The Longing

by Bridget Essex

  Sydney had never met anyone like Caroline before. She hadn't ever interacted with anyone so genuine.

  “That’s…very nice of you. Thank you.” Sydney wasn’t sure what else to say. Tension seemed to crackle in the air. Sydney was aware of a sort of magnetism, pulling her toward Caroline, and she wondered if the other woman felt it, too. Maybe it was just because they shared an interest, something other people might consider a hobby.

  Once, Sydney had sung like the music was her soul, and she was offering that most essential part of herself to anyone who listened. It was a deeply vulnerable act to sing your heart out. And Sydney had heard Caroline; she knew Caroline sang that way, too.

  Caroline sang like she knew what music was, knew the magic contained in every note.

  Now, the opposite of music—silence—had descended in the apartment. Neither woman spoke a word.

  Until Caroline opened her mouth at last, said, sounding almost hesitant, “Would you like me to give you a voice lesson?”

  Sydney stared.

  “Well, you know my next lesson canceled.” Caroline shrugged. “And I don't have anything else planned.” She smiled as she gazed at Sydney. “I’m very good, promise. And you wouldn’t have to pay for it. Just…consider it my housewarming gift. Welcome to Pittsburgh. Welcome to the Hamilton.” She was chuckling now, waiting for Sydney to respond. “Oh, please, it’ll put me in a better mood. You’d be doing me a favor.”

  What could Sydney say to that? A free lesson from Caroline—it seemed too good to be true, and when something was too good to be true... Well, there was always a catch. For her part, Sydney knew this was a terrible idea, knew that each moment she spent in Caroline’s presence was another moment in which Sydney’s attraction to the older woman grew, and might reveal itself…

  But as Sydney stood there, as she took in the brightness in Caroline’s eyes, the sweet curve of her mouth…Sydney knew she couldn't refuse.

  “Sure,” she said, pretending to take the offer in stride, laying her jacket on the back of the couch and shoving her hands deep into her pockets. Tension pulsed through her body, and she felt the wishing and wanting in her heart, but Sydney was determined to do everything within her power to inhibit—and hide—her attraction.

  “Oh, wonderful,” said Caroline, with a laugh that sounded so musical, Sydney was taken aback.

  Caroline danced over to the piano and reached for the piano bench, the old thing creaking grumpily as she tugged it out.

  Sydney hadn’t even noticed the piano, and she was surprised by that fact. Perhaps it was because the instrument was buried beneath mounds and mounds of books and sheet music, draped with brightly colored scarves in happy shades of purple, pink, and indigo.

  Caroline sat down, her black skirts flaring out over the sides, and she leaned forward, almost reverently opening the fall, the wooden cover of the piano keys.

  The keys were old and chipped in places, the ivory (or faux ivory, perhaps) well worn, and the black keys a matte color from how much they’d been used. This wasn't a piano that had been well taken care of. But as Caroline placed her fingers on the keys, as she pressed down and played the first “C” chord, Sydney’s breath caught in her throat.

  How the piano looked meant nothing. All that mattered, of course, was how the instrument sounded.

  And the warmth that poured from that piano seemed to flow down to her very toes. She closed her eyes and listened as Caroline played a simple riff, her fingers dancing along the keys, making the notes in that old, familiar “C” chord ring out happily, beautifully.

  Caroline turned to glance over her shoulder at Sydney. “When was the last time you sang?” she asked, her head tilted to the side as she played the “C sharp” chord now, letting the melody ring out softly so that she could hear Sydney’s reply.

  When was the last time you sang?

  Sydney closed her eyes. Opened them again.

  The last time she sang was Before.

  But she couldn't tell Caroline that. Caroline wouldn’t understand. Caroline didn’t know, didn’t know what had happened to Sydney, and she couldn't know, not ever.

  Only Sydney could know what had happened. Sydney, and the police. And those who had done the evil things to her Before.

  Only them, and no one else.

  Sydney was safe that way. Because if no one else knew, they wouldn’t be able to look at her like a freak; they wouldn’t be uncomfortable because of her past, because of—

  “Sydney?”

