The Old Blood Box

The music was sad, so obviously we were supposed to make this whole scene sad.

But the problem? We didn’t feel sad. Like, at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. We felt so happy. Brian had just successfully “walked the dog” with his new yo-yo. He had been working at it all morning. So of course we were happy. Brian had really nailed that shit. I congratulated him, but I was careful not to be too effulgent in my congratulations, on account of the sad music.

That was really something, I said in my most dejected monotone.

Thank you, mumbled Brian without inflection. That is very nice of you to say.

He sighed ponderously. I sighed ponderously.

We sank into our respective bean bag chairs. But the bean bag chairs didn’t feel sufficiently melancholy, so we moved to our respective chaise longues. Brian mispronounced chaise longue, as he always did, but I didn’t laugh outwardly, just in the depths of my soul.

On our respective chaise longues, we let the sad music pour over us for a while.

This music is sad, I said, after a time.

So sad, said Brian.

The piano, I said.

Yes, said Brian.

I have been made to feel sad by that piano, I said. More or less against my will.

As have I, said Brian.

I wanted to laugh at that. As have I? What a dumb thing for him to say. But I held it in.

It’s the tink-tink-tink what done it, I said.

The tink-tink-tink is sad, said Brian. The tink-tink-tink gets me right in the old blood box.

Brian tapped his chest thrice.

We just sat there listening to the music. On some days the music changed abruptly, from sad to joyous or from joyous to sad. But this one wasn’t going to change. It would remain sad for the long haul. You could just tell.

It’s heartrending, I said

Well, said Brian. I don’t know about that.

You wouldn’t call it heartrending? I said. Come on. Come on, Brian.

I stared hard at Brian.

Come on, Brian, I said again.

Brian didn’t say anything right away. He had on his “listening” face. We listened for a while longer. I thought of my father, my mother, my dog. Of all the fathers and mothers and dogs. The people I knew and the people I would never know. The prairie dogs. Even the katydids. Even the goddamn katydids.

Before long I felt the tears streaming.

OK, said Brian. OK, I’ll give you heartrending.

We were both crying by this point.

See? I said. I told you. I fucking told you.

I should have listened, he said.

You never listen to me, I said. Not really. Do you remember when—

The music suddenly changed. Party people! said the music. Did we want to rock right now? asked the music. We thought about this. I looked at Brian. He picked up his yo-yo, whirled it like a lasso. Yes. Oh yes. It was clear to us both that we wanted to rock right now.