Washing dishes. Water across plates. Food remnants in the trap. Water slow to drain.
He says he wants to play the piano. They walk through the kitchen from family to living room. Pass behind me. A sound. A felt sense.
Sponge and brush and soap. Tupperwares. Silverware. The cut on my thumb stinging in the water.
The notes from the piano. Expecting crash and bang. A cacophony of fingers slamming keys. I stop. Turn off the water. The notes are quiet. Searching. Loud, then soft. Legato continuous. He finds a melody. Repeats it. One hand accompanies the other. Exploring. Jumping octaves. Shifting dynamics. The sound of listening. He is paying attention to what he is doing.
I dry my hands with a towel. Lean against the wall. Hidden, so he doesn’t see me. So I don’t distract him. The song continues for a few minutes.
Joy. Emotion rushes through my head. My face. I smile. Enjoying this moment.
Him playing music.