  “Sorry.”

  Caroline was watching her uncertainly. No, she was staring at her, eyes wide.

  Immediately, Sydney’s defense mechanisms went on high alert. Caroline must know now; she could tell that there was something off about Sydney, something wrong. Sydney's fight or flight instinct commanded her to turn around. To leave.

  She should leave.

  But Caroline surprised her: The lovely woman murmured, in the softest voice imaginable, the kind of voice you use for those who are hurt, those you don’t want to scare off, “Why don’t you come here and sit down beside me?”

  Sydney felt as if every atom inside of her was a ticking bomb. Anxiety rattled her bones like wind chimes in a gale, but somehow, impossibly, she stepped forward, all stiff and unbending, and came to stand beside the bench.

  “Here,” said Caroline, her voice dove-soft. She patted the wooden bench before turning back to the heap of sheet music positioned on the stand above the keys.

  Sydney felt her knees bending, felt her body folding, and then she was sitting. There was hardly enough room on the bench for one person, let alone two, so Sydney had to sit snugly beside Caroline, hip to hip.

  They sat there, and Sydney felt the warmth and softness of the woman's body. Her head swam, and she gripped her sweaty hands into fists, rested them upon her thighs as she stared straight ahead at the stack of sheet music resting against the back of the piano, threatening to spill over the slim piece of wood on the backboard.

  For her part, Caroline seemed oblivious to Sydney’s tension. She rifled through the sheet music methodically, pausing at this piece and that, considering. There were books of songs on the top of the piano, too, but it was the sheet music that Caroline busied herself with. Sydney was struck by the collection, because most of it seemed old, from the nineteen fifties, or perhaps earlier. The quaint artwork and old black-and-white photos on the worn pages were distinct, and as Caroline looked through them, Sydney reached out and took a stack down from the top of the piano, setting it on her lap to give her something to focus on…besides Caroline.

  The first few pieces of sheet music were nothing Sydney had ever heard of. “I Can’t Begin to Tell You,” “My Heart Tells Me (Should I Believe My Heart?),” “I’ll Love You Forever and Ever.” All of these songs were romantic in nature, and did nothing to ease the pounding of Sydney’s pulse.

  But she paused at the next piece. Paused because she had to. She held up the sheet music to study it closer, because she could hardly believe what she was seeing.

  Two women in retro dresses graced the cover. They were in one another’s arms, gazing at one another adoringly. There was no other way to interpret this photo than as two women in love, though—long ago, when the photo was taken—they probably wouldn’t have construed the pose that way. The song was entitled “You Hold My Heart (In Your Hand),” and the two women were smiling at each other with a softness that seemed so genuinely romantic. There was a potent longing in the set of their pretty red mouths.

  Caroline chuckled beside Sydney and offered her hand, palm up, to the girl. Sydney obliged, woodenly giving her the piece of sheet music.

  “Isn’t this one beautiful?” murmured Caroline, glancing down at it with soft eyes. “I’m sure you can tell, but I have a penchant for collecting vintage sheet music.” She smiled. “Honestly? It’s bad, but I didn’t even peek at the music when I bought this one, and I’ve never played it. I was just drawn in by the cover. I know they say you shouldn’t judge a
book by its cover… But, really! How beautiful is this? Look at them!” She traced a pretty purple nail over the outline of one woman’s dress. “She’s just so elegant—so beautiful,” she breathed, and then she sighed and glanced sidelong at Sydney. “Don’t you think?”

  They were so close. So close. Alarms were signaling in Sydney's head, flashing red—warning, warning.

  “Yes,” Sydney mumbled, searching Caroline’s face. “Beautiful…”

  Caroline flicked her gaze very quickly back to the sheet music in her hand. Her lips, parted a heartbeat before, pressed into a line, and Sydney felt her stomach seizing, turning inside of her. Had Caroline thought she was speaking about her? Of course, she was. But Sydney needed Caroline to remain unaware of her feelings.

  She balled her hands into fists, tried—desperately—to think of something to say, a change of subject.

