Visit From A Little Girl
She'd come over to complain about something but instead of knocking on the door she finds herself staring through his back window. It's because of the sound. As soon as she heard it she recognized it and knew it was hers.
The window is open because it's summer. She clings to the sill. He's playing on a small electric organ. She lifts up on her toes and leans forward and in. This is the first visit she's ever paid him but she doesn't realize the awkwardness. The sound is the only thing that matters.
Leaning in the open window she rocks her head on the epic tones of the instrument that start to make her younger. He plays until her hair is long and braided again and her shoes are just a little too big for her feet. He plays until she runs through the front yard almost tripping over the garden hose, onto the porch, flies through the door and jumps on his lap. Just as they smile at each other and are about to let their fingers caress the keys, he stops.
He turns his head and looks at her. The sound is gone. She backs off from the window. What is she doing here? Didn't she live across the street? His questions go unanswered. She turns around and walks away. Her shoes feel tight. She hates him for it.