"It’s absolutely beautiful, Ronald, thank you."

The music box was exquisite, but Cynthia questioned her boyfriend's motives. He kept saying things were getting better between them, but she knew their relationship was coming to an end. She had been working up the nerve to break it off for weeks now. An expensive gift would not change anything.

"I'm glad you like it. I saw it yesterday in an antique shop, and it really called out to me. Lift the lid; I've got a feeling you'll love the song it plays."

The box was a dark red wood, patterned with white inlays she assumed were ivory. There was something vaguely disturbing about the patterns, but she forgot all about that as the music box began to play. The song was hauntingly lovely. She sat silently, entranced by its beauty, until the last note faded away.

"That was breathtaking. What is that song?"

Ronald looked into her eyes, and Cynthia found herself wondering how she could have ever considered leaving him.

"I’m sorry, but the shopkeeper said he didn’t know."

Cynthia searched the music box for some indication of the song's title, but all she found was a small plaque that read "Astaroth Artificers".

"It doesn't matter. It's the best gift I've ever received in my life. I can't imagine what it must have cost."

A flicker of sorrow crossed Ronald’s face. "I paid a great deal, but nothing I’ll miss. Just promise me you’ll listen to the song every day."

For months afterward Cynthia faithfully began each morning by listening to that enchanting melody. Her devotion to Ronald grew deeper every day, and she knew they were destined to be together forever.

Gradually, though, she felt them growing apart again. Ronald always seemed angry, no matter how hard she tried to please him. He tried to act naturally, but she knew he was keeping something hidden. Perhaps he had found another girl. She felt no jealousy at that thought, only fear he would abandon her. Finally she broke down and confronted him.

"Please tell me why you're so distant, Ronald. Whatever I'm doing wrong, I'll change. I swear I'll change! You know I'll do whatever you say."

"That's the problem," Ronald shouted. "You don't have a mind of your own anymore! You don’t love me, not really. That wasn't the deal; that's not what I wanted. I sacrificed everything to keep us together, and now I can't stand the sight of you. All because of that damn music box!"

He ran past, roughly pushing her aside. She found him in their bedroom, his clenched fist raised over the music box on the nightstand.

"Get back, Cynthia, I have to end this. Please forgive me."

He slammed his arm down, and the music box released the anguished cry of a mortally wounded animal. That cry was joined in terrible harmony as screams tore from Ronald‘s throat. A cold fire lit the room, and soon a small pile of smoldering ash was all that remained of Ronald and his gift.

“You’re wrong!” Johnny’s shout was punctuated by the slam of his bedroom door.. His parents didn’t understand him or his music. “Why do they have to be so old and so stupid? Music is my destiny!” Okay, that might be a little over the top, but it sure beat accounting and working for his dad’s audit company. That’ll be the day! Where’s the originality? Where’s the joy of creation to be found in pushing numbers around for the taxman?

Of course, they didn’t understand creativity either and had jumped at the chance to point out that he’d only played cover tunes up to this point. He turned and yelled at the door, “Because we’ve all got to start somewhere!” He knew they wouldn’t hear him through the polysorbent soundproofing, but it still felt good.

“I will show them!” He’d compose a song and prove them wrong. Johnny imagined ripping on his new tune and the astounded look on their faces. Oh, yes, there was some humble pie waiting to be dished out.

Still grinning at the thought, Johnny pulled on his virtual synthesizer gloves and switched them over to guitar mode. After tentatively plucking a few notes out of the air, Johnny realized he needed to feel the music. He popped a pair of deamplifiers in his ears and then cranked his synth up to max. His smile broadened. Even through the room’s soundproofing, he knew his parents were going to be able to hear and feel his rips.

For the next 4 hours, Johnny abandoned himself to his music. Mixing inspiration with adolescent energy, he worked with frenzied desperation. In the end, he collapsed on his bed, exhausted, the sweat literally pouring from his gloves. His composition finished, he locked it into the synth’s memory.

Popping the deamps from his ears, Johnny said, “Michelle. Please grab the most recent file on my synth for post-production and possible lyric additions.”

The valet comp’s sweet contralto answered, “Yes, Johnny.” After a brief pause, she continued, “Do you want it to be permanently archived? Do you want it to be copyrighted?”

Staring idly at the ceiling, still enjoying the creative afterglow, Johnny replied, “Yes and yes, copyright it.” He sat up and flexed his fingers in anticipation of removing the synth gloves.

“Searching… Searching… Recent composition has 38 copyright infringements. Copyright denied.”

“What? How can that be?”

