Gentle Night
You looked around the door into the dark room. It was at the end of the hallway – the hallway lit only by the lights over the framed photos and plaques all along its walls. At its end, to one side, there was the thick door into the little room – like an air lock – then the other thick door you were peering around – peering into the darkness.
A single point of light glowed thirty feet across its expanse and as you eyes became accustomed to the dark you could see it was on a mantle before a mirror. You could see me silhouetted by its glow, sitting at what looked like a table about halfway into the room.
"Come on in, sweetie."
"Daddy, why are you sitting here in the dark?"
"I'm thinking and listening, little girl, listening and thinking."
You slowly walked behind my chair. There were three at the table in a row – big office-kind of chairs on wheels – leather – black – or dark blue perhaps – you couldn't tell in the candle light. You pulled the chair on my far side – my left side – around and slowly, carefully sat down. Your bottom was still tender from the night before last.
It wasn't a table we were sitting at. It was a slightly tilted surface with levers and dials in many rows. You had seen things like this in videos on MTV. "Oh," you said quietly, "So this is your studio."
"Yes, sweetie. My studio." My voice was soft – and sad.
You stared at my face in the dim light. I had my eyes closed. You were looking at me in profile.
After a long, long moment you whispered, "Daddy."
I slowly turned my face to you and opened my eyes. I said, "I don't know where to begin." It was just a quiet, simple statement.
You reached for my hand and held it. You stood and carefully arranged yourself in my lap, across my legs. You kissed my mouth tenderly.
"You'll figure it out, Daddy." You pushed the hair back from my face. "Your hair's getting long."
"I know. I should have it cut."
"I'll cut it for you, if you like. But I kinda like it long. Let it grow a little more, OK? Let me see what it looks like."
I smiled. You kissed me again. "What are you listening to?"
"The music in my head. I'm trying to decide how to start recording. I'm listening to the songs the way they'll sound when they're all done."
"In your head."
"Yes."
"You can hear the recording in your head."
"Yes. The arrangement. The music. But I'm stuck."
"You're stuck?"
"Yes. I just can't seem to hear the beginning."
"So you don't know how to begin."
"Yes."
You smiled. You kissed me again and wriggled in my lap. "Why don't you begin in the middle? Maybe while you're recording the middle, it will inform you about the beginning. Maybe the act of recording will change the way you hear it. Some variation on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle applied to composition," you giggled. "What a ridiculous thought."
I smiled at you. "You're probably right, though. It's a good idea."
"Come to bed, Daddy, tomorrow you can show me this gadget here." You patted the arm-rest front edge of the mixing console. You turned and looked at it. You could see four flat screen monitors built above it. You could see objects in the room beyond it. A piano? A harp? You looked around the room. You could see the faint glint of equipment in racks all around.
You stood up, pulling my hand.
You were in your soft little nighty. The sight of you, in the dim light was alluring. As you pulled me toward the door, I slipped my arm around your waist.
We moved to the door but something caught your eye. It was a display case hanging on the wall. Three flutes inside the glass.
"Oh, Daddy! My God! Silver, gold, and..."
"Platinum, darling."
"May I play them tomorrow?
"You play? I had no idea."
"I used to," you seemed far away. "I used to." You put your arms around my neck and I lifted you. You snuggled into my neck. I carried you upstairs.
I laid you in bed, taking my place beside you. "Daddy?"
