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Rated: E · Non-fiction · Experience · #1852697
Autobiographical account of picking up a long-lost love ;)
Soft, cool, smooth, black leather.

This is what I feel as I close the cardboard box and shimmy down from my precarious perch.  I had been thinking about this for weeks, wondering if I should really do it.

I have missed this – oh, how I have missed this!  These sweet melodies and harmonies on which to swoop, to dive, to soar! high into the sky on silvery wings.

My heart flutters a little – in excitement, in anticipation, and a bit in nervousness – as I take hold of one zipper pull and tug – zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip! on the first half and then again – zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzip-zoo! on the second as the zipper rounds the corner.  The outer case gives way and little scraps of paper, tiny hunks of crushed blue crayon leftover from God knows when, and my cleaning tool (hankie and all) fall to the side as I carefully, ever so carefully, lift out the solid inner case.  It is made of the same black leather as the outer case, except it is textured and covers a heavy, hard plastic shell that really could do some damage if your dropped it on your toe.

Snick! – the first latch gives way.  The second latch is a little more stubborn (it always has been – perhaps I should get that fixed) but after a minor struggle – snick!  It gives way too.  The case opens to reveal shining, if somewhat fingerprinted, silver and gold on short, not-very-soft burgundy velour.  Each of the three shining pieces is nestled safely and snugly in its place.  Reverently, I run my finger along the biggest piece before lifting it carefully out of its spot.  Carefully, so  carefully, I fit the three pieces together, aligning everything as it should be aligned according to the scratches and teeny dots of nail polish (nail polish! My first teacher would implode – but my college professor said it was fine and she did it too) along the surface.  Bottom arrows aligned?  Yes.  Top polish marks?  Wait, not quite.  But with a cautious twist, they are now.

As I put together the pieces, I try and remember the last time I did this.  It’s been awhile now, two years perhaps.  Far too long.  Time and the world and life have simply kept me away from this, my first and only love.  I am overjoyed for our reunion.

The metal is cold, but it won’t be for long.  As I lift the flute to my lips, my body settles – lips pouty but pulled in at the corners, arms relaxed, body slightly tilted –  into the long-neglected posture of the player.

Authoress's note:  This item is unbetaed, so any mistakes are therefore mine.  I have not stuck to the rules of standard punctuation, capitalization, etc. on purpose.  Constructive criticism very much appreciated!  May become part of a serial.
© Copyright 2012 Requiem (beautifuldrama at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1852697-The-Player