During college I used to get a break from my studies
by going to the music department to find a practice room
with a piano. No one seemed to use these rooms, especially
at night, so I would go there to play my emotions out,
find solutions to problems, heal old wounds. That late
summer night I was particularly frustrated; I remember
playing my piano pieces over and over again with no resolution
felt and few wounds healed. Soon, however, I heard the
hesitant first notes of a deeply sonorous saxophone. What
at first I thought were practice notes transformed themselves
into an accompaniment complimenting and counterpointing
my improvisations. We played back and forth like this
for at least an hour; I was thrilled, yet still green
with youth and shyness I fled, slipping into the night
anonymous.