Excerpt from “Stop Signs”
The room was a bustle with older folks, chatting casually or watching the television in the corner. The desk woman patted my shoulder and left me, but I didn’t know where or how to begin. ‘Playing games, painting and talking.’ I thought to reassure myself. It seemed simple enough, but everyone already appeared to be too preoccupied with others to need my attention. It was after a minute of pondering when I noticed the only lone soul in the room, sitting stiffly on the bench of an old piano.
Her silver hair was knotted in waves to her shoulders, clothing loose and colored uncharismatically. I saw her from behind, deciding she would be the first one I talk to. As I moved closer, I realized she was hovering her bony fingers above the keys of the instrument, dancing over the white and blacks, but never actually coming in contact with them.