Friday, October 3, 2008

Cry, Piano, Cry (Friday Fiction)

This week's FF is hosted over at Just Another Clay Pot. Click the link to read and share more great fiction!

Author's Note: This is very random, with no real point. Enjoy!

I played your piano today.

It cried.

I cried too.

I miss you so much, honey. You were like the ghost of a shadow of who I wish I had the courage to be. So today, I worked up the nerve to touch your piano.

Today was kind of dark, I guess that's why I actually went this far. The sun makes me feel so...bright. And I'm not. You know that.

They haven't moved the piano, it's still sitting in the quiet room, under the window with the lace curtains. Sometimes I think I see you there, playing on the piano, and I can almost hear the beautiful music you make.

I played for you, did you hear? Nothing fancy, just a little something. Oh, I miss you so...why did you have to go away? I did love you. Maybe not as much as you thought she did, but I did. I think you were worthy of all my love...mostly.

You are my second love, for my first is dearer to my heart than I could ever explain to you. I suppose now my religion may seem like the ulitmate enemy to you. Since it was the only thing that stood between us...maybe someday I shall find it easier to explain, should that chance ever be returned to me.

I hope you are happy in your new life. I think of you...every time I hear music. But Poppa used to say that if God didn't build your house, then it is built in vain. I wonder, love...I do. I miss you. But not as much as I used to.

Life is funny this way. Mrs. Marcella says I am famous. I wouldn't know. I hate to read the papers and watch the television and all of those modern things that this world is so deeply engrossed with. I cannot bear to tear myself away from good books, simple food and daydreams.

Oh, how many daydreams.

Bliss is the moments where it is just the music, myself and God. I used to think you were in this equation, but it seems now, even clearer, that you never were. Why is it, I feel this need to wish things into being?

It is not a good habit, I do not think. But I think it is okay to miss you. It is okay. But I will never stop playing the piano. The music is too deep inside of me. I know you think I will never amount to much, but now your opinion does not count, does it?

I feel free almost, today. You no longer hang over me. This dread is gone. There is something new. Dare I be brave enough to encourage it? Or may I be as bold as to embrace it? What am I? Who am I? This feels like the biggest daydream of all...perhaps my world is nothing more than someone else's imagination.

How strange.


"Has she moved at all?" Hastings scowled into the living room, the ones spot they'd managed to convert into something vaguely Victorian. That was all the uppity pianist would settle for. She seldom spoke and moved about as if she were a half-waif from another world.

"I'd thank you to think kindly of her." Merv muttered. "She's got more on her shoulders than mayhap we may ever know."

"Right. Uh....your turn to call her for lunch. I spoke to the agent this morning, we should have another gig lined up for her by this weekend. Think she's up to it?" Hastings turned away from the room, suppressing a shudder as he headed for the kitchen. "I'll dish it out."

"Nice. Real nice." Merv sighed. "May as well wait and see, if she's not hungry, there's nothing that will make her move from that piano."

Hastings paused. "Yeah. I guess you're right. Hurry it up will ya?"

Merv winced. "I can try...but that probably isn't a very good idea. Anything important happen today?"


"You know...usually someone's dead or something when she sits in front of that thing all day like that."

"Oh...I don't know."

"Then go check the calender, would you?" Merv perked a brow.

Hastings muttered for a moment then shuffled off.

Merv watched him go, then cautiously inched through the doorway. His tall frame snaked easily through the tiny doorway and he stood, listening to her music as she played. Her eyes were anywhere but on her precious piano, clearly, her mind was no longer in the least not his present. It would come to, if he made her, but he couldn't bear to disturb the peace on her face.

Sunlight slanted through the lace-curtained window, showing her lovely fiery curls of hair. Her lips were half pursed and she was humming as slender fingers stroked the keys, producing a most beautiful melody.

"Merv, I think it's a day of-"

"Shh!" Merv whirled a half second too late.

The music stoped and the eyes flickered as the head turned slowly, brooding to face them. "Mervin. Hastings." Her voice was toneless. "I am interrupted for what, this time?"

Copyright 2008 S. Harricharan


Betsy Markman said...

Wow. Haunting. I'm not certain I understand it, but somehow that doesn't seem to matter. Or maybe it's even a good thing. It adds to the "aura" of the whole story.


Dee Yoder said...

This IS haunting, Sara. Very evoctive and moody. I love the main character and wish I could keep reading about her condition and why she's in the place she's in and who is this mysterious "someone"...etc. Very cool. (Merv, huh? *grin*)