Rock Music
By Mark Joseph Kiewlak

Bobby had stared at the rock for weeks. It was just one of many along the walkway that led from his front door to the driveway. It was shaped like a potato, oblong, a sandy color, with small flecks of white like tiny chips imbedded in its surface. Bobby didn't know why, but he was pretty sure that someday that rock could play the piano.

He had first noticed the rock in early spring. His toy soldiers were in the midst of battle, guns blazing at each other, when one of them dove behind the rock. Soon Bobby forgot all about the battle and left the soldiers to their fate under the merciless noonday sun. He got down on his belly and stared at the rock. His first impulse was to pick it up, but then he remembered how he often found worms or other yucky creatures crawling beneath rocks, and so he left it there and stared at it.

The more he stared, the more he found of interest. Sometimes when the sun hit them just right, the tiny white chips would gleam like diamonds. Bobby was not one of those kids who feels the need to immediately share his discoveries with others. When his mother asked him what he'd been doing crawling around on the walkway all afternoon, Bobby replied, "I was just playing."

The next day it rained, and Bobby went out in his slicker and shielded the rock beneath his umbrella. The rain seemed to bother this rock more than the others. Bobby couldn't say why. He just sensed that this rock would eventually be better off indoors.

There was one room of the house where Bobby wasn't allowed to play. His parents called it "the front room." It had a big picture window and a lot of knick-knacks on a lot of shelves in a big cabinet. It also had a fireplace and, in the corner, a big piano. Bobby thought that the rock would feel right at home in that room. He thought it would look good sitting atop the piano. He could even imagine it dancing on the keyboard, bouncing back and forth, happy and free. When the rock was ready, Bobby decided, he would move it inside.

In the meantime he went back to his other activities — playing with his soldiers, with his radio-controlled cars, watching cartoons. It never occurred to him to mention any of this to his parents until one day when he heard them out in the front yard talking about putting in a pond. He went to the screen door and stood and listened. His father was explaining where was the best place to dig, and then his mother asked if the walkway was going to lead to the pond. "We can create an offshoot," his father said, "right here. The walkway will branch off and circle around the pond back in on itself. We just need to dig up this one small section to make a fork in the path." Bobby was alarmed. The spot his father was pointing to was right where his rock was living. He'd have to mount an immediate rescue mission.

Later in the afternoon, when his parents had gone inside, Bobby went out and stood over the rock, indecisive. He was afraid of what he'd find underneath it. But there was something else, too. He was afraid the rock wasn't ready. It was a nice place they lived in. The summer sun was warm and bright. There wasn't much traffic this far up in the development. The trees around them turned pretty colors in the fall. Bobby hesitated. He decided to explain to his father about the rock and have him change his plans about that stupid pond they'd been talking about.

"I heard you talking about a pond," Bobby said. "What were you talking about?"

"Your mother thinks that a pond would look nice over in the corner of the yard, in that big empty spot along the fence. It won't be anything too big. Just like a puddle with rocks all around it. It won't interfere with your playing."

"Oh," Bobby said.

His father went back to reading the paper. Bobby stayed where he was, with his head down.

"Is there something else bothering you?" his father said.

"No," Bobby said. "It's just that, well, Dad, are rocks alive?"

"Excuse me?"

"Rocks," Bobby said. "Can they think like we do? Can they feel things?"

His father smiled in a way that made Bobby feel stupid. "Whatever gave you that idea?" his father said. "Was it one of those crazy cartoons you watch?"

"I don't know," Bobby said. "I was just wondering."

"Well, son, I'm pretty sure they can't. But if you find one that can, let me know."