pounding

he handed me the heaviest of five drums and as i began to place its harness over my head he asked why i was so drawn to it. i paused as the weight of it settled upon my already aching chest and back. i paused long enough to close my eyes and remember.

     the rooms were often dark and unoccupied, the walls bare and depressing. everything was always still and quiet up until it wasn't; until something would make the volume abruptly blast with crashes and screams and shattering mirrors.
     when i was younger, the only thing that would distract me from the sounds of breaking glass was pretending that my pounding heart was a bass drum; the pedal hitting harder and faster as the seconds slowed down... the breaking glass mere cymbal crashes. everything around me was orchestrated and if i could get myself to play along, i was no longer a victim, but rather a participant.

i opened my eyes and tried to smile as he handed me my mallets. 

i guess i just like trying new things, i answered. 

i took my mark. i looked up and around in search of faces i knew i would not find. 

my heart, still pounding. but this time, i was the bass.