The Boy Behind the Tree

In my apartment, there are three instruments which I play daily; two guitars - electric and acoustic - and a keyboard. As a pianist of four years, I love classical and general improvisation of modern pieces, though any bit suffices. As stated in the Realer Life, children of all ages run past my back door every day, causing my dog to go bonkers if I don't hold him myself. However, my dad was taking the dog for a drive and I got to stay inside and amuse myself. After a little Doctor Who, I decided to download sheet music for Clara's Theme and play it on my keyboard. I pulled up the sheets (which were fairly easy) and began working it out. I got through the entire piece a few times and started working on individual bits. I ran through the piece once more, trying to make out the struggle of the Doctor's attempt at understanding his Impossible Girl. I struck the final chords and raised my hands.
At this point, a ray of sunlight had made its way through the trees and above the building before us, landing right where my electric guitar had been stood up. I turned towards it in PNW-y fascination to catch the face of a boy around my age peeking out from behind one of the last natural cedars. He was wearing a red soccer jersey which stood out especially when I saw him in the parking lot hours later. From behind the tree, he laughed and ran away.
Thinking speculatively as a person pretending to be older, I was flattered to see someone - especially a boy, if I choose to revert to my own age for a moment - enjoying the art which was laughed upon at my school. I'm finding that this realer life, though it can be stereotyped, is sweeter than it has ever been. It's almost too picturesque. People enjoying their lives regardless of income and social standing. If one can ride a bike, scooter, or run, they are welcome. Even if they can sit and talk, they are included. Children - and I could have been one of them - roam the lots and yards, laughing and hanging out every day in the sun. I feel out of place, being that one girl who never speaks and tends to keep to herself, her dog, and her keyboard. Perhaps, with the help and support of Tree Boy, I'll find my way into the ray of light.