  But Caroline cocked her head and stared down at the sheet music a little more thoughtfully. “Huh. You know what’s strange?” She lifted the paper up, placing it next to Sydney’s face, as if she were comparing the ladies on the front to Sydney herself…

  “Sydney,” said Caroline, gazing from the black-and-white photo on the sheet music to Sydney, and back again. Her mouth tugged upwards at the corners, and her eyes softened. “You look just like the woman on the right! How about that! That’s so funny…”

  Sydney's heart knocked at her ribs.

  Hadn’t Caroline just called that woman beautiful?

  Sydney’s head was whirling, and she was grateful—so grateful—when Caroline placed the music back on the piano. “Let’s start with a warm-up, shall we?” she asked brightly.

  Sydney was used to singing while standing. It felt strange to draw in the breath she’d need for the warm-up, strange to feel her lungs expand while sitting—and while sitting next to Caroline, at that. Anxiety pulsed through her body, constricting her, and she tried her best not to touch Caroline in any way, which was, of course, impossible on the narrow bench.

  They worked through a few do-re-mi’s that sounded flat to Sydney, and Caroline shook her head, lips pursed.

  “I think that could be a little better. How about you?”

  Sydney nodded, and Caroline gestured to the side of the piano. “Why don’t you stand, dear?” She indicated a place on the floor (surrounded, of course, by small stacks of books). Sydney couldn’t wait to leap to her feet, to get off of that piano bench. She turned around after standing, feeling her lungs relax as she glanced back at Caroline.

  But Caroline was looking down at the piano keys, her mouth, again, in a thin, flat line. Sydney had literally leapt at the chance to not sit next to Caroline…

  Had Caroline noticed?

  God, she was really messing up.

  Sydney knew it was probably obvious to Caroline that she was acting strangely, but she didn’t know how to tell Caroline the reason for it. She had a reason, a very good one, but she couldn’t speak it aloud. So she stood there miserably as Caroline rang out the first “C” chord again—briskly—and then pressed her finger to the “C” note.

  “Again,” she said, and she smiled up at Sydney. This smile did not reach her eyes.

  Sydney sang through the warm-up, her chin raised, her stomach expanding with air, working her diaphragm. She was a little rusty. It had been a long while since she last sang. But as she held each note longer and longer, as the stretching of her vocal chords began to take effect, she could hear it. She could hear the warmth, the strength in her voice, coming back.

  After they finished the scales, Caroline declared what Sydney already knew—that she was a soprano, and that she had a high vocal reach.

  And now there was warmth in Caroline's smile. Sydney felt the confidence pooling back into her body by degrees. She knew how to sing, even if she hadn’t done it in a long time. And her body had changed a little since; she’d have to work to get back to where she once was…

  But she still had it.

  She still had it.

  And Caroline knew that now, too.

  Caroline's eyes twinkled brightly, and Sydney couldn’t help but look at her, grinning shyly.

  “Beautiful,” said Caroline, the music in her voice making each syllable stand sparkling between them. “Just lovely. You’re a natural, but you already knew that.”

  Sydney's cheeks flushed, and she accepted the compliment as graciously as she could, ducking her head, feeling her mouth widen. “Thanks.”

  “You know, I was thinking as you were warming up, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to start you out on something fairly standard, even if it’s not the season for it. Let's run through it once first, and then we can talk about breath control.”

  Sydney nodded, perplexed, and watched as Caroline dug through the stack of music books on top of the piano.

  A moment later, her long fingers drew down a thick volume of music with a red cover the color of drying blood. It looked rusty to Sydney, an ugly color.

  And then she saw the words emblazoned across the front of the book in looping, chipping gold: A Christmas Treasury of Music.

  Sydney stared.

  “I know, I know. It's early for this one.” Caroline chuckled, sounding a little distant to Sydney as the pounding of blood began in her ears. “But I like to hear how my students sing ‘O Holy Night’ right out of the gate. It’s an equalizer that really helps me fine-tune my teaching approach, and...”

  Caroline kept talking.

  But Sydney could no longer hear her.

  She had been so happy. She'd gone through those warm-ups well. Caroline had heard her voice and thought it good. Sydney had been content; she’d relaxed, poured her heart into each note.

