Sitting in a chair, puffing smoke, I saw the kid once gain, went to the black grand piano, pressing some keys. Watching what he was doing, I slightly tapped my hand on the ashtray.
Later, he sat down, playing some familiar tune. It wasn't some fancy Classical piece or some modern Rap shit that is over the television for weeks. It was a... good tune.
I approached him, listened intently. the kid paused for awhile, looked at me once I'm just right beside him, finishing my cigarette.
"Oh, kid. Go on."
He nodded, went on. Looking at him, he seemed pretty determined to play the song. Probably he must have composed one song. He stopped once again.
"Um... M-miss Y-Yvonne..." he called, stuttered. "W-what do you think of the s-song?"
"Hm... It's great. Did you compose it?"
Embarrassed, he looked down, answered. "Yes, though it wasn't finished."
I sat beside him and told: "I really like the song, you know. you could finish it..."
"Y-yes... but my folks didn't like it." He replied.
"Why?"
"It's a waste of time." He continued as his hands trembled. "Also, they even scolded me for touching my sister's instruments..."
"Sister? Dos your sister learn how to play?"
He nodded. "Yet, she didn't use it for some time... I just want to play, but my parents won't allow me."
Poor kid. Not letting him play and letting his talent go to waste. I would even wonder if his little sister would like to play.
The kid requested me something. Funny that I got requests, usually from those Classy Bastards.
"Okay then..." I answered, puffed. "But, in exchange, I would like to hear your finished composition. You got that?"
He nodded, smiled.
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