Thursday, September 04, 2003
let us close our eyes. bow our heads. for a world of inconspicuous beauty has been unwittingly destroyed.
the doors on the stalls in the first floor girl's lavatory at rufus king were loud. each door had a different squeak, a different pitch. some people might have found it annoying. undesirable. but that's only because they don't know how to play them.
played. these doors were an instrument to be played. like a giant glass harmonica, a floor-mat piano. but better. the bathroom has excellent acoustics.
the stalls only played one song. rhapsody in blue.
i discovered this last year. excusing myself from the tedium of ms miller's ib art class, and standing at the partially opened window, breathing sharp winter air. i turned back toward the long row of stalls, studying the colorful (in all senses) grafitti scribbled across them. the fifth door, exactly in the middle, had some especially creative phrases written in ballpoint pen, and i stepped forward, slowly opening the door to see if the tirade was continued on the inside.
i was startled by the sound the door's spring-loaded hinges emitted. it was a sound not just loud, but big. huge. as if it had expanded to reclaim the space normally occupied by rustling make-up cases and flushing toilets and towel loops being pulled into infinity. but it wasn't just that. it was a sound i knew, something so familiar i almost didn't recognize it as out of place. it was a long, rising, round sound. so similar to that first clarinet whoop in gershwin's rhapsody in blue that i let the door bang itself shut, staring at it suspiciously.
when no elves or goblins stepped forward to claim responsiblity, i began walking up and down the row of stalls, testing the doors. pushing them, at different speeds, in different orders. seventeen minutes later, red-faced and huffing, i sprinted up and down the row, opening the doors with what had now become expert jabs with the heel of my hand, their slamming as much a part of the melody as the squeaks. i rattled off the order in my head; fiveslow six fourfast threefast seven oneslow twofast nine one nine . . . from the hallway, it may have just sounded like noise, like slamming doors and unoiled hinges, but to me the music was perfect, reverberating against the marble walls and escaping through the partially opened window into the winter.
i returned shortly before dismissal, a sheen of sweat on my forehead and my breathing heavy. ms miller hadn't even noticed i was gone.
my trips to the bathroom during tenth period grew more and more frequent. dashing up and down, playing as much as i needed to . a few notes, a few bars, everything i could remember. long enough to remind myself of the beauty in all things. long enough to feel good again. and then washing my hands and returning to magic surrealism or sumi-e. a respite for the heart.
i returned to the bathroom today, smiling a little. i stepped up to the fifth door, which radiated familiarity. i gave it a slow push with the tips of my fingers, but was not met with the clarinet of my imagination. a little honk, like an broken trumpet. barely a squeak at all. i counted the doors. i read the graffiti. there was no mistake.
someone, some careless janitor, has "fixed" the hinges on the doors, ruining the most finely-tuned inadvertant musical instrument i have ever known.
that is why today, my friends, is a day of sorrow.
. . .
(the first two minutes of rhapsody in blue are streamable here)
posted by emily oi! at 8:10:00 PM
0 comments
let us close our eyes. bow our heads. for a world of inconspicuous beauty has been unwittingly destroyed.
the doors on the stalls in the first floor girl's lavatory at rufus king were loud. each door had a different squeak, a different pitch. some people might have found it annoying. undesirable. but that's only because they don't know how to play them.
played. these doors were an instrument to be played. like a giant glass harmonica, a floor-mat piano. but better. the bathroom has excellent acoustics.
the stalls only played one song. rhapsody in blue.
i discovered this last year. excusing myself from the tedium of ms miller's ib art class, and standing at the partially opened window, breathing sharp winter air. i turned back toward the long row of stalls, studying the colorful (in all senses) grafitti scribbled across them. the fifth door, exactly in the middle, had some especially creative phrases written in ballpoint pen, and i stepped forward, slowly opening the door to see if the tirade was continued on the inside.
i was startled by the sound the door's spring-loaded hinges emitted. it was a sound not just loud, but big. huge. as if it had expanded to reclaim the space normally occupied by rustling make-up cases and flushing toilets and towel loops being pulled into infinity. but it wasn't just that. it was a sound i knew, something so familiar i almost didn't recognize it as out of place. it was a long, rising, round sound. so similar to that first clarinet whoop in gershwin's rhapsody in blue that i let the door bang itself shut, staring at it suspiciously.
when no elves or goblins stepped forward to claim responsiblity, i began walking up and down the row of stalls, testing the doors. pushing them, at different speeds, in different orders. seventeen minutes later, red-faced and huffing, i sprinted up and down the row, opening the doors with what had now become expert jabs with the heel of my hand, their slamming as much a part of the melody as the squeaks. i rattled off the order in my head; fiveslow six fourfast threefast seven oneslow twofast nine one nine . . . from the hallway, it may have just sounded like noise, like slamming doors and unoiled hinges, but to me the music was perfect, reverberating against the marble walls and escaping through the partially opened window into the winter.
i returned shortly before dismissal, a sheen of sweat on my forehead and my breathing heavy. ms miller hadn't even noticed i was gone.
my trips to the bathroom during tenth period grew more and more frequent. dashing up and down, playing as much as i needed to . a few notes, a few bars, everything i could remember. long enough to remind myself of the beauty in all things. long enough to feel good again. and then washing my hands and returning to magic surrealism or sumi-e. a respite for the heart.
i returned to the bathroom today, smiling a little. i stepped up to the fifth door, which radiated familiarity. i gave it a slow push with the tips of my fingers, but was not met with the clarinet of my imagination. a little honk, like an broken trumpet. barely a squeak at all. i counted the doors. i read the graffiti. there was no mistake.
someone, some careless janitor, has "fixed" the hinges on the doors, ruining the most finely-tuned inadvertant musical instrument i have ever known.
that is why today, my friends, is a day of sorrow.
. . .
(the first two minutes of rhapsody in blue are streamable here)
posted by emily oi! at 8:10:00 PM
0 comments
