Slow Hand

[WARNING: This post might be considered of objectionable content to some. I'm not sure who, but there's always someone, isn't there. Oh, and Auntie M might not want to read it...just because I'm not sure she wants to know I think this way.]

My keyboard is a ten year old concert venue Roland called Quasimodo. So named because he's ungainly and somewhat freakish, but tender and mellow all the same. And he has a lot of bells and whistles.

I don't think there will ever be any lover who could ever be to me as Quasi. He waits for me, patiently, day and evening. Wanting to be with me whenever possible, knowing he's being used and loving every minute of it.

My union with Quasimodo is sensual and romantic, needy and passionate, longing and heartbreaking. When I am with him, it is never enough. When I am without him, I think of him almost continually, counting the moments until we can be together again.

When I am frustrated, lonely, happy, silly...it is Quasi that I turn to. He supports me unequivocally as I express myself as loud or as obnoxiously as I choose. Quasi does not judge me. He does not edit me. He does not say "I don't like your choice of music" or "Is that song about me?" Instead, he is a willing and giving partner who takes pleasure from giving me pleasure.

We understand each other, Quasi and I. I know which keys and buttons no longer work and which ones I have yet to master. I know that #36 is the only setting that I can play "Moondance" on satisfactorily but #18 is the only way for "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy" to be played.

When I sit down with Quasi, it's with relish and anticipation. I breathe deeply and relax, knowing that there will come a release and a sustenance. No lover has ever felt my touch as Quasi has: the pressure and release, gentle strokes and thunderous chords, the range of dynamics from whispery soft to percussively passionate. We are as lovers entwined with each other's inner beings. He lives for me and I for him.

But life has intervened and our trysts are,sadly, no longer. I cannot be with him when the baby is asleep. I am self-conscious of being with him around others - it is far to intimate an experience to be comfortable sharing. Instead, during the day I teach my son to know him, perhaps one day to love him. But we long for each other. Like two people who deeply love each other but agree that, for now, it's all for the best. We know we belong together, that we're good and right together, but for the sakes of others, we must put that passion on the back burner for just a little while.

Perhaps it's unsettling to hear me confess that 88 keys and a box of electronics can be so much to me: husband, friend, lover, confidante, the physical embodiment of my soul. But it is who I am, who we are together, that makes me such a unique individual.