Entering a Music box repair service is like having a time hold in your pocket. You turn the key, anticipate some sweet music, and hear a monotonous clicking, or a music that crawls slowly along and halts. It is strange how that silence is filled in the room. These boxes are not very big, but they carry weight-birthdays, quiet nights, perhaps a memory you cause a little. Individuals do not have to justify. How they drop the box is a tell-tale. The simple heavy Can this play again? is in the air.
The mechanism appears to be harmless at first sight. One of the cylinders is rotating slowly, with pins on it. A row of tiny bells are in line waiting to ring. A spring is a coil that tightens up storing energy as though it is storing it away. However, it is all a matter of fit. A single movement and the melody starts to falter as though it has stumbled in its step. A repairer listens and then he/she does not touch anything. Wind. Pause. Listen again. It is almost as though it is an air signal of a low quality. In other cases, it could be old grease that has become thick and sticky. Occasionally a pin has been worn out due to years of faithful service. The fix is a cry of restraint. Excess pressure and the melody varies. Not enough, the silence hangs.
If people do not mend these, it is not to be convenient. And, frankly speaking, nowadays music is readily available everywhere. Cell phones, music systems. However a music box is different. It is connected with something personal. Something that someone would smile after getting a gift. An insignificant thing which stayed beside over the years. Substituting it is empty, as being a handwritten note with a printed one. Repair has preserved the original voice. Although the melody might be reappearing with some slight changes, it is still correct. It is these little shakings that, once in a while, make a good story even more delightful, as a long-time-told tale with some added pauses.
Everything is slowed down at the workbench. Tools are small, near to be lost. Movements are mindful and slow. A slight bend here. There a soft wash there. And then there is the moment which counts. The lid opens. The key turns. It is a moment of thought before a decision is made, as the box is uncertain whether to relish the moment. And the music comes round again. Soft. Familiar. A smile what makes you smile. No great response, a nod of the head. Due to some reason, that little box was returned–and with it a fragment of your past.