Bloodless
I was a quick learner when it came to the piano. I considered myself musically capable and enrolled in an intermediate piano course at my local college. This was many years ago before I actually went away to school, and I still remember my instructor being impressed with the pace in which I tore through the practice workbooks and really gave myself to the music. I would spend 45 minutes after lunch every day in a small soundproof room in the music wing that smelled like lacquer and perspiration. Afterwords, I would meet my teacher (I forget her name), and show her that I had learned the materials. There was one practice exercise in particular that I had trouble with. This was only a few lines of actual music, but it moved my fingers in seemingly impractical ways, having both hands move alternating fingers together in opposite directions. The notes were so counter-intuitive to me that I had to spend all of my practice times in that small pressure-box room. I had to learn how to use my fingers for the first time. Again.
I watched her pull up my driveway in her car, me sitting on my parked Ford as if I was waiting for her. I guess I was, but it was an anticipation I never expected to be fulfilled. I naïvely thought that if I wanted something so much that it would come to fruition. Easy. So, I waited outside not really expecting anything to happen, just a hope. I hadn’t called her or even talked to her for days, but I felt like we were connected through the clear night sky - like I could draw a line connecting the stars with me on one end and her on the other. There was one bright star in particular that I looked for. I might have even made a wish to it, I don’t remember that I did, I just remember that I was desperate.
I haven’t touched a piano since that one class. I had a partial education on it and never really desired to go further. This was around the time I met her after all, and I suppose I desired other things then. Music could wait. Since then, I never claimed to be able to play the piano with any proficiency. The rate at which I forgot the lessons, music, and chords was immediate. There was only one thing that stayed, and it was that troublesome arpeggio lesson. I had spent so much time relearning how to move my fingers that it just stuck with me. At odd times, when I was bored or walking or anything my fingers would spring to life with a mind of their own, hitting silent notes that I couldn’t even begin to remember their sound. Thumb, second finger, first, third, on both hands in succession playing off the other, and me not even noticing their action most of the time. I’ll get a comment now and then when I don’t notice them flicking in a silent beat, someone will ask me if I’m nervous or why I’m twitchy. I explain simply: I was a musician.
She was in tears. I had driven her back to my house because she didn’t own her own car back then and wanted to get away from home. We were in my driveway, and I was trying to comfort her. It was night and the clouds were moving swiftly to the East, allowing the moon and some stars to peek through to us. She was upset over something back home with her family. I held her close and told her that one day we would leave everything behind and just be together. She asked where we would go and I looked up to see the clouds blowing over a bright star. I pointed up and said, “We’ll go there.”
Years later, I watched her pull up to my driveway, the night I wanted her desperately to be there. I was sitting on my car stargazing on a cloudless night. She got out of her car and walked towards me, I had been playing a melody with my hands that no one could hear on the trunk of my car. We talked awkwardly for a while, things hadn’t been the same since we split, and things would never be the way they used to be. I made a joke about our star, how we should leave together now. But I knew this time that I was the one she wanted to get away from.
Tonight I sat outside on my old driveway, listening to the sprinkling rain and the cars driving through puddles on pavement - reminding me of a time when she drove away from me for the last time. I couldn’t see anything above the rainclouds, but I was sure of two things: Her star is in the night sky somewhere, and she would never pull up to my driveway again, no matter desperately I wanted her to be there.
It’s been a long time since piano lessons, but I remember much from then to now. I remember the satisfying weight of a piano key, the smell of a soundproof room, my instructor’s notes on my sheets of music. I remember her star. I remember the taste of her skin. I remember her tears. I remember the agony and the pleasure, not always exclusive. I remember the cold metal of a knife to my chest, the weight of it. I remember that I was a musician a long time ago.
