Colour of my passion

My brother has a pair of Sansui speakers in his living room

Their distinctive red cloth covers have faded to something closer to orange and one is positioned behind a couch, so I reckon they don’t get much use for producing sound but are supporting some furniture and stuff.

Looking at them I can imagine how the Sansui branding spins on a pin that I’ve twisted many times and sometimes withdrawn, then sought the hole they rest in with a mild panic that I might’ve broken them.

They once belonged to my father, so I’m sure to leave everything as I found it in case it gets me into trouble for using it.

I also know how the speaker cover detaches from the cabinet holding the paper cones and it doesn’t take much imagination for me to feel the texture of their cloth on my mouth.

That fabric is rough against my lips and gums with a bitter taste like dust.

The speakers are over half a century old and I suspect they had a formative role in my life.

There are photos somewhere of my baby-self in another living room at that point when one does a swimming movement to cross carpet while developing the coordination to properly crawl.

I can remember the sunlight streaming through the windows onto the bookshelves, pot plants and a pair of blue couches that formerly belonged to my grandparents.

When I did become mobile I am sure that I moved toward the bright red shape and the sound it produced.

When I look around my own living room I can see multiple sets of speakers, as well as musical instruments and the paraphernalia that goes with recording them.

I ponder whether the red Sansui speakers created my obsession with recorded sound.