Arioso

This is a piece of (mostly) fiction for your amusement.

Gerald lived in an apartment along the Hudson and rarely left it. He would venture out if there was a particularly exciting tennis match or when an orchestra of interest was scheduled at Madison Square Garden.  Otherwise, he kept to himself, and others left him to himself. He had been quite contented with this arrangement the past fifty years.

One day, Gerald was sitting in his bathtub, in an abundance of luxurious suds (money was no object when it came to a good soak in the tub), playing his recorder. Of course, he played more sophisticated instruments in the sitting room, but a violin in the bathtub is awkward at best, soggy at worst. The tune was an arioso by Bach, but Gerald had come back around to the same section three times now trying to remember the next measure. He came to a full stop and scratched his head. Bathtub music sessions were always a bit strained by the difficulty of sheet music. For one, paper music was liable to dampen and two, he could not read the notes without his glasses.

Just then, the notes came to him. They came audibly. He looked about in surprise for the muse and wondering if he had had more wine with his luncheon than he had remembered. The arioso continued, floating in faintly through the shared wall. Eventually the lovely tune paused, coyly repeated a stanza, then paused again. Gerald was most embarrassed. Should he join in? This was meant to be a private musical session. Cautiously, he raised the soapy recorder (which had been submerged in the tub in his surprise) and after a few false starts blowing out the bubbles, he continued the tune with the phantom pipes.

When the song was over, Gerald hastily turned on the fan to drown out any further musical advances. He needed a little time to think while he dried and dressed himself. This was most disconcerting. Yet, there was no harm done really. It had been a very nice duet and the unknown musician had played beautifully. Perhaps this was a person worthy of acquaintance. Well, that might be going too far, but it would be nice to know whom his accompanist was.

Once dressed, hair still slick, he cautiously opened his door and peeked into the hall. He took a few soft steps over to the neighboring door. Though Gerald had never paid much attention to any of his neighbors’ doors, the name plaque seemed quite new. It read “Ms. Adriane Howetz.” Gerald’s ears turned pink. To think he had been playing duets with a lady while in the bathtub. Worse yet, suppose she had been in her bathtub? 

There was suddenly a tremendous noise down the hall as a family with a pack of children burst into the hall with enough gear for a month-long expedition to the Arctic. Before Gerald could dart back to the safety of his apartment, the family swept by him, pressing him into the stranger’s doorway. They also managed to bump into the doorbell with one of their oversized duffel bags. The door opened.

Photo by Salman Hossain Saif on Unsplash