Fourfold by One

I sit cross-legged at my window, staring through the glass and into the night. The houses are ghosts, eerily lit by the warm glow of the streetlamps. The light overflows from its source, spilling onto the street, giving it a depthless effect. The unforgiving wood of the wall behind me digs into the side of my back. I sense my own shadow in the transparency of the window. The lit-up screen of my monitor is now a bright reflection hanging from the modest leaves of our tree in the front yard.

I follow the light back to my actual monitor with my eyes, then get up and relocate to my battered desk chair. The music, so familiar, soothing, and beautiful, fills my ears. I breathe through my nose and sense the freshness of the air after the rain, although my allergies have completely masked my perception of scent. The fluorescence of the screen gives an electric look to the room.

From the door the lit computer monitor stands out against the cool ocean hues of the walls, and the street lamps’ illumination stands out beyond my bedroom windows. The song is heartbreaking, now, and the lilt of Marketa Irglova’s voice is hauntingly melancholy but still beautiful. The floor is only half-visible under the mess of discarded clothes and papers. My dog lies under the glass desk and rests with her ears perked up. She is in no doubt listening to the music.

I lie sideways on the ground, resting my head gently on my dearest sister dog Penny, her soft fur against my cheek. This perspective is different than all other vantages. The song is now Coldplay, and we are six inches away from the speakers, and it is as if we are inside the music. My head rises and falls with the slight movement of Penny’s chest as she breathes steadily, in and out. The sound of her breathing becomes the beating of her heart. I am on the brink of dreams. The room fades into darkness as my monitor powers off, and the music continues as we fall asleep.