Sitting on the gloss ebony bench of the stand up, I think of you. The shine of the ivory keys reminds me of your smile. Brilliant pearl teeth pulled back to the most stunning smile. Almost always your head tilted slightly to the right.
Placing my hands on the chilled keys, the air conditioner on even in these winter days. I think of your old house with the ever opened door, and the fan making ambient noise in the background. The way I would always joke to my friends that you were very hot, and the shocked look on their face that I used common day slang to describe looks. The laugh I would hold back as only I knew I was describing the seemingly everlasting heat in your house, and the small amount of night clothes you wore because of it.
Looking through sheet music, I fish through the book for a song to play. Frustrated and unable to find any of them interesting, I play random chords. Stringing notes together I hit a single note, and suddenly a song comes to mind. Nameless, I hit D6 again, then again. Like nostalgia slowly my right hand reminisces to the next note, and the next, left hand taking after it. Slowly my hands flood the keys with memories, melodies reminding me of the way you would dance. Each movement linked to the next, as if it were a fluid conversation.
Slowly my eyes begin to fill with tears and I begin to shake. Eyes filling to the brim, I swallow the pain in my throat and allow myself to finish the song. Last notes reminding me of how it had all started. The simplicity in a simple greeting, and the resonate sound of your absence.
Hitting the last chord I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes, and sit at the piano, willing myself, not to give into the emotions I feel. I know better than to express that sort of emotion. It’s utterly useless to express emotional pain. It only takes away and never gives. Optimism is a gift to others. If you express your sadness it will only allow you to get used to showing it. I’ve learned it’s better to hide it.
Hearing my father walking into the hallway, I place my hands on the keys and tilt my head down. Feigning contemplation, and smiling as he passes. He asks if I’m making progress, and forcing a laugh I say yes. So he moves to the door on the other end of the room and leaves for the backyard.
Looking back the keys, I force a grin. Hoping I can smile the pain away. Chest tightening as I reach for the binder of musical theater songs next to the piano. Remembering when I had first bought it to hold a song I planned to learn for you. Opening it, I find the song in side pocket.
“Prologue”