The Red Cup

March 19, 2011
The piano is the place to go when nothing else is going right. It’s also the place to go when everything is going right. The notes are sad, and the notes are happy. When it rains, the big window next the piano makes the music cry. When it’s sunny, the big window next to the piano makes the music happy. But rain or shine, he’s always there.

Outside the big window there is a patio, on the patio there is a hole, over the hole is a red cup. It hides the hole from the sunlight. But there is a little chipmunk, who doesn’t care about the cup. Rain or shine, he pops his little head out, or scurries into the hole. Promise.
I think he likes the music. Sometimes he just sits next to the cup, and sometimes he just crawls under that red cup and into the hole. I don’t know how he does it, he moves too fast for me to really see. But he always comes back. He’s always there. Rain or shine, that little fella skitters under the cup, or just sits next to it. It doesn’t stop him. For such a little guy he doesn’t let things get in his way. When everything is going bad, he’s there. When everything is going well, he’s there.

I don’t get why he does that.

Even when he’s under the cup, in the hole, he’s there. I know that he’s listening. You know how? I never see him any other time. I bet if I looked for him, he’d come out, thinking I was practicing. Maybe one day he won’t come. Maybe he will get sick of my playing, or he’ll get sick of wrong notes. I bet I will play even worse that day. But he probably won’t leave. That’s part of the deal, he listens, I practice. And when no one else listens, he will. Silly chipmunk.

I bet he thinks I practice for him. He’s a trooper; I’ll give him that. And maybe I do. It doesn’t really matter. He’s always there, and I’ll always practice.

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