It smelled of old coffee. So many things do.
My finger ran across the dry skin feeling puckers and bumps that I could not see, only feel.
I could see stains though; more coffee, no doubt.
Dust had worked its way into the edge where the skin met the wood. The dryness meant that it was still just dust, and not muck that would be hard to remove.
Twelve copper disks, in sets of two. All in working order.
To not break the silence, I held it very still, gauging the weight and how it balanced on my palm, perfectly and without effort.
I opened my fingers. Still, it sat there — the circle with twelve copper disks in a static orbit.
Still, it made no sound. It balanced there, by itself, without my aid, and would not put itself to voice of its own volition.
“I am art,” it said. “I am spheres upon spheres. And the patterns, both in paint and etched into the metal bind me to this place, to this world. And I sit in your hand.”
My palm flexed wider, fingers splayed away from the wooden rim.
“I will not make the sound for you. I will not make it without you. Your lack of grasp be damned. Here I will sit, waiting for you.”
My hand would not close. The fingers already completely extended, would bend away further if they could.
“Let us conspire,” it said. “Let us breathe together.”
So, I breathed. What else could I do? A long, slow breath, cool as it found its way to my lungs.
And, be it a trick of the light, or truth, I will never know, but that dry, stretched circle of skin followed the pattern of my breath until there was no space between its movement and my own.
Gently, my fingers closed upon the wood and found purchase along the unevenness of paint worn by time.
“And know,” it said, “the music is not limited to the hand, the arm, or the voice. Know that I am part of you in whole and only in that entirety can we find the pulse, the rhythm.”
Silence.
“Understand?”
I understood. I felt the reality of the words within me. As I slowly brought my hands toward one another, rose to the balls of my feet, and bent to collect power within.
Silence.
And together, we found the downbeat. The music had begun.