Liron's Melody

by Brieanna Robertson

  Before her parents’ accident, the three of them had lived and breathed music. It had been the three of them for Melody’s entire life. While she’d had friends and had never been a loner by any means, she had always preferred the company of her mother and father above everyone else. They all understood one another. They all spoke the same language, music. There was nothing now that they were gone. There had been nothing for the last year. No music. No joy. No nothing. So she filled her days up with mundane things that didn’t matter, distractions, just to get by.

  She had a job, a pitiful one, working as a sales clerk in a women’s clothing store. She hated it with a passion. It wasn’t her, but that was why she had taken it. It had nothing to do with music, nothing to do with the life that had been shattered.

  But as she thought about it, she realized she wasn’t really accomplishing anything by avoiding all that had once reminded her of what she’d loved. Like Rob had pointed out, she still had pictures everywhere of her parents and the orchestra they had all been a part of. And she couldn’t escape the fact that the love of music still lived within her. It wasn’t going to disappear just because she turned her head the other way and pretended she didn’t see it.

  She’d done everything in her power to alter her life to not revolve around music and the memories that would cause her pain, but it had only ended up causing her pain anyway. And it made her sick to her stomach to think that, by turning her back on what had made her life with her parents special, she had, inadvertently, turned her back on them.

  Self loathing washed over Melody in waves while Nikki’s words from earlier repeated in her mind. She had been right about one thing. Her parents wouldn’t have liked her current course of action. It would have saddened them to see Melody give up everything she had loved, everything she had worked for, just because she was hurting, just because she was afraid.

  She heaved a sigh as she got out of the tub, pulled the plug, and dried off. She slipped into a light pink tank top and gray pajama bottoms and headed into the kitchen. She put on the teakettle, thinking a cup of tea sounded relaxing, and relaxation was the driving force of the evening, considering how rigorous the day had been.

  As she wandered back into the living room, her gaze fell upon the score of music she’d set on her piano. She stared at it for a second, chewed on her bottom lip in contemplation, and then went over to give it a closer look. She picked it up and flipped through it gently, careful not to damage the well-worn pages. Glancing over the notes, she tried to imagine what it would sound like, but came up short. Nothing her mind could conjure would come anywhere near what it would actually sound like when played.

  She set the music back on the piano and stared at it a few minutes more, curiosity gnawing at her. She was racked with indecision, not wanting, and yet, wanting to play it all at the same time.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to force some calm to return. Okay, no one was there. She didn’t need to worry about what anyone was going to say, and no one was going to make a big deal and throw a party and gush over how much progress she was making. And she wouldn’t be playing Adagio in G Minor, which was really what she had a problem with more than anything.

  She’d play for a second, just to see what the score sounded like, and if she started to feel like her chest was going to constrict and she was going to have some kind of anxiety attack, she would stop. Simple as that.

  Making up her mind, Melody tentatively slid onto the piano seat and poised her fingers over the keys. She let them rest there for a moment, testing the waters, so to speak. A twinging pain went through her heart and left a dull ache in its wake, but it was tolerable. Sucking in a breath, she looked at the first measure of music and began to play.

  It was a mournful song, slow and dark, Gothic almost. She had planned to stop after the first few measures, but once she started, two things happened. Wondrous ecstasy coursed throughout her entire body as the music filled her soul once again, and her fingers moved over the keys with grace and ease, like she had never stopped playing. For one beautiful second, she felt like she’d come home. That reason alone was enough to keep her there, but something else happened. Something strange and all consuming.

  While the sorrowful notes echoed through her empty house, her mind conjured up the image of a man sitting at a piano, alone in a candlelit room. She was looking at him from behind as he hunched over the keys, lost within the same notes she was currently playing. Long, shining, chestnut-colored hair spilled down his back and around broad shoulders that seemed burdened, as if they carried weight. That particular thing struck her because she noted that his shoulders looked the way hers felt. Heavy, tired, sad….

  She focused on the image in her mind, more than happy to devote her attention to whatever her imagination conjured instead of the grief of missing her parents. The music filled her, swirled around her, along with the unbearable loneliness that emanated from the man at the piano. It was almost as tangible as hers, and her heart connected to him, whoever he was. An embodiment of her own pain and sadness, she imagined.

  A chill ran the course of her body as the temperature in the room seemed to drop, which she thought was strange considering it was the middle of summer. She ignored it as she continued to play, driven by the gorgeous music and the enigmatic image in her mind. She found she wanted to know more about the person in her subconscious, the man brought to life by this aged score. It seemed he had a story to tell, and the only way to know it was to continue playing.

  So she did. She gave herself over to the notes and chords, lost herself within the vision in her mind until it seemed almost real. The temperature in the room continued to cool and the hair on her arms bristled. She felt a strange, tugging sensation around her heart, as if it wanted her to reach out to the man at the piano, touch him, soothe him, let him know he was not as alone as he felt, and maybe assure herself that she wasn’t either.

