C. Meton

The Accordion

“An accordion!” His happiness was abundantly obvious.

“Yeah, so?” She quizzed.

“I haven't seen a music store that sold accordions in eons! Let's go in.”

So they entered the store. There were a few customers browsing and looking at saxophones and guitars, and the shop had the smell of wood, leather, plastic, and of old paper. An elderly, but fit-looking man was standing behind the counter. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I'd like to see that accordion.”

“Certainly.” The man retrieved the accordion from the window and, carrying it by the straps with one hand, handed it to him.

He put it on, pressed a few switches, tried a few notes with each of the different sets of reeds that were selected by the switches, found a musette setting that he liked, then played and sang:

“Can’t you see
I love you
Please don’t break my heart in two
That’s not hard to do
’cause I don’t have a wooden heart
And if you say goodbye
Then I know that I would cry
Maybe I would die
’cause I don’t have a wooden heart
There’s no strings about this love of mine
It was always you from the start
Treat me nice, Treat me good
Treat me like you really should
’cause I’m not made of wood
And I don’t have a wooden heart
Muss I denn, muss I denn
Zum stadtele hinaus
Stadtele hinaus
Und du, mein schatz, bleibst hier?
There’s no strings about this love of mine
It was always you from the start
Sei mir gut
Sei mir gut
Sei mir wie du wirklich sollst
Wie du wirklich sollst
’cause I don’t have a wooden heart.

Everyone in the store applauded. He smiled, handed the accordion back to the shop keeper, turned to her, and said, “Marry me. We'll do lots of disgusting things together.”

“Ok,” she said, and she threw her arms up around his neck and kissed him.

They stood there for a few seconds, enjoying a long kiss and embrace as if they were the only two people present. The crowd started to laugh and talk.  Then the couple strolled out of the store.