recital left me in a strange mood

I am sewing a pineapple costume for Halloween. A yellow balloon body, and a spiky green hat. In northeastern coastal towns or yore, when sailors returned from long voyages to exotic locales, before the inventions of the telegraph and telephone, they put pineapples on the doorsteps of their friends and relatives as gifts that signalled their safe arrival. These fruits, much smaller than what we are used to seeing today, became a symbol of prosperity. So much so, that trendy furniture of the time was carved with pineapple motifs.

Can you imagine, a drizzly October evening in a gloomy town interrupted by the burst of a tiny pineapple? It is split nine ways amongst all the family members. You get only one bite, but the tang and the sweetness is almost enough to quench your sensual needs for the rest of your gray childhood.

"That’s a lot of pressure," I said.

"Okay," said Sharon, "It doesn’t have to be perfect."

"It’s still a challenge."

"There are pumpkins all over town; it’ll be easy to find one."

"I don’t mean it’ll be a challenge to find one, I just mean it’ll be hard for me to actually get one."

She didn’t understand, so I explained: "I’ve been feeling depressed lately, and when I get depressed, I procrastinate like a motherfucker."

Sharon is subject to depression too from time to time, so she was sympathetic, and tried to be encouraging. "Don’t be down," she said.

"That never works," I laughed. "You can’t just tell someone not to be depressed, you know better than that."

"It was worth a shot."

I roamed through town in a half-hearted attempt at finding the perfect pumpkin to carve. On the way I passed by a Church. Outside the entrance, a sign read: Organ Recital 4 p.m. FREE.

"Free organ recital? Cool."

A loud pipe organ sometimes makes me want to strangle somebody, but if I’m in the right mood, there’s nothing better. It was nearly 4 o’clock when I saw the sign, so I decided to take a chance.
Two mild mannered Christians stood by the "suggested donation" box. I didn’t give any money, but they smiled and welcomed me just the same. My feet echoed as I walked down the aisle, and even though the church was empty, I still felt self-conscious about it. I lifted the latch on the worn wooden door of a pew near the front, and sat on a musty, maroon cushion. It was dead silent. I closed my eyes. The drone of the city was muffled and distant. Occasionally the rumble of a truck or a car horn snuck through, but the only thing I heard otherwise was the persistent high-pitched ringing in my ears. The longer I sat, the more it began to feel as though I had a seashell on each ear. I heard someone lift the latch on the door of a pew across the aisle. I opened my eyes to look.
It was an elderly woman in a grey trench coat, with grey hair to match. She was talking to herself. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she appeared angry. She decided not to sit down, and instead walked to the front of the church, muttered for a moment, then turned left and went into an area I couldn’t see, but looked off limits. A moment later, she emerged, still muttering, bobbing slightly, and turning side to side as if looking for something. God, I suppose. Eventually, she walked back down the aisle, and headed out the door. God is not here right now.

Suddenly, the organ pierced the silence. A fugue of musty air blew through the pipes and woke every ghost. It began in the upper register, chasing its own tail for a few minutes, before layering on a thick blanket of midrange, as if the organist had a dozen hands. When he finally dropped his foot on the low notes. I got a free massage.

It was a fairly long piece, and the silence afterwards made me think the recital was over. It wasn’t. The first piece made my head buzz so much, though, that I was afraid a second song might loosen my fillings, so I left. The recital left me in a strange mood. Removed is the only way to describe it.

I forgot to get a pumpkin.