Smartystan

Tunes wafted through the air like the fresh scent of baked bread. The chords, the progressions, the pauses, the rests, all came from Vestin Go’s piano. He still remembered his days at First State Community College where he majored in music exploration. He’d been playing the piano since he could walk and talk. He took it even more seriously as he grew into adolescence and adulthood. By composing a new minuet, he wanted to try out something audacious.

His spacious basement underneath his mansion glowed with the signs of creativity. Lights illuminated various instruments which Go also played. In his mind, he felt that the cryptocurrency paid the bills, but he was in love with skateboarding and composing. He wrote with ferocity. Each note had to be placed just so in his mind. Everything had to coalesce into a solid statement of profound joy.

He worked into the night, coming up with ideas that he himself took as a surprise. He played, and he played, and he played, the piano seemed like his marketplace and he got paid in multiple dividends. Invincibility seemed like the right word to describe his ableness. In the beginning phases of the country-state, the tests called for mathematics, reading, and science knowledge primarily. When the tests expanded to include other capabilities, this opened the door for athletes, musicians, and even trashmen. Go sailed through the music test and as a founder, knew that he had to have the sense enough to get into his own place. The irony would’ve been overwhelming. With his quest for perfection rarely did he miss a note so he had to be admitted based solely on merit.

That’s what all of them had to do. For Go, however, he had already outlined a way for him to play piano, run the skateboard shop, and of course command the crypto markets. He juggled all of this with equal measures of coolness and passion. By biting from the Tree of Reason, he knew that he could handle all of his interests and excel at them just the same. His pencil struck the page like lightning as he continued to build the blocks of musical greatness. It was sublime. He could be proficient with his compositions and still have time to see how markets performed in Asia and Europe.

As his hands hovered over the keys, he felt the power of creation and what it must have been like for so many creation stories. He played every note that he wrote and did so with gusto. Every measure of his slight frame transformed like a mechanized weapon blowing away fallacies and ugliness. Anna knew not to interfere when he zoomed into the zone. The zone stood as that utterly energetic and focused state of being when a person in whatever work or craft knows exactly what they’re doing. Beyond that, they possess the capacity to make it even more interesting and exciting. He existed in this place for a long time. painted her nails.

Go kept up the pace and never fell by the wayside. He focused on this minuet with all the concentration and understanding that he had amassed over the years. He finished writing and began to play the piano. He knew that a synth or a learned machine could play the piano, but he always looked for the best in human endeavors. The way that a person could give a wink or crack their knuckles was foreign to products of human ingenuity. They could play beautiful music, great concertos and symphonies without a doubt. They, though, could not play the same way as humans. The soul had been a part of Go’s entire sense of being. He fought. He couldn’t let the notes or the piano win.

As he continued, He looked at the sensors in his house. He honed in on the computer monitor. “Ma….” he rolled his eyes and got up from his bench.

Ann let in Miss Go. They hugged but Anna rolled her eyes.

“That big house gets lonely,” Anna announced.

“Ma, you’ve got all the amenities anyone could ask for,” Go replied.

“I didn’t say I needed all of that, I want company,” she relayed with a hint of melancholy.

“I’m working right now.”

“When are you not working? How about working on the physician’s exam or marrying this poor girl,” Chanda dried off her nails and waved.

“Right now is not a good time. In every venture in which I engage, I am consumed by it. I am focused on the task to the point where the world just slides off like pancake batter.”

“What about your mother? Why do you not listen to me? Sure, that’s your job and your ‘passions’ but what about me? What about you being like Julia’s son?”

“Because I’m not Julia’s son,” Go said this with intention and a bit of acidity to drive home the point.

Anna gave out an audible gasp. “You’re so individualistic. We’ve got to go back to the tribal way of things. Everyone was for everyone and we never starved. Where’s that world?”

“That was a world of prison camps for saying something that went against the government. That was the world where you didn’t starve because you were given just enough provisions to prevent that from happening. This country-state is the exact opposite of that world. You should be thrilled and thankful that we don’t live there anymore.”

Anna shook her head. “Yes, we’ve got food and health care and goodies produced on the private market, but that is what separates us. Remember your family over there?”

“No.”

“How could you forget them? They miss you and love you. You should be in contact with them at all times. Nevermind your billions of dollars and your skateboarding. I guess those piano lessons are the closest thing to me actually getting you interested in something worthwhile.”

“Thanks, Ma. I appreciate it,” Go said, deflated.

Anna moved to the door. A synth opened the door.

“I want you to be my son, again.”

“When did I ever stop?”

Anna had no more words and left to take a ride in a driverless car.

Chanda came up behind Go and wrapped her arms around his stomach. She released her slight grip.

“She’ll get it. If she doesn’t….” Chanda shrugged.

Go smirked and kissed Chanda on the forehead and returned to his piano.