Knock Knock
By H.G. Miller
Knock. Knock.
-Hello?
-Hey. I’m the downstairs neighbor.
-Hi. Nice to meet you. I’m sorry, is the music too loud?
-A little bit.
-I’ll try to keep it down.
-Actually, it’s more than that.
-The foot stomping?
-That’s part of it?
-What else?
-You’re learning the harmonica, right?
-Yeah. Just started.
-I can tell.
-That bad, huh?
-It’s pretty bad.
-I should stick to the guitar, huh?
-Um, about the guitar…
-Come on, I’ve been playing that for years. It’s not that bad.
-No, you do all right with the guitar. It’s just… I don’t know…
-Ease off the Skynyrd?
-Well, that’s sort of a given, but it’s more than that. You don’t have any soul.
-What do you mean? You just met me.
-I can tell.
-No soul, huh?
-Don’t feel bad. I’m not talking in a whole theological sense. I’m sure whatever god you believe in has provided you with the faculty necessary to reach heaven and whatnot. It’s just that you weren’t given that special touch that’s needed to make music great.
-I see.
-I’ve upset you. I’m sorry.
-No, it’s okay.
-You’re very proficient, if it makes you feel better.
-Just no soul?
-None.
-So, are we talking N’sync levels of soul?
-More like Ashley and Mary Kate.
-Ouch.
-I know.
-Okay. I’ll stop.
-It’s appreciated.
-Have a nice day.
-Thanks. Good luck on… whatever you decide to try next.
-Yeah. I’ll let you know.
-That’s okay. Really.
-Right.
-Have a good one.
-Uh huh.
A weak wave, and the door closes.