“I get to play. I get to play. Wrong note. Wrong note. Wrong note. Wrong note. Wrong note.” His little fingers leave red marks on the white keys.
“Hahahahaha. Don’t you love the songs I play?”
His wrists dislocate. The music gets faster.
“Grandma, come on. Listen to me play.”
He rocks back and forth on his stool. His mouth keeps hanging open, somewhere between a smile and a scream.
It’s a discordant tune. He tries to sing along.
“Bum bum bum, do do do do do do do doo, de do.”
He bangs his head against the wooden edge, keeping time to the beat.
“I love music. I’m such a little artist.”
A stray tooth falls on the keyboard and embeds itself into flailing arms. He paints the keys crimson.
Crack, crack “Bum bum bum, do do do—“
He stops. Cerebral fluid draining on the rich mahogany wood.
The old woman behind him stands up from her chair. She puts her hand on her chin and ponders. A few errant drips move down her black dress and white frock.
“It was a good first try Jimmy. But I think you need some more practice. “
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