Tonight I feel bloodless and weak, I don’t have the hopes of my younger self to wait outside in some surreal anticipation. Instead, I chronicle the things I have remembered and things that I want to remember but have forgotten. I want to remember happier days. I want to remember the sound of her voice when she was happy and in my driveway and she said, “Someday, we’ll go there.” Maybe most of all I want to remember what that piano sounded like when I pushed my fingers to new separations. Even now, my fingers dance around a phantom keyboard, playing notes that no one can hear, and strike chords that I can’t even begin to remember - just another ghost in my body grasping for a time out of reach.
I watched her pull up my driveway in her car, me sitting on my parked Ford as if I was waiting for her. I guess I was, but it was an anticipation I never expected to be fulfilled. I naïvely thought that if I wanted something so much that it would come to fruition. Easy. So, I waited outside not really expecting anything to happen, just a hope. I hadn’t called her or even talked to her for days, but I felt like we were connected through the clear night sky - like I could draw a line connecting the stars with me on one end and her on the other. There was one bright star in particular that I looked for. I might have even made a wish to it, I don’t remember that I did, I just remember that I was desperate.
I haven’t touched a piano since that one class. I had a partial education on it and never really desired to go further. This was around the time I met her after all, and I suppose I desired other things then. Music could wait. Since then, I never claimed to be able to play the piano with any proficiency. The rate at which I forgot the lessons, music, and chords was immediate. There was only one thing that stayed, and it was that troublesome arpeggio lesson. I had spent so much time relearning how to move my fingers that it just stuck with me. At odd times, when I was bored or walking or anything my fingers would spring to life with a mind of their own, hitting silent notes that I couldn’t even begin to remember their sound. Thumb, second finger, first, third, on both hands in succession playing off the other, and me not even noticing their action most of the time. I’ll get a comment now and then when I don’t notice them flicking in a silent beat, someone will ask me if I’m nervous or why I’m twitchy. I explain simply: I was a musician.
She was in tears. I had driven her back to my house because she didn’t own her own car back then and wanted to get away from home. We were in my driveway, and I was trying to comfort her. It was night and the clouds were moving swiftly to the East, allowing the moon and some stars to peek through to us. She was upset over something back home with her family. I held her close and told her that one day we would leave everything behind and just be together. She asked where we would go and I looked up to see the clouds blowing over a bright star. I pointed up and said, “We’ll go there.”
Years later, I watched her pull up to my driveway, the night I wanted her desperately to be there. I was sitting on my car stargazing on a cloudless night. She got out of her car and walked towards me, I had been playing a melody with my hands that no one could hear on the trunk of my car. We talked awkwardly for a while, things hadn’t been the same since we split, and things would never be the way they used to be. I made a joke about our star, how we should leave together now. But I knew this time that I was the one she wanted to get away from.
Tonight I sat outside on my old driveway, listening to the sprinkling rain and the cars driving through puddles on pavement - reminding me of a time when she drove away from me for the last time. I couldn’t see anything above the rainclouds, but I was sure of two things: Her star is in the night sky somewhere, and she would never pull up to my driveway again, no matter desperately I wanted her to be there.
It’s been a long time since piano lessons, but I remember much from then to now. I remember the satisfying weight of a piano key, the smell of a soundproof room, my instructor’s notes on my sheets of music. I remember her star. I remember the taste of her skin. I remember her tears. I remember the agony and the pleasure, not always exclusive. I remember the cold metal of a knife to my chest, the weight of it. I remember that I was a musician a long time ago.
Tonight I feel bloodless and weak, I don’t have the hopes of my younger self to wait outside in some surreal anticipation. Instead, I chronicle the things I have remembered and things that I want to remember but have forgotten. I want to remember happier days. I want to remember the sound of her voice when she was happy and in my driveway and she said, “Someday, we’ll go there.” Maybe most of all I want to remember what that piano sounded like when I pushed my fingers to new separations. Even now, my fingers dance around a phantom keyboard, playing notes that no one can hear, and strike chords that I can’t even begin to remember - just another ghost in my body grasping for a time out of reach.