A little music

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He walks slowly over to the record player that now occupies the space that used to hold the television. It sits on a low, white credenza alongside some unattractive speakers that get the job of letting music flow through them done. They are less than pleasing to look at, but the sound that comes out of them allows us to listen to the records, so they’ll do for now. He looks at the record under the plastic dust cover.

Luckily, there is already a good album ready to go. It’s on Side A again, and it has been for the past three nights. No matter, I know he’ll hit the play button, and we will listen to the same side again and again until I get up and change the record myself. But we both know that he’ll be bored and wander off to bed before that happens.

He presses play, as I thought he would, and looks back at me with wide brown eyes. His red hair catches the warm light of evening sun shining through the windows. And then he looks back at the record player. The needle has lifted and begun to make its way toward the record. And just before it situates itself, ready to touch the first groove, play the first note, he presses the stop button. The needle lifts again and makes it’s way back to the side of the player. And as it does, he presses the start button again.

And just as he does it, I see a glimmer in his eyes. He touches the play button again, and in an instant, he reaches towards the plastic covering, ready to lift it, ready to grab the record itself. It spins on the base, but he will pick it up.

“No Henry!” I shout, a little too loudly to be quite honest. I feel badly about it, but I am trying to shock him out of touching things he knows he’s not supposed to touch.

He starts, but he smiles at me. That cheeky smile that is all bottom teeth and squinty eyes. He reaches inside and grabs the spinning record. And just as swiftly as his pudgy fingers touch the disc, I sweep him into my arms and swing him up and away. The music has finally started to play. With a screech and a squak, he wriggles out of my arms, looks at me with a heavy eyebrowed frown and walks slowly away, bouncing slightly to the music, ready to make more mischief in my bathroom and pretending with all his might that he has no intention of getting into my round brush stash under the sink.

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