The White Knight

I knew that there was something about him when he approached me. There was something pure about him. Something plain.

His eyes were the sky. Blue birds and cloud intertwined, creating vast, endless colors. His fingers ran through the waves of tropical sands atop his head, curls curving, crashing like the surf on his forehead. He was terribly thin, every article of clothing hanging off of his figure like a wet t-shirt.

The White Knight I call him. His air of respectability and above all innocence earned him this. The Knight acted above his age in well spoken, well read stature. This I had always admired, speaking highly of what was a stranger and later friend.

We sat together at the old piano. The same old piano where the foot petals had stopped working the month before and all of the A flats on the right side of the keyboard had been removed. The one with wood that was heavily faded, varying in shades of brown. The bench wobbled like a retired bull with every shift of weight. 

We took turns playing tunes, most of his were familiar while most of mine I feared seemed too foreign to him. Our fingers danced across the finger board. The White Knight created phrases full of melodic sound while I played quick, sweet tones. But there was one melody in particular that I could not quite put my finger on. A pizzicato full of C notes and G notes and the like. The Knight looked to me as, attempting to find an expression in my puzzled features.

“I know this song.” I laughed unconvincingly.

“Do you want to learn it again?” By this I assume that The Knight interpreted by statement as previously knowing how to play the song, which I did not, but in my meekness I bothered not to correct him.

It was simple, although, it certainly did not feel like it at the time. The piece, I learned, was a pleasant duet. However, through all of my disconcerting blunders, it did not sound all that pleasant. I laughed at my shameful attempts and apologized for ruining The Knight’s part of the duet profusely. I had apologized for the hundredth time when he finally stated,

“Ya know, I’ll just keep going until you get the hang of it.” And he did, and I continued to stumble. But on the third time around, I successfully played through, much to my own relief. And the whole time, The Knight made not one remark about my terrible, terrible (did I mention terrible) attempt at learning such a simple thing. He was awfully patient as he gave me little pointers whilst chuckling along with me.

Often, I practice what The White Knight had taught me so I won’t mess up next time.

 

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