It had been a rainy day. Gray and desultory. Time to listen to some music, he thought. To let the spirits dance with the Gods. Ride the waves of ecstasy. "Let's see. What to play"? He ran his finger down the CD's . Hmmmm . . . . Here was an interesting one - The Violinist by The Perts. He had not listened to it in a long, long time. He took the CD out of the case and popped it into the player. Touch of a button, and a few seconds later the music softly filled the room.

Yes, it had been years since he had played it. Last he had played it was . . . almost twenty years ago, when he was back in school. Things had been so different back then. It had been his favorite tune and he had been playing it very many times. His mind raced back. He could almost feel his roommates again. They had been there when he had played it. Things had not been going well - a lot of unspoken anger and hostility But all plastered over by a veneer of civility.

The memories came flooding in. It was a long time ago. Or was it just another place far, far away, a distant, foreign land perhaps? It seemed like a different life altogether. He could see it clearly but washed in darkness. The bitter sweet memories of innocent and simple times. When the biggest problem was the paper that was due on Monday. But there had also been a problem with the roommates. What was it?

The music had now picked up. Yes, a misunderstanding or something . . .about a rent check. Was it Tommy or Leo who had refused to pay? Not clear now. There had been some kind of a quarrel between the three and then an uneasy stand-off. But the wound had continued to fester underneath. He could almost touch the uneasiness in the air. But hadn't they also had some good times - the drinking, the clowning and the girls? And then there was the time he had picked up Leo from the lab because the snowstorm had stopped all the buses. The car getting stuck in the snow. Digging the snow. Pushing the car. The feeling of joy when they got it unstuck. Gosh. What a long time ago! A shiver ran up his spine.

Were they happy or were they sad? Where had it all gone? They had been so hopeful and anticipating the future so eagerly. Now it was the future - what had happened? When had the whole thing derailed and rushed head-long into this long, dark tunnel? What had happened to time? It seemed to have warped. In a way it seemed recent, in a way so distant, it wasn't even him. Had he changed? Had he changed a lot? Had he changed for the better? Had he changed into what he would have imagined back then? It seemed as though life had run off on its own and had taken him . . .he did not where.

1978, So long ago. Did things really change that much or was it just him? What a strange world it had been . . . or was this the strange world? He felt nauseous - an uneasiness, a disturbed feeling, a feeling of utter loneliness and desperation. What was his life coming to? What would he be like in another 20 years? Would he be alive? Let's see . . 38 now, that would make it 58. The life expectancy nowadays . . . Yes, most likely he would make it. But even now, did he know what was happening or was he still being rushed head-long into the vortex of time, only to be spit out to death, all shriveled up. He could feel the world closing in on him, as though long ago in his youth, he had been a bright flame but had since been dying down, closing in on himself. It was now almost claustrophobic, or was it just the rainy, gloomy day outside that was doing it to him? He seemed to be in a bubble of a few yards, with darkness all around on the other side. The bubble went where ever he went, but he could never shake it off.

Did he know what life was? Did any one know what life was? Did the insane feel this way - so cut-off and isolated where one got lost? What had happened to Leo and Tommy? Where were they now? Were they happy with life? Had they become what their bright shining eyes seemed to promise them? Or were they muddling through life - like him?

What had happened to his brother and sisters? Did he truly know them or was it just shells talking to shells. Were they truly happy? Or were they drowning in the inconsequential, to really know? Or were they also banging on the walls of frustration with mute tears running down their eyes? When had the chasm between them opened up? And wasn't it getting wider all the time? Who were they all, really? Weren't they all just frightened, little children staring wide eyed and helpless as life whirled and churned to its own rhythm and grand scheme? Did they really have much control over life? Or were they just reacting dumb-founded to the vicissitudes that life threw their way?

The music was now starting to fade but not within him. He could still feel the tidal wave - the swirls, rushes and the overpowering feeling! A merging and melding of distant worlds - where time, space and ego seemed to have been torn to shreds and melded back into a huge mass. The music slowly faded out and left the room leaving a stark and silent emptiness.