“According to the Universal Copyright Act of 2029, rights in perpetuity are granted-“

“Stop. Rhetorical question.” Johnny fumed, his gloved hands balling up into fists. “38! What part isn’t copyrighted?”

“4 notes.”

Johnny slammed his fists down on his desk, the raw guitar sounds crashing out of the amplifiers. “Copyright this!” he shouted and jammed his two middle fingers down on the desktop several times.

“Copyright infringement. Chopsticks, 1877.”

“Auuughhhh!”
---

Three hours and several compositions later, a less defiant Johnny left his room in misery to speak to his parents.

“So, Dad, how exactly does one become an auditor?”

I want to tell you a story about how I met your Grandma.

1968 was called the summer of love, but we were not doing a lot of loving that year. Both Grandma and I were training for the Olympics held in Mexico City. She was swimming in the 400m freestyle – and maybe in the 200m. I was expected to run in the 110m and 200m hurdles. We had never even laid eyes on each other.

Flying into Mexico City was the biggest thrill in my life. Then all of the attention and fuss over the competitors gave me a feeling I had never imagined – I would be part of history! They had a convoy of buses to take us to the Olympic Village – in those days it was just college dormitories. We got dumped off in the central registration area. That was when I saw her standing there by the event schedule – the sweetest smile I had ever imagined. I knew I had to meet her, but how? There were about 120 US athletes competing and I was just another face in the crowd.

That first evening, the US Olympic committee planned a mixer – a drug and alcohol free party scheduled to end at 10 pm. We all knew why we were there, so I did not hear much complaining about the rules. Most everyone was too wound up with excitement to complain about anything. I got something to eat and wandered around a bit.

Between school and training I was not exactly current with the newest bands and dance steps, but the next thing I heard was some music that set my feet afire.
I could not stand still, so I grabbed the nearest girl I saw and pulled her on to the dance floor. And it was the beautiful gal I spotted earlier: your grandma-to-be. We had a chance to talk when the music stopped. She told me about the band – The Doors – and the song – “Hello, I Love You.” My face must have flashed red when she named the song, but she smoothed it over. She asked if I expected to win a medal and I replied “I'm happy just to dance with you .”

From that moment, I was hooked and to my astonishment, she was too. Any time at all we could steal together for the rest of the games was spent talking, about every little thing: dreams, ideas, hopes.

Neither of us won our competition although I kid her to this day that every time I thought of her, I had to slow down because my head started spinning! She says I am all wet – I would not have won anyway. But she did follow me home and within a year we got married and before another year went by, a little child joined us – your mom. I never dreamed that my chance to participate in the Olympics would also start something so wonderful: the life that followed with my lovely Rita – your grandma.

Yesterday George and Anna rented their very first apartment. It was a third floor walk up right downtown near the Conservatory. Near the Conservatory was a good thing because Anna was a concert pianist who taught lessons on the side. Third floor walk up was a problem since as a concert pianist, Anna was quite happy to leave her parents, her room, her friends, but not her grand piano.
George called up his friends.
“Help!” He said, “We need to come together to get this piano up to the apartment.”
The next day his friends showed up. They looked at the stairs. They looked at the piano.
They looked at Anna. She waved at them.
“ Good Morning, Good Morning.” George grinned at them.
“ Ain’t she sweet?”
After some consultation it was decided that they could take the piano apart and slide it carefully up the stairs. Anna went shopping, because the thought of watching her beloved piano being dismantled and carried up three flights of stairs was too painful.
Anna safely out of the way, the tools came out and pieces of piano started climbing three floors in the hands of George’s friends. The easy parts out of the way, they gathered around the main body. It was strapped together, wrapped in blankets and turned up on end. They all grabbed a strap and lifted. Well, they tried to lift. No matter how they strained, gravity stubbornly kept its grip on that piano.
“ I should have know better. “ Moaned one friend.
“ I feel fine. “ Gasped another.
“If we don’t move this piano, you’re going to lose that girl .” Said a third.
“I’ll be back. ” Said George. Leaving his gasping and moaning friends he went off to find more bodies, and perhaps some brains. He didn’t need to go far. Down the street he found a piano store. The staff alternated between gasps of outrage and moans of commiserations as George explained his problem. Finally they sent three big hulking fellows and one tiny old man back to the apartment with George. The three big hulking fellows, and George’s friends carried the piano up the stairs as the tiny old man shouted instructions. They reassembled the piano with the old man’s help. Then he tuned the piano carefully. Anna arrived home to a crowd of friends and neighbours admiring the tone of the piano.
“Its Norwegian Wood.” She said. “Isn’t it good.”

I left the tags off of Anna and Norwegian wood as I couldn't figure out how to fit the subtitles in.