The Flute

The Flute
By
Trish Kellar

Purple and blue neon lights glow through my window. I like to keep my lights off at night so I can see the lights flashing on the walls. They are mellow. They help me forget about the stains on the carpet and the wall and the memories of what happened so many years ago. Those things will never happen again.

I enjoy the sound from downstairs-the music coming from the movies. It helps me forget about that night. From somewhere close by a nameless musician begins to play. I can hear soft, sweet, gentle notes from his flute. They move me to dance and as I move, I make up a dance that tells a story. I cannot stop dancing and his music means something to my dance.

Later, as I lie on my couch, my feet are still tapping to the sound of his flute. My breathing is heavy, but steady from my dance. My thoughts are in tune now as I hum along with his song. The purple and blue neon lights dance on my walls and floor. As I drift in and out of sleep, his music takes me away to another time when the stains were not there. When I wake up the next morning, I am in my bed and there is no music from his flute and it is quiet.

In the daytime the stains will be visible. The dark ones are blood. The stains are on the floor and wall. Some stains look like something else, smeared and streaked like someone was trying to wash the blood away from the wall. But the stains are still there like bad memories. When I walk into the room, I will see the stains. The sunlight comes in through the window and makes the stains more visible. I decide to go into the living room to try to watch some television, but can’t stand seeing the stains.


Soon people will gather downstairs to go to the movies. The sound of their talking and laughing will fill the air. The only thing for me to do is go downstairs and joins the people going to the movies. It’s the only way I feel normal. When I come back tonight, I won’t be able to see the stains. I turn off the television to get ready. I look in the mirror at my coal black hair and dark eyes stare back at me. My eyeliner is smeared from sleeping, black goop is built up in the corners of my eyes, and mascara is globed on my lashes. I try to wash my face, but water just runs though my hands. My clothes look clean except for the dark red stain on my tee shirt. From what I wonder? There is nothing I can do, so I get my purse and go downstairs.

I mix in with the mothers and their children. Some are with their husbands, some are alone. Some girls are with their boyfriends. I long to have a boyfriend to take me to the movies and buy me things but for now I am alone. I get in the line to join the rest of the people. I look and smile at the people but they don’t smile back. They look past me as if I am not there. When it is my turn, I ask the clerk to sell me a ticket to something good, but not to the same movie the mothers and children are going to see. As I try to purchase a ticket, the clerk won’t sell one to me. People come up from behind me and buy tickets as if I’m not there. So I joined the crowd and go inside and sit down.

As I sit there in the theater watching the movie, I don’t close my eyes, but I quiet my mind. I am able to take myself into the movie, into a different place and time-a whole new world. I feel as if I belong there and don’t want it to end. All too soon the movie does end and the people begin to leave the theater. It is time for me to leave too, to go outside. I realize it is still early. There are still a lot of hours until nighttime will fill the sky, before the purple and blue neon lights will shine in my window and I can dance to his music again.

There is a little sitting area out here with benches; I can sit out here until dark. First I go up to my apartment to get something to read to pass the time. Hopefully tonight, the soft sweet sound of his flute will fill my apartment and carry me away to another time. Upstairs, I go to get my book to read. Instead I grab an article about the horrible night and go downstairs. I sit outside and read the story of what happened in my apartment so many years ago. The details are so vivid I feel like it happened to me. Every time I read this story, I read a part I don’t remember from before.

It tells me about the guy who lived in this apartment. One evening a stranger came to rob the place and found him home. The robber shot the guy and blood spattered on the wall and carpet. The blood soaked into the carpet where the body fell and left a dark stain. It looked like someone tried to clean the stain off the wall, but couldn’t. After that the apartment was boarded up and the stains remained on the wall and carpet.

This time after reading the article, instead of putting it down I realize the words continue on page thirty. My hands begin to shake; my heart is beating hard against my chest with thoughts of not having the end of the story. I take a deep breath, in and out, and then it comes to me that there was a backside to this page. At first all I can see are ads of things for sale. I start to sweep the page once more, thinking there isn’t going to be an end. My eyes are searching for the rest. “How can they do this to me?” I feel calm as my eyes finally find the words I’m looking for, continued from page twenty-nine, now I can read a whole new part of the story.

The words fill my head with the part that was left behind. The ending will become a part of me. This time I discover who the guy is-his name was Danny and lying beside him was his flute. As I read on, it says that on the bed they found a girl who was stabbed once; her blood was found only on the bed. It said that the girl was his girlfriend and her name was Jennifer-just like mine. The girl was wearing dancing shoes.
The End.