  As the music coursed through her and around her, she played with abandon. It was only when she shivered that she realized her eyes were closed, had been closed for quite awhile. With a start, her fingers fumbled on the keys, causing the pristine notes she had been playing to falter. How could she be playing the music in front of her without looking at it? Had she just improvised the last few minutes? She stilled her fingers, but the melody of the music continued in her mind, echoing as if through a long tunnel. If she didn’t know better, she would have thought it wasn’t in her mind at all, but close by, and real.

  Dampness touched her bare arms, and she swore she could smell the ocean, which made absolutely no sense considering she lived in Colorado, and nowhere near the sea. She looked toward her front door, wondering if she’d left it open and some kind of strange storm had rolled in.

  She gasped and jumped so hard she almost fell straight off her piano bench. She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed them with the heels of her palms. When she opened them again, everything was as it should have been, and the temperature in the room went back to normal. She stared at her empty living room, trying to figure out what she had seen. For a second, the half of the room she wasn’t in had looked like some kind of stone structure, like a room in a castle. It had felt cold and foggy, dimly lit with flickering candles, and in the corner where the door should have been sat the man her imagination had conjured while playing the music. Only, she’d stopped playing, and he had continued.

  “What in the world?” she whispered. Her heart pounded and her mouth felt dry. She glanced at the score of music and eyeballed it. She had never been an exceptionally creative person…not visually anyway, in the way of dreaming up strange visions. Even if she had daydreamed now and again, they had never been so vivid that they had taken up residence in the room she was in.

  Maybe she’d finally lost her mind. Or maybe she was so exhausted from Rob’s hike of death that her brain was playing tricks on her. That had to be it.

  But even as she convinced herself that was the only logical explanation, her heart sti
ll ached at the sorrow she had felt while gazing upon that man. She glanced at the keys, part of her longing to play again, to see if she could glimpse him a second time. Part of her was afraid to. What if she really was losing her mind? Had grief and isolation finally caused her to crack? If so, it probably wasn’t healthy to continue entertaining the fantasy.

  But….

  The desire to play again was overwhelming, no matter how irrational it was; no matter if he was a complete hallucination of her deluded mind. She just wanted to see him again. She wanted to see him because, in their shared sorrow, for one brief moment, she had not felt completely alone.

  Exhaling slowly, she placed her shaking fingers back over the keys.

  The shrill shriek of the teakettle made her nearly jump out of her skin, and she swore. She got off of the bench, shaking her head and muttering to herself. It was probably a good thing the teakettle had whistled. She was literally one note away from the loony bin.

  She went into the kitchen and turned the stove off, trying to put her mind to work on normal tasks. Hot water in the mug, tea bag in the hot water. She should probably eat something…she hadn’t had dinner yet.

  Play. Play.

  Her subconscious was insistent tonight, probably because it wanted her to go crazy. She started to clean her kitchen counter while she waited for the tea to steep. Scrub the counter, scrub the counter, she chanted to herself. Wipe it down, that’s it. Nice and normal. Everyday tasks. Maybe I should clean the toilet next. I haven’t cleaned the bathroom in over a week. It probably needs it.

  Play….

  She left the sponge on the counter and turned to the fridge. She opened it up and perused the contents. It was pretty sad in there. She needed to go to the grocery store. Maybe she would do that next, after she had her tea.

  Tea. She turned back to her teacup and bobbed the bag in it a few times. As she did, the image of that man flashed in her mind again. With the vision came the sorrow. His sorrow. His pain. It swamped her like a tidal wave until her chest ached.

  She turned and leaned back against her counter. Was it possible for a figment of a person’s imagination to be lonely? She had no idea. But, if he’d come from her imagination, she could understand why he would be. She couldn’t remember what it was like not to be lonely.

  Drumming her fingers anxiously across the tile of her counter, she sucked in a decided breath and strode purposefully back into the living room. She sat down at the piano and began to play again. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. She didn’t care if she was losing it. She just wanted to see if he would come back.

  The first few measures of the score tingled through her, and she felt the sadness in them in her body and soul. They took root in her heart, and she poured herself into playing the song. It was like someone had unknowingly written the theme of her life. The song sounded the way she felt…achingly alone, painfully isolated. And regardless of the beauty that still existed in the world, it was impossible to see any kind of sunrise within the all-encompassing darkness.

  Tears burned her eyes, tears that wouldn’t fall, and a chill went through her once again. She saw the man in her mind, but it was more difficult to concentrate on him when she was experiencing such turmoil within her own heart. She squeezed her eyes shut, dimly aware that she was still playing the song, and she focused all of her attention on the man at the piano. She didn’t want to think about her pain, her loss. She desperately wanted to concentrate on anything else.

  He became clearer to her, and felt closer the harder she thought. She heard the echo of the music as he played in his dismal room. The candlelight reflected off of his dark hair, making it shine and seem bronzed. Dampness touched her skin, and she smelled saltwater in the air.

  She wanted to be closer. She wanted to see his face. She wanted to see if his eyes held the same hollowness she saw in her own when she looked in the mirror.

