These Saturday Mornings

by Patrick Leu

When my parents left me home alone on another Saturday morning for errands, I found myself staring at my phone, robotically opening Instagram for the third time that hour. On previous Saturday mornings, I would've been with my friends or at least looked forward to seeing a new text on my phone. I tried setting the phone aside, but it was in my hands again in no time. Because without scrolling, clicking, swiping, texting, hanging out—anything but being alone—I would be a loser. And here I was in this pandemic, starving for connection, shivering with the chilled phone case numbing my fingers, and now all I could think was that I had become that loser. 

In my cluttered living room, my eyes wandered to a lumbering figure buried beneath a Bermudian kalimba and multiple stacks of forgotten swimming certificates. That behemoth, the piano, was the bane of my eight-year-old existence. I remembered the hopeless keys well, those empty notes that frustrated instead of invited, the discouragement that accompanied every isolating practice session and nerve-wracking recital. 

So why did I suddenly feel so enticed, like the piano was luring me in? 

My feet began to move on their own. I allowed myself to float to the piano, carefully lifting the fallboard, scrunching up the royal red wool that hid the sea of monochrome. As I adjusted the piano bench, I felt as if I were unshackling myself from something I couldn’t even name.

Now I didn’t bother taking out the music sheets from inside the bench, nor did I have any interest in playing scales or reading ledger lines. I didn’t even let my mind linger on what I would be doing after. Instead, I dropped all thought and let my ears and fingers lead the way. 

I began to play a riff from Undertale, a video game I’d gotten back into at the time. Using only my right hand, I tripped over the keys, slipping from the black mountains onto the white valleys, missing jumps as my eyes tried to remember the piano’s geometry. 

But what surprised me most was the heaviness of the keys falling, the ringing that reverberated in my chest and expanded through the silence of my home as I gave myself up to the music. I began to experiment with the left hand, listening for notes that sounded right for the bass. It wasn’t a difficult song by any means, and most of what I was playing was repetitious. But as the piece slowly came to fruition, as my piece came to fruition, I realized this was the best music I had ever played. 

And for the first time, I felt free. 

Free from the critical gazes of others, free from assessment and quantification, the meaningless numbers of Instagram and Snapchat. Free from fleeing this solitude that I had thought would deem me a loser. 

Now I find myself accidentally waking up earlier on Saturday mornings, rushing through breakfast so that I’ll be able to get the maximum amount of time at the piano. Each Saturday morning finds me racing towards the piano like it’s Christmas morning. I keep recreating new songs on the piano, crashing my fingers down on the sea of monochrome, creating a stentorian world of my own emotions. This is a world where my emotions can run wild for hours, a world of nourishing solitude that I can only rent out on Saturday mornings. Despite my fingers becoming blistered, they are the warmest they have ever been, as they paint colors in the sea of monochrome.

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Patrick Leu attends Herricks High School in New Hyde Park, NY. In his free time, he enjoys writing, playing trumpet and piano, and having long, laughter-filled conversations with friends.