The Piano Room

Society is just, communities are caring, families are whole, parents are loving, children are respectful.

Love. Justice. Respect. The values that characterise our world.

In a world as calm and peaceful as our own, we prioritise the needs of others above our own. This importance hierarchy is borne, not of any oppression or degradation of few, but of love and equality of the whole. No human is placed above another, and all are taken into account.

The words of our society hold true to action; thus, a serene air of satisfaction is maintained. The successes of our world does not mean the absence of the occasional personal outburst - we are human after all. However, the care of organisers does mean that the occasional outburst is planned and catered for.

Here exists the Piano Room. “Ideally placed privacy rooms for productive automated conversation.”

Where love and respect are given supremacy, every word and action must be given excessive thought as to the effect on the recipient. What words are not beneficial are repressed. Repression in any form breeds unhealthy mentality – as the organisation acknowledges – and where there is issue, there must be solution. The Piano Room is, therefore, a safe space given to the release of such repressions. Citizens are free to express thoughts to imitations of intended recipients, working through harmful emotion. No public record is kept, no harm is done, and no regret is harboured.

In twenty-two years of living, this will be my first visit.

‘Piano Room’

Undoubtedly named for the predominate music played. Although all music is composed for the positivity of listeners, I have no doubt the soundtrack will be particularly calming –  for only minds in agitation see fit to visit. As to why these spots are not called Conversation Rooms must be for the recounting or informing of one's whereabouts. Where thought is given to every word uttered, thought is given to the naming of places in case agitation or worry is aroused in inquirers. Sites that may cause anxiety or agitation are named, not for the purpose preform, but for a predominate feature found. Any ward above the level of basic check-ups are called Care Rooms. ICU units are called Waiting Rooms. Cemeteries are called Flower Gardens. Places for emotional outbursts are called Piano Rooms.

An uninteresting and inconspicuous building if there ever was one. All Piano Rooms are made – not to resemble each other in any such fashion – but to blend into the general feel of the corner it inhabits. Its only distinguishing feature; a small sign bearing the name above the left-hand corner of the entrance. A warming furniture arrangement set within cool calming tones, the room cooled below average bearing so small evenly spaced fires may burn on either side of the room. An altogether welcoming air of seclusion is the result of this strategy. Odd, though, are the two large leather wingbacks placed facing each other in front of every fire. An opposing characteristic in a place made for anonymity. The sitting room, I presume.

The set of chairs in the far left corner seem to be uninhabited. The dimmed lights of the room seem to urge dimmed and muffled conversations between the sets. No one can be clearly seen, therefore, why be clearly heard by any other than your partner?

An automatic beverage provided means a comfortable environment to stew over rehearsed conversation. In the short moment I’ve been considering myself, I seem to have gained a partner. No doubt another troubled soul seeking understanding. A dark and pensive man – as we all appear in this atmosphere, I’m sure – yet not altogether unkindly or unapproachable.

The feeling was somewhat uncomfortable as he met my gaze, I felt as if I had violated the anonyms sanctity of this place. I did not know him, but could now – at a stretch – identify him in public. He, on the other hand, and to my utter surprise, seemed to welcome this misadventure as first contact.

“A bit troubled today, young sibling?” for it is politeness to frequently remember we are all apart of the same family. I couldn’t distinguish question from statement, so felt the timid “yes” an apt reply. Even in a place as solitary and troubled as this, social convention as brotherly affection reign.

“and yourself, brother?”

“I’ve always thought it’s good to have regular sessions of self-examination, even when untroubled. I just like talking to someone while I do it. I guess that means I’m more of your senior than older brother.” His manner of conversation was a pleasant contradiction to his appearance, turning the sitting rooms’ glow welcoming.

“This will be your first visit, then?” Again, ambiguous question or statement.

“Yes. I’ve never felt any need or curiosity before.”

“It’s hard remembering why you came anyway, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I was trying to organise my thoughts. How long is the session?”

“As long as you need it to be. Why don’t you try organising out loud, to me? It will set you at ease to practise, even if it happens with an imitation.” Even for me, he was uncommonly kindly. He must have been raised exceptionally.

“I really wouldn’t want to bother you, senior.” Feigned politeness in the way of want.

“Try it.”

He seemed handsome to me now, no doubt assisted by appealing nature. We’ve come far as a race, but beauty is always appreciated; a sudden thought which turned to a longer than intended pause.

“I’m just a bit unsure, of myself and my desire to follow my fathers' footsteps.”

“He’s your recipient then?”

“Yes.”

I went onto recount an altogether uninteresting and unrelated story of trouble committing to my chosen career. I liked this man, but am I to bring myself to trust anyone. Doubts cannot be confided.

“So, you’re unsure of which way to go. Of what’s right for you?”

“Yes.” Even though my uninteresting story was unrelated, his surmise was not inapplicable. “Our defining feature is love – as it should be – however, I’m unconvinced this does not encompass self-love.” A tiny slip of tongue, inconsequential out of context.

“Ah. You’d like enjoyment of working life, as promised.”

The first time I was sure of statement. “Yes.”

“This is all you have to say?” A return to ambiguity.

“Yes.”

A stiff shuffle occurred as a previously undisturbed door opened — time to move.

“Then, as all fathers love, all fathers would come to understand.” The second surety.

The now-familiar man stood to leave – a little taller than expected. The polite bow shadowed by gentle smile and pleasantries. It was only during the rushed farewell that I realised the resemblance to Father. Quickstep and dim light meant he was out of sight a bit too quickly for my liking. Our practice that reviled too much was over.

Only on the way out through the door did I hear the piano.