The boy in my dreams spoke with his eyes. He smiled with his eyes. He cried with eyes. Then, tears would slide down, the only thing he neither could control, nor wanted to. He was still a little boy.
But that was all in my dream. Real or not, that was for me to decide. Right?
‘Don’t worry, I want to see the piano,’ ruffling his hair, I said.
I stood up, and held his hand. As we began walking, I could hear whispers.
‘Jamie, did you hear that,’ I asked, suddenly stopping. He nodded and pointed to the room. ‘I don’t have a lamp,’ I muttered to myself, looking towards the room.
‘Hold on,’ Jamie ran off to his room and walked back with a lamp. It wasn’t any where near bright enough, but it’d have to do.
‘Come on,’ I, again, held his hand, but this time, we walked back towards the room. Holding the lamp inside, I strained both my eyes and ears. ‘Can you see anything moving?’ I asked Jamie.
He simply shook his head.
‘Wait, can you hear anything?’ I continued asking.
Again, he shook his head.
‘Ok, let’s go. I think our imaginations are getting the better of us,’ I stated with a smile. ‘To the piano!’ I pointed towards the door.
I was so sure that I heard these whispers. I don’t know. It sounded like a woman crying. I knew I heard the word ‘innocent’ continuously. I think, may be laughter too? Yes. Just my imagination!
We entered Jamie’s room. The piano was beautiful. Definitely handcrafted. I couldn’t tell you the date, but I knew it was old. Very old. I slid my finger along the keys.
‘Shall I attempt to play a composition, Jamie? Although, I do feel that it’ll be made up. Join me when you’re ready,’ I looked over at Jamie and sat down on a stool. Slightly apprehensive whether the stool would break or not, I still sat down and began. I’m not sure what I was thinking, but I was playing something. My fingers kept tapping away. Yes, it sounded wonderful, but I’m pretty sure that I wasn’t that good at playing the piano.
‘See, you play so well,’ Jamie said.
‘Come here. Sit down and join me,’ it wasn’t a request, rather, it was an order. He widened his eyes at the tone of my voice. Truth be told, even I was shocked, yet my fingers kept tapping away. He dragged a more stable looking chair and sat next to me. As soon as his fingers touched the keys, he started tapping away. It felt right. We were playing a song. I still could not tell you what song it was, but it was something, anything. I tilted my head slightly, through the corners of my eyes, I could see Jamie emotionless.
Lifting my fingers of the key, I looked at Jamie. He continued to tap away as if he was in a world of his own. I started debating whether to bring him back to reality or to leave him alone. Leaving him alone seemed better.
I silently walked over to his bed and picked up the books he initially carried. Dropping onto his bed, I flipped through one. Whoever sketched these objects, had talent. Jamie liked drawing. He was good at it. But this was pure talent. A bird? Complete perfection.
I tried to imagine myself watching over this boy. Dressed in brown, as the painting portrayed him, pencil in hand. Did they use pencils? As I slowly glided my fingers across the page, I sincerely felt that I was in another world. No, I did not see the little boy, but I saw myself sitting on a chair. Bright sunlight pushed through the window, lighting my desk. What did I have on my desk? A jar of, I do not know. However, I did recognise the small glass of black ink. Quills. Several, all scattered on the desk.
I moved forward to see what I was scribbling. The imaginary me, of course.
‘This is all a dream,’ was written. The quill was just above the full stop and all I could do was stand there and watch the ink drip from the quill.
Was this how the boy was?