  A loud knock on her door made her jump—again—and the vision vanished. She expelled a forceful breath, trying to get her heart to calm down since it felt like it was going to beat straight out of her chest, and went to the door. She yanked it open impatiently to see Rob standing there with his car salesman grin and a bottle of wine. Immediately, she wanted to sock him in the eye.

  “What do you want?” she snapped.

  He raised an eyebrow and his smile faltered, but only for a second. He held up the bottle of wine. “I know you said you didn’t want to have dinner, and I got the distinct feeling that you were kind of aggravated at me earlier for leaving you to eat my dust on the hike.”

  He chuckled, and she found it to be the most annoying sound in the world. She folded her arms and leaned against her doorframe, blocking him so he couldn’t try to push his way in, and she gave him a measured stare.

  “I thought the wine could be a peace offering.” He tried to peer over her shoulder into the room. “Hey, were you playing the piano?”

  “Yes, I was.” She snatched the wine from him.

  “I didn’t think you played anymore. Not since—”

  “I didn’t. But I decided I wanted to. Was this all?” She indicated the wine.

  His smile disappeared. “Well, I was hoping that you would have a glass with me.”

  “I’m tired,” she stated. “You tried to kill me today. I’m not in the mood to entertain guests. Thank you, though. The wine was thoughtful, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. Good night, Rob.”

  He tried to protest, but she was not having any of his brashness tonight. She’d had enough of him earlier to last her for a month of Sundays. She closed the door on him and locked it, then took the wine back into the kitchen, where she set it on her counter.

  Melody stared at her cup of tea, then poured it down the drain. She suddenly didn’t want it. And she really didn’t want dinner either. She felt exhausted.

  Deciding she was done for the day, she headed toward her bedroom. She cast a glance back at her piano as she passed, but for the moment, the curiosity about what she saw when she played was gone. All she felt was the stark emptiness of her lonely house and her hollow heart.

  Chapter Three

  “She’s gonna be a snob. I can assure you of that,” Nikki said as they both got out of her sedan outside of one of the biggest houses Melody had ever seen in her life. “When I saw her the other day, she looked like a real Paris Hilton wannabe.”

  “So long as she can tell me where that music came from, I don’t care,” Melody said, pushing a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s all I want to know, and I won’t bother her any further after that.”

  Nikki slid her a sidelong glance. “So, you really played it, huh?”

  Melody met her gaze and sighed. “Yes, Nikki, I played it. Obviously.”

  “And how did your date with Rob go?” she asked with a smirk.

  Melody rolled her eyes. “Please, I don’t even want to go there. I don’t know why I bother with that guy.”

  Nikki giggled and started toward the house. “He’s probably trying to impress you by acting all manly.”

  Melody snorted. “Well he can take his ‘manly’ and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  Nikki laughed heartily. “You’re feisty today!” she teased. “What got into you? You should play strange, Gothic piano music more often!”

  Melody smiled in spite of herself. “It really was a beautiful piece of music. It touched me.”

  “Obviously, or you wouldn’t be making me track down the lady I bought it from so you can ask about who the composer was.” She fell silent for a few seconds, but Melody knew she wouldn’t be able to hold her curiosity in for long. “So…how was it?”

  “Playing?” Melody smiled. “It was heaven.” She wasn’t going to lie. Despite the pain of missing her family, playing the piano the night before had been like coming home from a battle. Music had always been the only thing to soothe her soul. It would always speak to her, regardless of whether or not she tried to avoid it. She knew, sooner or later, its pu
ll would bring her back to it. It was unavoidable. And part of her felt at peace knowing that she’d finally crossed that barrier.

  Her parents would have wanted her to keep playing. She knew that. They would have told her that music was therapy, and she should express all of her emotions, even the negative ones, through song. Surprisingly, the unbearable pain she had expected to feel while playing had never come. She had actually felt closer to the memory of her parents, and she knew she would not have trouble sitting down and playing again.

  So long as she stayed away from Adagio in G Minor. She wouldn’t go near that piece of music with a ten foot pole.

  But she was interested in finding out more about the score Nikki had bought her. She wanted to learn about the composer, find out where the incredible music had come from. She was hopelessly intrigued, if a little creeped out, by the visions she had seen the night before. Her curiosity had always been more prevalent than her common sense. She had yet to figure out if that was a good thing.

  Nikki rang the doorbell and they waited a few seconds until a very thin, blonde woman came to the door in an electric pink tracksuit chomping gum like a cow in a field chewing its cud. She had enough gold and diamond jewelry on to blind somebody, and Melody was shocked to see that she looked no more than nineteen or twenty years old.

  “Hi,” Nikki greeted. “You don’t know me, but I was at your estate sale the other day. I bought this musical score. It was really old and worn-looking. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  The woman stared at Nikki for a second, blew a bubble with her gum, snapped it, and then sucked the gum back into her mouth in a completely classless gesture. “Yeah, I think I know what you’re talking about. What about it? I’m not gonna give you a refund.”

  Nikki frowned. “Um…I don’t want a refund. I was just wondering if you could tell me a little bit more about it.”