  But when Caroline said those words, words Sydney hadn’t expected, couldn’t have ever imagined she’d say…

  If she’d still been tense, if she’d been bracing herself, she might have been able to manage hearing the worst words. The bad words…

  From Before.

  From that night. That terrible night and that terrible song and the nightmare it had all become…

  But because Sydney was not on guard, it had caught her.

  The pain and panic consumed her utterly.

  A roaring filled Sydney’s ears. The floor fell away from Sydney’s feet. Her whole body became, suddenly, unreachable as she fell backward, backward through time, back…to Before.

  Perhaps it happened because Sydney had been avoiding it for so long. Perhaps it happened because Sydney had felt far too much that day already. And had wanted far too much, too.

  Regardless, the panic attack crested over her, and Sydney had very, very little time to prepare for it before it swallowed her whole.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, taking a step backward. Her hip knocked into a pile of books that teetered precariously, and Sydney was only just able to stop them from falling, reaching out with one clammy hand. She took another step back. “May I please use your restroom?” The sound of her voice came from far away, and the tunnel vision made Caroline seem as if she were suddenly far away, too.

  “Sydney, are you all right? You look so pale—” Caroline began, standing, her brow furrowed, her blue eyes wide with alarm.

  “The…the restroom?” Sydney asked plaintively.

  “Down the hall, first door on the right.”

  Sydney managed to find Caroline’s bathroom, managed to close the door and lock it, managed to kneel down on the floor and curl up into a small, tight ball before the panic attack claimed her fully.

  Before the memory came.

  Chapter 6

  It was snowing outside.

  Sydney remembered the night so clearly, down to the tiniest detail, but—if she was telling you the story—she would start by telling you that it was snowing outside. It wasn’t a particularly important part of the story. It wasn’t important at all. But Sydney remembered that it was snowing, because snow is apathetic. Unforgiving. Freezing.

  And it was the coldest night of Sydney’s life. />
  Tuesdays were choir practice nights at Sydney’s parents’ church, The Holy Redeemer. It was a youth choir, and Mrs. Stanford conducted it, and Thursday evenings were the nights that Mrs. Stanford’s kids didn’t have hockey practice, or practice for any of the other sports they did.

  So each Thursday night, the kids gathered into the sacristy, stamping the snow off of their boots. They shuffled into the sanctuary, huddling around the grand piano at the front of the church, trying to stay warm. Sydney’s dad usually turned up the heat earlier in the day, if he remembered.

  He hadn’t remembered that night.

  It was cold, so cold, that the kids could see their breath when they sang. There were only a handful of days until Christmas Eve, and the kids’ choir was going to be singing at the midnight service, which was kind of a Big Deal. There was a service at five on Christmas Eve, then the midnight service, then the Christmas morning service the next day at eight.

  But almost everyone showed up for the midnight service. It was the most popular one.

  And they wanted their songs to be perfect.

  The midnight service demanded the tried-and-true songs, the ones that everyone expected, depended upon. The kids were going to sing “Silent Night” to start out, and the service would end with “Joy to the World.” The usual. What was unusual, though, was that Sydney was doing a duet with Laurie.

  And there was nothing usual about Laurie.

  She had long red hair that flowed over her shoulders, a turned-up nose, and a dusting of freckles over her too-pale cheeks. Her smile was quick, and her temper was quicker, and Sydney had been in love with her since Sydney knew what love was.

  That night, Sydney had cause to believe that maybe Laurie felt the same way.

  But Sydney couldn’t be sure, and it was eating her alive, that worry, that wonder.

  Sydney was sick with fear most days. Sick with fear that somehow, impossibly, someone would find out what she was thinking. Be sure your sins will find you out. She knew that her thoughts weren’t right, that she wasn’t supposed to be thinking them. Her mother and father had told her so often enough, hadn’t they? That the gays wouldn’t be getting into heaven. That Jesus wouldn’t let them near the Kingdom of God. That they were supposed to hate the sin but love the sinner, and unless the gays repented from their evil lifestyles, they were all going to burn.