Lalala~

Music Man
Have you ever met someone, who seemed very tall, but was actually rather short? Someone you knew was harmless, but seemed sort of terrifying? A person you couldn’t understand, but still respected? There, at the table, he looms. His wild hair makes me nervous, I think it must be that feature, because nothing else about him appears bold or unusual for this part of the world. His eye color does not stand out, I can‘t even remember what it is, his voice does not give me chills, if anything, it becomes a tad monotonous with time, and his height is remarkably unremarkable.
But that hair. Wired, crazy, curled. Wild is the best word for it, but there are so many others that could cover the appearance of this mass. He appears to be balding on the top, which makes the two lengths at the side even more shocking. Perhaps it’s the way he looks like a mad scientist, or an evil genius, that puts me in such a state of nervousness. Either way, I tense when I realize he’s noticed me looking at him, and quickly take my gaze away.
I can’t help but stare when he looks away again, I‘m just so fascinated. He’s tapping on the table that way, it’s such a beat, such a rhythm. He does it when he drives too, watching him create interesting percussion sounds off of the steering wheel is one of the most pleasant parts of my day. If he isn’t doing it, I’m worried that he’s angry, worried Mirror and I have done something wrong again. We’re always so good at being so darned bad.
I know he does musical things, I think he plays the guitar, but it’s never mattered to me. The music that matters is the improvised percussion, the way he sings snippets of songs as he works and walks and plays, a little hummed tune here and there. Looking past the hair, and looking past my fear, I know there’s a song in this man’s soul and it’s always aching to get out. Sometimes the music is too obnoxious, too raucous, and sometimes it leaves my ears ringing. Then I listen again, and it sings so soft and cool, like a stream, rushing around the ankles of children in summer.
I don’t understand the Music Man, but I can always feel his song in their house. As it runs together with the patter of little feet, the barking dog, the screeching baby, and Mama’s laughter, I smile and sink into the couch a little more.
This is what a home feels like.