9:29 P.M., On A Saturday, Denton, TX

The Hydrant… Just off the little square of Denton, TX. After having an uncharacteristically good conversation with the barista about latte design competitions on The Food Network, I hear a sorrowfully seductive piano melody coming from upstairs. I climb them to find an acquaintance of mine from Andy’s Bar around the corner, sitting quietly at this old, upright piano in the virtually silent room and gently playing this melody. I was surprised, because I didn’t even know he was musically inclined. So, I join a girl named Emma and begin to fall gently in these sorrowful sounds as I pull out my laptop and start to write. I then come to think of something that I almost forget at times. It is that the beauty of music is astounding in new ways every day. It is an endless journey of discovery and mystery and feeling.

Just a guy sitting around a coffee shop; piddling around on the old, decorative piano. He gets a little nervous about his playing, as the table Emma chose was close by and the low lit upstairs was rather empty. So I say to him, at his nervous laugh, “No, man. Keep playing. It sounded wonderful from downstairs.” He smiles awkwardly and continues for a bit and transitions to a something like a Russian lullaby. After a few minutes, he stops and walks back to his corner and sits down. I find myself genuinely disappointed inside that he did so, because it sounded really good. But at the same time, it inspired me to write about this. So as I do, I find myself secretly surprised to see him come back again. He sits down low to the keys with his face in shadow. The scene has a dingy picturesque vibe. He plays a melody of semi-staccato notes in a minor key. It just came out of his fingertips almost of its own accord. I was not let down by the moment, which frequently I am in these kinds of stories.

He plays for a few more minutes and then walks downstairs and outside to smoke a cigarette. Then about 15 minutes later, comes back for a third time. I believe, as I think about what just happened, that it was just some little melody that swirled inside of him that had to get out and become audibly born and then resoundingly suffocate to death on its own waves; never to be heard the same way again. But for the moment, it was beautiful, because it was ours.

It blows my mind at how much music hides inside all of us. It is an amazing ability as human beings to create such a wonder, and we, as human beings, should never forget that music is a beautiful suicide of sound. And it surrounds us constantly.

-Cory Coleman [c]