward toward the edge of the desk at which I sit. Its cold and clammy touch brushes against the hairs of my leg, tickling my knee only slightly softer than a blade of grass in my nose. Ear pads now settle to my head, the headband pressing down my hair, the Styrofoam wraps around my ear not entirely, but enough to mute the sound of my friend, Stacie, chattering away at her opposite neighbor. She asks her neighbor for help with the software tools that confuse her and they begin to discuss. Knowing that they will soon turn to me for further help, I quickly place my hand upon the artificial mouse and apply not 3 ounces of pressure, and, with a resulting “click,” my music begins just in time to save me from Stacie’s interruption. She turns to speak, but seeing the dark sponges on my ears, realizes I am no longer interested and turns her back to me.

Good, I think to myself. I work in the computer lab as a teacher’s assistant, which means that even when I am not on duty – now, for instance – I am still on duty. Headphones – they will give me a chance to do my own work, I say to myself. Suddenly, I realize that I am listening to The Mission soundtrack. Its dull drop and shrill cries from the singing natives leave a sickly pit in my stomach as I muscle up the will to change the track.

Gladiator, Braveheart, Batman, AC/DC, Collective Soul – my eyes pour over the choices. I’ve listened to all of them so many times, but now it is just as important to decide as ever. The wrong choice could distract me from my assignment, could influence me to be false or cheesy in my writing, or could even start an ache in my head that will last the rest of the day. I make my choice: Amelie – perfect for background noise. Two clicks and I hear the sound of French accordions singing in tune with a flock of violins.

The music sways louder, coming in beats upon my chest; my fingers dance merrily on the keyboard, striking steps faster and away from the beat. But all of my surroundings still seem slow compared to the music’s fervent pulse. This soundtrack is for me. Writing in France, the composer had only my emotions and my pleasure in mind when he sat at the piano bench to conduct a tune so melodious and so free that it would make my world art, that I could not see joy in the slightest fleck on the wall of my basement studio. It’s too much to keep in; forgetting our earlier withdrawal from each other, I lift an ear pad and confront Stacie.

You must hear this; it’s my favorite; can you guess what soundtrack this is? As always, my badgering elicits a tepid response and I remove the cord from the machine. Small speakers from the back of the computer vibrate in a shrill, base-less voice that nearly, but not entirely, replicates my music. I return to my work; Stacie must be able to taste the sweet savor that I, for the last hour, have enjoyed now that it’s fresh on the air. Even when flowing from a smaller spring, the pure and crystal clear spirit that such angelic singing brings is still unmistakable.

The song finishes, and I turn to see Stacie chattering away still with her neighbor. That is my favorite song on this soundtrack; that was written back in nineteen sixty-eight; isn’t it wonderful? As always, my pleas for attention elicit a tepid response. It’s no matter; I know what this room just experienced. I felt the way the lights brightened and the carpet shivered as violins, accordions, and choristers waltzed within these spackled walls. Lifting the tail end of the limp-lizard cord, I plug my earphones back into the machine and, with two clicks, wash away.